Like You Care: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 1)

by Kaydence Snow

  “Sit your asses down,” she demanded. Drew and Amaya huffed and looked between us, ready to argue. A few of the others had half risen from their seats too, but after a tense moment, they all sat back down.

  I hurried off

  Leah spotted me. “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “Can someone please send another strawberry milkshake to table twelve? I need to clean up.”

  “Sure thing, sweetie. Take your time.” Leah squeezed my shoulder as I passed.

  In the privacy of the staff bathroom, as I cleaned up as best I could with my shaking hands, I gave in to the tears. They fell freely down my cheeks, fat drops of sorrow, humiliation, and despair. How the hell was I supposed to go back out there and face them all? What the hell was I supposed to do about Turner?

  I splashed water on my face even as I continued to sob, the hot tears mingling with the cool liquid. Eventually, I managed to stop crying long enough to dry off. I let my mousy hair down, hoping it would at least partially hide my splotchy face and red eyes.

  Fighting fresh tears, I headed back out.

  The dinner rush had passed; the diner was half-empty. Table twelve had cleared out.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Avoiding everyone’s eyes, I went to clear it. Madison’s group had left an absolute mess and no tip. One plate remained untouched—the cheeseburger with extra fries.

  The booth next to it was half-empty too. Donna, Harlow, and Amaya sat in a row on one side, watching me silently.

  Donna had been silently pacing the length of her massive bedroom for a solid five minutes, her footsteps soft on the luxurious white carpet. She had her arms crossed, a deep frown on her face.

  Amaya was leaning against Donna’s desk by the window, staring at the floor intently. Harlow was on the bed next to me, her legs drawn up to her chin.

  I shifted uneasily, worried about staining Donna’s white sheets with my still wet and messy uniform. As if I didn’t have enough to obsess over already.

  The three of them had stayed in their booth until most of the other customers had cleared out. They hadn’t budged while I worked. Only when Leah sent me home, an hour before close, did they get up and follow me outside.

  I’d tried to tell them my mom was about to pick me up and I couldn’t hang out, but Donna informed me she’d already called my mom and told her I was staying the night at their place. She marched over to her white BMW and opened the passenger door. I didn’t have the energy to argue.

  The drive to the nice side of Devilbend—the side with tall gates and trimmed hedges—had been tense and silent. Donna had driven fast, taking corners at unsafe speeds and gripping the steering wheel tightly.

  Now we were all piled in her bedroom, several carefully placed lamps casting the opulent space in a warm, soft glow, and still no one had spoken.

  My left knee bounced. I couldn’t stand not knowing what was going through her head, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I sighed and leaned my elbows on my knees, digging my nails into my hair.

  My movement must’ve snapped Donna out of it; the sound of pacing stopped. I looked up, my body still bent over itself.

  Donna stood in the middle of her room, frowning at me, her hands on her hips. “Mena, what the fuck was that?”

  I opened my mouth, no idea how to answer, but what came out wasn’t words. It was a sob.

  Tears came so quickly and so intensely they took my breath away.

  Harlow scooted closer and wrapped her arms around me, while Donna kneeled on the floor and took my hands.

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice sounded strained.

  I glanced at Harlow to see her own eyes were glassy. Amaya was still at Donna’s desk, but she was breathing hard, a look of deep worry on her face.

  “Mena, I’m sorry.” Donna squeezed my hands. “I didn’t mean to attack you. I’m just so angry. I can’t believe those assholes treated you like that. Please, just tell me what’s going on.”

  I took a few shuddering breaths, and even though my heart was in my throat, I told them everything.

  The ignoring and exclusion.

  The mean comments and taunts.

  All the shit on social media—the messages sent to me. At this, Amaya dug my phone out of my bag and demanded my password. I keyed it in, any resistance to them learning the whole ugly truth gone. She scrolled through, her eyes widening, her teeth clenching, her hand eventually covering her mouth in horror.

  I told them about the printouts of screenshots when I’d tried to get off social media, about the incident in the bathroom last year. Swallowing any pride I had left, I even told them about Turner. All of it. Right up to how he’d done nothing just hours earlier.

