Vindictive: High School Bully Romance (Kennedy Acadmey Book 2)

by Mae Doyle

  Vindictive

  High School Bully Romance

  Kennedy Academy

  Mae Doyle

  Contents

  Title Page

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Five Years Later

  This is a work of art/fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events, or places is purely coincidental. Any persons appearing on the cover image for this book are models and do not have any connection to the contents of this story.

  All characters depicted in this work are unrelated consenting adults. This author assumes no responsibility for the use/misuse of this material.

  © 2020 May Doyle

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  Chapter 1

  Clay

  2 Years Ago

  ***

  I never thought that this would be my life. I hate it.

  I’m in the rain. Surrounded by friends and other people I barely know. Even though I have an umbrella, mud is caking onto my shoes. Every time I shift my feet, I feel it sucking at me.

  I’m watching my girlfriend get lowered into the ground.

  Well, she’s not my girlfriend anymore. Not since the accident.

  Tombstones stick up around us like teeth, angry and broken, but hers is bright white. Clean. Perfect. Like she was just a few days ago.

  “Pay attention, Clayton,” my dad hisses in my ear, squeezing my shoulder. “You need to look like you’re feeling a little remorse.” I’d love to turn and talk to him, but this is the most he’s spoken to me since I killed her. He and my mom can barely look at me. The only person in my house talking to me is my sister, Bethany.

  As much as I’d like to, I can’t look at him. He has no idea how much remorse I feel that I’m the reason Tiffany’s cold body is in that casket.

  None of them do.

  It’s early afternoon, but the clouds are so low and heavy in the sky that it feels like it’s almost night. Everyone’s wearing black, except for Tiffany’s mom, who’s wearing pink. She looks out of place, but it is - was - Tiffany’s favorite color.

  She looks like damn cotton candy. She teeters on skinny heels that keep pressing into the mud and has definitely had something to drink today. Her long hair is stuck to the sides of her face and her mascara’s running. Instead of looking like she’s mourning her daughter, she looks like she’s been out all night.

  Partying.

  I wonder what they’re going to do in her house tonight. Mine? Mine will be quiet. I’m not grounded, not technically, but I don’t want to see anyone, and they sure as hell don’t want me around. Their son, the murderer.

  The pastor has finished talking and now people are throwing handfuls of dirt onto the coffin. It’s probably supposed to be romantic, but they’re clods of mud that fall with a wet thunk and hit the wood. I should take some and bury my girlfriend, but I can’t.

  There’s already blood on my hands. I don’t need them to be muddy, too.

  My feet are sinking into the dirt and I’ve given up holding my umbrella. Before I get too soaked, Teague comes over and holds his over me.

  “You don’t need to get dripping wet, man.” When I open my mouth to say something nothing comes out.

  He gets it. He was there the night she died, although nobody else knows this. Nobody needs to know the real reason why Tiffany’s dead.

  Now people are starting to leave the cemetery, but I have no desire to go. I want to stand here until I sink into the dirt. I want to die and be buried just like Tiffany.

  Maybe then I can actually feel something again. The only thing I’ve felt since she died was cold.

  Not happy, not horny. Nothing.

  No remorse. I’m too far gone to feel remorse.

  “Fuck the umbrella.” I grab it from Teague and throw it onto the ground. It splashes in a puddle, but neither one of us move to pick it up.

  My dad is watching me, but nobody says anything.

  “Fuck this.” I turn on my heel, mud caking to the bottom of my shoes.

  “Where are you going?” Teague leaves his umbrella in the mud and walks to keeps up with me. “You need a ride home?”

  I stare at him. “You think I can’t fucking drive anymore? That I’m a pussy after what happened?”

  Teague pales a little but he doesn’t step back. I watch as rain drips down his hair and cheeks. It’s cold, but neither of us are wearing coats.

  “No, you can drive. Shit, Clay, I was just trying to help you out.”

  “I don’t want your help.” I push past him to the parking lot, digging into my pocket for my keys. “I just want to forget that any of this ever happened, okay? You think that you can do that for me? Just forget that any of this ever fucking happened.”

  Teague lets me go, just like I knew he would.

  We may be friends, but everyone’s scared of me now.

  Nobody’s going to press charges against me, the fucking prince of the town. My dad is the judge, and nobody wants to piss him off.

  Everyone knows that I’m the reason that Tiffany Morris is cold and dead in the ground, but nobody’s going to say a damn thing.

