by Crimson Cole
Hell Week
Apple Valley Academy Book One
Crimson Cole
Bully Boys Publishing
Copyright © 2019 by Crimson Cole
Edited by Ann Attwood Editing and Proofreading Services
www.facebook.com/AnnieA2017
All Rights Reserved
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, animate or inanimate objects, or incidents mentioned are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is strictly unintentional and entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
About the Author
Also by Crimson Cole
For my Cutie Pie, The love of my life and ever-present guiding force behind my madness. The Universe kissed my life when I met you. I’m so blessed and grateful for a love as powerful and devoted as yours. Thank you for always believing in me and helping me with my little stories. I love you, now and always!
Blurb
Blurb
In a battle with the powerful leader of an underground boys’ club, one damaged girl has the courage to fight back.
Lana Green thought life at Apple Valley Academy would be tough, since students are split under the unspoken categories of the haves and have-nots.
The Royals and Honorees.
But a chance encounter with Jovan Daniels, the leader of the Savages, gave her hope that she might survive in their world.
To keep her dirty secrets in the past.
And start her life over with Jovan.
Lana thought he was different.
And trusted him with her innermost secrets and fears.
Until Jovan threatened to shatter her world.
Because Jovan has secrets too.
In order to survive her time at the prestigious prep school, Lana must dig deep within herself and find the courage to own her past and stand up to Jovan and his lap dogs.
Now she must forget everything she felt and fight back.
To survive Hell Week.
Book One is a short novel, in a planned trilogy and is not a YA book. This book is recommended for readers over aged eighteen.
*Disclaimer: Contains mature content and themes. Some events portrayed may cause trigger events as sensitive topics are explored and depicted.
Chapter One
I pour the last drop of cheap wine into the glass and swirl it around whiffing the pungent aroma. Acting as if I know what I’m doing. A wine connoisseur, a refined young lady of substance. Yeah right Lana. I blow a small breath upward and my bangs take flight. If it could only be that easy… for me to fly away like my bangs and forget all the bullshit in my life.
With a sharp pop, I slide the patio doors open and toss the wine bottle on the bed. A few drips spill onto the expensive down comforter, but I don’t sweat it. The prepaid card I’ve worked all summer to purchase has paid for the hotel room and the balance is as empty as my soul.
A strong breeze whips the curtain into billowy flight. Light and free. Unlike me. My gaze follows the fabric as it flits about in the air. The twinkling lights of Apple Valley sparkle in the distant horizon as if they’re little glimmers of hope. I squint and try to focus my drunken gaze. Now, those innocent crimson lights appear more like beady red eyes waiting to devour me.
Apple Valley Academy sits high on a hill grazing the outskirts of the city, and I fear it’s the biggest beast of them all.
Watching.
Waiting.
For the vulnerable Honorees to arrive, so it can gobble up our misguided beliefs that maybe… we’ll be accepted like the rich kids.
The Royals.
My stomach rumbles as unease festers, settling in my bones. Maybe, it’s the two shitty hot dogs I’ve eaten on the bus ride here, but maybe not. Luckily, I’ve convinced my father to let me come alone. I’ve left our barren one-bedroom apartment with an uneasy hug, eighty bucks in my pocket and enough reluctance to fill the Apple Valley River below.
I must admit my father tries… when he isn’t drunk or blaming me in his small unspoken ways for my mom’s departure. Necessity means Dad sleeps on the couch, and I’ve existed in my nine by twelve bedroom most of my life. Familial bonds separated by thin plaster walls and tragedy have been swept under the worn-out carpet on a daily basis.
I gave up long ago, on asking him questions about my mom, as he only drinks more, works longer hours, and sometimes his temper explodes. Don’t get me wrong. He’s my dad, and I love him, but no way in hell would I allow him to walk me into this new prep school all scruffy and beaten down by life.
But my mom… I pull the small photograph I have of her from my dress pocket. Worn and creased it’s my greatest treasure in life. And now, I wish she could be here to hold my hand and lie to me that the kids will love me. Every major event in my life I’ve faced alone, getting my period… yeah, Dad tried to help, but I thought I’d die of embarrassment. I’ve learned to rely on myself, but sometimes, in the quiet moments, I wish I still had my mother’s love and guidance.