  I purged it all, laying my dirty, repulsive secrets at their feet to stain Donna’s pristine carpet, just as my sticky uniform was staining her sheets.

  By the time I’d finished speaking, I was drained, my eyelids heavy, my shoulders slumped. I sighed again and looked around at them.

  Silent but steady tears were flowing down Harlow’s cheeks. Amaya had one fist pressed to her mouth, her other arm crossed over her chest with my phone still in her hand.

  Donna had remained sitting at my feet, her legs under her, her nails digging into the carpet. “Do your parents know about this?”

  “No,” I rushed out, her question drawing me out of the numbness I’d fallen into.

  “Your teachers? We need to tell—”

  “No!” I shot to my feet. “You think I haven’t tried? You think I want to live like this? You think I haven’t gone over every fucking possible way out in my mind? There is no way out.”

  Donna slowly stood up as I ranted, my hands balled into fists. But it was Amaya who made the next move.

  She bolted across the room and smashed into me, squeezing me tightly in her arms. “Oh my god, Mena. Oh my god!”

  For a beat I just stood there, stunned, my arms hanging at my sides. Amaya was as tough as Donna and even more of a bitch—in a good way. I’d never seen anything get to her. Ever. She was stone cold. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d wished I was as resilient and cool as her.

  I hugged her back, closing my eyes and letting myself be comforted. Donna wrapped her arms around us both, and Harlow completed the group hug on our other side. We just stood like that for a while.

  Everything was fucked up beyond measure, but at least I had them. I knew now they didn’t simply tolerate me, as I sometimes worried they did; they genuinely considered me as much a friend of theirs as I considered them friends of mine. I wasn’t an occasional, annoying, poor fourth wheel in their group. I was one of them.

  “We love you, Mena.” Harlow’s voice sounded so small. Had she stopped crying at all? “We’ve got you, girl. Whatever you want to do, we’ll have your back.”

  “Always,” Amaya agreed fiercely, her words right in my ear.

  “Without a shadow of a doubt,” Donna added. “But, girl, what’s the deal with your parents? And the teachers? Why is no one doing anything to stop this?”

  “I’ll explain,” I said. “But . . . er . . . can I do it sitting down? I’m getting kind of hot here, guys.”

  We all chuckled and separated. We’d been standing in a vertical puppy pile for a good five minutes.

  “How about showers first?” Amaya frowned down at her previously white skirt, pulling the fabric away from her perfect legs. Splotches of pale pink marred the pristine fabric.

  My eyes widened. “Shit! Sorry, Amaya. I . . .” I was about to say I’d pay for it, but I was pretty certain I couldn’t afford to replace that. Maybe I could pay for the dry cleaning.

  She fixed me with a firm look. “Stop. You’re not allowed to be sorry about anything tonight. I hate this fucking skirt anyway. Go. Shower.”

  I smiled at her.

  “I’ll get you some PJs.” Donna headed for her closet.

  “I’ll get us some food.” Harlow gave me a watery smile, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she moved t
oward the door.

  After a nice hot shower in Donna’s bathroom, with six jets working the tightness from my muscles, I dressed in a bamboo cotton set Donna had left on the bench for me. Somehow, it just happened to be in my size. Harlow and I were about the same height, but I was bigger than all of them—I had a feeling the girls had bought this specifically for me. In fact, I had a feeling they had a whole stash of stuff they were just waiting for an opportune moment to give me.

  When I came out of the bathroom, the three of them were pulling a mattress through the door, grunting with the effort.

  Harlow flashed me a grin. Her eyes were red, but she’d finally stopped crying. “We’re all sleeping in here tonight. It’ll be like the slumber parties we used to have when you first moved here.”

  I shook my head and helped them pull Donna’s mattress down too. Her room was spacious enough that we could butt the two mattresses together.

  We got comfy in the bedding and pillows, someone put music on, and the next half hour was spent stuffing our faces with junk food. They even had my fave cheddar cheese popcorn. I ate an entire bag by myself and chased it down with chocolate ice cream.

  Just as the food coma was setting in, Donna spoke up. “Mena, why don’t your parents know about this?”

  I sighed. “I’ve wanted to tell them but . . . what’s the point?”

  “What do you mean?” Amaya tried to argue. “They’re your parents. I’m sure they’d want to—”

  “I have no doubt they’d want to help,” I interrupted her. “Don’t get me wrong—it’s not that I think my parents don’t give a shit. It’s that . . . look, you guys don’t understand how much easier some things are when you have money.”

  They all remained silent. This wasn’t something we’d ever discussed, but they weren’t idiots. They knew I was poor—as evidenced by the brand-new PJs I was wearing.

  “My parents both work full time, and it’s just enough to cover our rent, to keep the car running and food in the fridge. When they do overtime, sometimes we can do extra things like go to the movies or get a pizza or whatever. I stopped asking for things a long time ago, because I learned we can’t afford them. The only reason I can buy clothes and makeup is because I work.”

  They were listening, but they looked confused, obviously missing the connection.

  “If I tell my parents,” I went on, “they’ll have to come down to the school, talk to my teachers. They’ll miss work—money we can’t afford to miss out on. And then what? I can’t change schools. The only other school that wouldn’t take two or more hours to get to is yours, and they sure as shit can’t afford to send me there. So why stress them out when there’s nothing to be done about it?”

  “OK.” Donna nodded. She was trying to understand, but this was hard for her. She was a doer, a fixer. “They may not be able to let you switch schools, but if they knew the crap you were dealing with, they might be able to get the school to do something about it.”

  I was shaking my head before she’d even finished. “No. I’ve tried. No one gives a shit, you guys.” I groaned and ran my hands through my hair. They were all frowning at me.

  “What?” Harlow looked outraged.

  “When we first moved here, my mom didn’t have a job. My dad was working two just to keep us off welfare. They were out of their minds with stress. And when all this crap started . . . it’s not like I was bashed up on my first day of school. It started with being excluded, ignored, then the name calling and shit talking started. I went home crying after school for a month solid. On the days my parents were there . . . I didn’t have the words to tell them what was happening, and they kind of assumed I was just missing my friends and my old school—that I was struggling to adjust.

  “Eventually, I spoke to a teacher. I told Mr. Young that some of the other kids were picking on me. He reminded me of my grandpa with his gut and the bushy moustache.” I laughed lightly. “But he all but dismissed me, saying I needed to toughen up, get a thicker skin or some shit.

  “When it escalated in sophomore year—the first time Madison shoved me into a wall and then loudly wondered how she’d just bumped into thin air—I reported it to another teacher. We were both called in. Madison denied it, putting on an innocent act. When she left, the teacher said I needed to have proof before accusing other students of serious things. She dismissed it, but Madison sure as fuck didn’t. They were careful to stay out of sight of the teachers, but they made my life a living hell for a whole week.” I didn’t go into details. I didn’t like thinking too much about that week, let alone talking about it.

  “Anyway,” I continued, “a couple of other kids have tried reporting Jayden and his friends too, but it never goes anywhere. The boys are too well liked by the faculty, because they’re on the football team. The girls are fucking smart about how they dish out the torture, making it hard to prove. The school can’t and won’t do anything about it. Trying to report this shit again will just make my life even harder.”

  “God dammit!” Amaya growled and threw a pillow across the room. “This is infuriating. How the fuck have you been dealing with this for three years, Mena? You’re, like, the strongest person I know.”

  I ducked my head and smiled, flattered. I didn’t feel strong. I felt like splinters most days.

  “Honestly, you guys, I can handle it,” I said.

  Disapproving looks fell over their beautiful faces, so I hastened to add, “I know I shouldn’t have to. But I can, and there’s only, like, 155 school days left before I’m free of it. It was having you guys see it that really upset me tonight.” I fiddled with the edge of the cashmere blanket. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want . . .”