A raw unyielding need to go back in time, and never tell my mother what happened fills me with despair. If I hadn’t told her the awful truth, she’d still be here. With me. I drop the photograph on the bed and squeeze my eyes shut, willing the shitty memories out of my mind. They’re dark and dirty, sullying my bid for one night of freedom, before my so-called life begins.
Chapter Two
Despite the wide-open patio door, the room feels as if a vice is tightening, squeezing the walls in on me. The last of the wine hits my lips and I chastise myself for not convincing the biker on the bus to get me another bottle.
A crisp breeze helps alleviate the smell of cigarette smoke in the room, and calls to my frazzled nerves to go out into the fresh night air. My senses follow the wind yearning for freedom.
Wandering to the balcony, I flop down on the cushy lounge chair. I could get used to this life of substance and bloated self-worth. But at what cost?
A dirty little secret that I’ll take
to the grave.
I haven’t thought about it in years, but now slips of sharp memories crash into my mind. The jagged edges prick at my senses willing me to remember and begging me to forget. But how can I forget? Since my father forced me to come here for my senior year, insisting I accept the scholarship and attend the elite prep school.
Life! Such a mixed bag of tricks. Really, what does it all mean? The designer cars or the broken-down hoopty on the side of the road. It’s all meaningless. All an inaccurate gauge of our importance.
I abruptly rise, pressing upward on the balls of my feet, and peer over the edge of the balcony, stretching my arms out as if I am on the Titanic and Leonardo will come snuggle up behind me at any moment. The breeze caresses my face.
Free.
I unfasten the buttons on my sundress allowing the night air to graze my thin frame. Suddenly, aware I’m in a public place, I glance around to make sure no prying eyes are lurking in the darkness.
I slip out of my panties and balance my feet on the rails of the balcony’s iron barrier and continue my Titanic fantasy. My arms move through the air in mock flight as the wind whips my dark hair into a frenzy.
Every cell of my body is alive.
Bristling.
Ready.
Waiting.
An all-encompassing peace wars with the need to freefall through the air.
And if I do?
I lean further, teetering at the edge.
Serenity floods into the corners of my turbulent heart until it calms and beats at a steady, determined pace.
And, if I fall…
Fear should overtake my reason, but inexplicably it doesn’t.
If I fall...
It wouldn’t matter.
Not in the grand scheme of things.
We’re all insignificant.
A strong wind blows my open dress upward behind me as if I’m Supergirl in my magic red cape. My nerves itch to take off in flight and free myself from the constraints of this life.
Power surges through my being as I lean over the balcony and study the ground.
A faint smile creeps through my heart, curling my lips upward ever so slightly.
The hard finality of the concrete reminds me, it’s all an illusion.
There is no choice.
We all plummet in the end.
And crash to a screeching halt.
And if I sail through the air on my final flight.
Or crash and burn.
It doesn’t matter.
I’m not suicidal or trapped in a box of despair.
I know my father loves me despite his actions to the contrary.
There’s no distress or pain.
I’m calm.
Eerily calm.
The wind whips warm over me and I close my eyes leaning, further still, over the railing.
Pushing higher up on my toes.
Freedom courses through my veins as a rush of adrenaline hits my chest, prodding tiny pin pricks up my torso and over my arms.
I’m teetering, but I refuse to open my eyes.
No fear.
Or expectations.
And if I fall...
It.
Truly.
Wouldn’t.
Matter.
No attachment.
That’s how we make it through.
Whether we know it or not.
We’re all insignificant.
Knowing it.
Is freedom.
I linger a while longer over the balcony’s rail, blending in with the night air as it lulls my senses.
Swaying with the wind.
Perfectly content.
Until a booming voice rings out almost toppling me over the edge.
Instinctively, I stumble backward into the safety of the patio doorway. Inching toward the cloak of darkness in my dimly lit room.
“Hey,” the voice calls out.
Shit!
I wince, regret floods through me, as strong as the jolt of energy flaring up my face, and through my biceps, hot and angry. Creeping over to the corner, behind the curtain, I fumble to button my dress. Apparently, too much wine and a boatload of embarrassment doesn’t make for nimble fingers.
“Come on, answer me, or I’m coming up there to make sure you’re okay,” a male voice threatens.
If I stay still long enough. . .
A hard shake of my head confirms that’s a stupid idea.
“At least answer me. I know life can be tough, but that’s not a solution.” The sternness has left Mystery Man’s voice. “Alrighty, you leave me no choice… One... two… three.”
Why’s he counting?