  Thinking about him made the lump rise in my throat again.

  “You didn’t want Turner finding out like this.” Harlow squeezed my knee. I nodded, suddenly struggling to meet any of their gazes.

  “Fuck Turner!” Amaya crossed her arms. “He can go fuck himself.”

  I bit back a grin. She was so fierce in her outrage on my behalf. It was downright heartwarming.

  “Which one was he?” Harlow asked.

  “The one in the baseball cap. Tall, bomber jacket, panty-melting voice, broad shoulders . . .”

  Harlow groaned in frustration, and Donna said “fuck” as though she’d just smashed her favorite pair of designer sunglasses.

  “Dammit.” Amaya shook her head. “Why is it always the hot ones?”

  I chuckled, a tiny bit of pride rising in my chest. These beautiful, smart, amazing girls thought my boyfriend was hot. Then I remembered I was pissed at him and didn’t know where we stood after tonight, and my face fell.

  I checked my phone—nothing. He hadn’t even texted to ask if I was OK.

  “What are you gonna do about him?” Harlow nudged me with her shoulder.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Everything is just so fucked up. I want to explain shit. But then I’m so fucking mad he didn’t defend me, or even say anything, and he hasn’t even texted me. Like, does he even care? But then I think about all the things he’s said to me, the real connection we have, and I feel like of course he cares! But then after tonight I’m questioning if that was even real. Like, what if it was all in my head? What if he knew who I was this whole time, and this is just some elaborate prank? I just . . . I feel like I’m going fucking crazy.”

  I growled and flopped back against the pillows.

  Harlow lowered herself onto her belly next to me, her chin in her hands. “I think you just need to talk to him, get it all out in the open. Maybe he didn’t say anything because he was worried it would make it worse for you.”

  I considered that. He had looked uncomfortable sitting there as they’d picked on me. But that could’ve been for any reason. Shit, maybe he had gas!

  “No. Fuck that,” Amaya said, and Harlow rolled her eyes. “Fuck any asshole that isn’t there for you no matter what. Ride or die. He didn’t ride tonight. So, he should just die.
Like, figuratively. In your heart . . . but also maybe literally.”

  I laughed at her murderous tendencies, then sighed. “Donna? What do you think?”

  Donna sat leaning against the bedframe, her legs stretched out and her hands clasped in her lap. She hadn’t said anything in a while.

  “I think you should sleep on it. Whatever you decide, we’ll have your back. And if he hurts you, we’ll fuck him up.” She was so calm when she said it; I had no doubt my determined cousin would find a way to “fuck up” a guy twice her size. “But honestly, I’m more worried about the shit you’re dealing with every day, Mena. You’re being bullied, and I can’t just stand by and let it happen.”

  I sat up. “Donna, please. We’ve been over this. You can’t tell my parents. Or yours. Please.” I wasn’t above begging.

  “I hear you. We won’t tell your parents, but you have to let us help.”

  “What can you possibly do?” I threw my hands up and let them flop onto the soft bedding. I didn’t say it—I’d never say it to them—but sometimes their privilege made them think they could just snap their fingers and have whatever they wanted. The real world didn’t work like that.

  “Maybe we could . . . lean on them a little. Convince them to leave you alone,” she suggested vaguely.

  I frowned. “What? How?”

  “Threaten them. Rough them up a bit.” She shrugged, as if it were no big deal. As if she wasn’t talking about committing crimes.

  Amaya laughed. “OK, Tony Soprano. How are we supposed to do that?”

  Harlow was looking at her sister as though she had a screw loose.

  “We don’t. We get someone else to do it for us. I could make some phone calls,” Donna said cryptically.

  “To whom?” Harlow chimed in. “We know the same people. None of them are hardened criminals.”

  Donna looked around at us and smiled. “Uh . . . I’m sure we could find a way. I’m just brainstorming here. We’ll figure something out. Point is, Mena, you have to let us help you in some way. I can’t just sit around knowing you’re being treated like shit. I refuse to do nothing. The Devilbend Dynasty takes care of its own.”