“Fourth floor. I’m on the way up,” he warns.
I pound my fists in my thighs. “No. No, I’ll come down to you,” I offer, craning my head toward the patio, so he can hear me.
Management calling the police, having me thrown into the loony-bin races through my mind. The thought of facing a strange man who may, or may not, have seen my boobs and hoohah scorches my cheeks. The thought of said man coming into my hotel room, after possibly seeing my nakedness, has given me the courage to bolt out the door. I’d rather face him in a safer setting to clear up his mistaken assumptions and get on with my last night of freedom.
Chapter Three
I creep along the bushes above my patio as I nervously glance around for the mystery man. When I seem to be the only one outside, relief shoots through me and I let out a deep breath.
Go back inside to the safety of your room.
As abruptly as I turn, it should be no wonder I run smack dab into the chest of shirtless Mystery Man with disheveled, wet, black hair.
“It’s you,” he says, clasping my shoulders. His pale green eyes bore into me. “You okay?”
For a moment I am lost in the swirl of color around his dilated pupils, and the fullness of his ashen lips, but the coldness of his hands stirs me to the present and I pull my gaze from his perfectly symmetrical face.
"Ummm, yeah. I'm fine." I press my hand against his chest to put distance between us and he takes the hint and releases my shoulders. "I mean... I was always okay."
He frowns, and studies my face. "Look, we've all been in dark places, but things will get better. What's your name anyway?” He laughs a small nervous chuckle and the high-pitched tone makes me laugh too.
"I agree life can be shit, but I wasn’t trying to kill myself… really, I wasn’t." I fold my arms over my chest in a defensive gesture to assert my point.
He narrows his brows and twists his lips. "Okay, fair enough. You weren't trying to off yourself. Then what were you doing half-naked hanging over the railing?"
Before I can answer, a loud ruckus from the pool area catches our attention. Three or four boys spill out of the hotel onto the deck and start horse-playing.
"Hey, Jovan, where the fuck are you?" One of them calls out.
"Come on," Mystery Man says, and grasps my hand, pulling me down a wooded path and away from the hotel. "I don't want those idiots to see us," he admits, and glances back at me.
"Yeah, me neither," I agree, and follow behind him down a path that leads to the river's edge. I am mentally kicking myself for forgetting to grab my panties off the balcony, and keep my arms pressed to my sides to keep the wind from blowing my dress upward and revealing my bare bottom.
We walked for a while, until a small rowboat on the grassy shore comes into view.
"I see you don't want to tell me your name, or why you were on the balcony hanging off, not trying to off yourself, of course."
"No, I... I wanted to be… free." I offer the truth, but feel my cheeks burn from the sudden admission of something so private to me.
I feel Jovan’s eyes on me, but I’m thankful for the darkness as it dilutes the intensity of his gaze.
“Well, I know you heard my name… Jovan,” he says, and chuckles. “I guess I’ll call you Sparrow since you don't want to tell me yours, or why you were hanging over a railing, four stories
up.”
I turn abruptly to head back to the hotel, unwilling to bend and let a stranger into my fucked-up world, but he clutches my wrist.
“Hey, it’s cool. I’m serious. I’ll call you Sparrow since you seemed like a little bird trying to fly off the balcony.” He studies me a second. “I’m serious, you can remain anonymous if you want. Just stick around and drink a few beers with me.”
The lure of more alcohol outweighs my desire to run away from him and hide, for the moment anyway. “Alright,” I say in a small voice.
Jovan slides his hand off my wrist and clasps his fingers around mine. “After you,” he says, guiding me toward the boat sitting about ten feet away.
“Where are we going?” I ask in a harsher voice than I want, and I wince.
“Damn, maybe I should call you Falcon... or Eagle,” he laughs, and raises his hands as if he means no harm toward me. “Besides, those obsidian eyes are the eyes of a warrior.”
“I’m sorry, “I let out in a nervous rasp. The eyes of a warrior. “Falcon’s cool. I like that name.” I allow Jovan’s hand to linger in mine, and sense a slight squeeze from him, but I’m not sure.
Jovan runs over and piles into the boat, but I lag uncertain if I should go too. I like this guy though and relax a little as I watch his lanky limbs tug the boat closer.
He grabs something off the floor of the boat, then waggles a six-pack of beer at me, before dropping it back down. The decision to get in a boat with a complete stranger doesn't seem like such a bad idea as he gestures me closer.