  I slam the door to my car and feel the water soaking into the seat.

  Fuck it. Fuck my new car that my parents bought me after the accident. Fuck everyone here who acted like they were close with Tiffany while she was alive.

  She’s all I want and now she’s gone forever.

  She was the only thing helping me hold it together. Now I don’t give a shit about anything. I broke the one good thing in my life and now I have nothing.

  Chapter 2

  Elle

  There’s nothing pleasant about moving. In fact, it sucks, especially since I had to leave all of my friends behind. This house, this town, everything about it sucks. Glancing in the mirror one last time, I tuck my hair behind my ear and try to smile.

  The face looking back at me looks haunted and hollow. I consider swiping on a little mascara, but I don’t think that there’s really anything that I can do to fix the way I look.

  Frankly, I look like shit.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I pull it back and into a ponytail. Even my hair has lost its usual shine. Ever since I found out that my mom was going to be marrying Ted and we’d be moving, I haven’t really felt like myself.

  That doesn’t bode well when moving to a new school. Leaning forward, I wipe a bit more of the fog off of my bathroom mirror and then take a step back. I’ve lost some weight in the past few weeks and my face looks gaunter than normal.

  So much for making a good first impression.

  I’ve never met any of the kids I’m going to go to school with, but I do know one thing: teenagers can smell blood in the water. That’s why I’m spending more time than I normally would trying to get ready. I want to make sure that nothing about me really stands out. If I can just blend in, make it through
the rest of the year, and then graduate, then I’ll be good.

  I’ve got this.

  Well, that’s what I keep telling myself, but quite frankly? I still look terrible. On second thought, maybe a bit of mascara would help. I brush some on and then slap my cheeks, trying to bring some color back to them. If I didn’t look so fucking pale, like a corpse, maybe I could fit in better.

  We’ve moved enough that I should be comfortable with it, but one more time in the middle of my senior year? Well, it sucks.

  Taking one last look around my room before I leave, I sigh. We’ve only been in town for a weekend, and as much as I begged my mom to let me have the week off to get settled in before going to school, she said no.

  Probably because she’s too excited to be spending the day breaking in her new bed with her new husband. He’s the reason that we moved states away from my hometown, and he’s the reason that I’m now being shipped off to Kennedy Academy.

  “Only the best for my new daughter,” Ted had crowed when he handed me the information packet. What a load of shit. All high schools are the same, and calling it a prep school for advanced kids doesn’t make it any more special than any of the other high schools in the area.

  No matter how much I pushed back against going there, he and my mom stood their ground. “We’re a united front honey,” she’d whispered to me later, when he wasn’t listening. After he’d left my room.

  I shiver and try to forget the way that he looks at me. Ted married my mom, for God’s sake, but the only thing he wants to do is stare at me.

  I hate that my room doesn’t look like my space and it won’t for days. There are boxes stacked up against the wall and the movers lost my bed frame, so my mattresses are on the floor. It’s hard to unpack and feel like this place is home when all of my things are still packed away.

  It’s not like we were rich back in Florida, but even though our house was small and kind of shitty, we were happy. At least, I thought we were.

  Maybe my mom hasn’t been happy for years. It just sucks that I have to trade my happiness for her to finally be happy.

  Even though most of my things are still packed up, I did unpack my old teddy bear, which has made it through all of the moves I’ve been through. He’s perched on my bed next to my pjs. I’m already counting down the hours until I can come home and put them back on. In addition to my bear, my violin is probably my favorite possession in the whole world.

  Outside my window I have a great view of the garden, which right now is mostly a dirt patch with some half dead roses growing in it. My mom promised that I could get some money from her to buy new plants, but now that we’re here, I don’t know that I’ll actually see a penny of it.

  She’s great at making promises, but really shitty at following through on them. Not like that mattered when I was younger. I could always just spend time with my friends, but now that I don’t have anyone to rely on, it sucks.

  I know that I should head downstairs for school, but I take a moment to look out my window. The trellis under my window looks old but I have a feeling I could still climb it without it breaking if I really wanted to. I’m smaller than a lot of kids my age, not only because I’m thinner than usual after the stress of moving, but I’m only 4” 11’.

  Yeah, that makes for some fun times at school.

  “Elle, the bus is almost here!” My mom’s voice carries easily through the paper thin walls of our new house and I grab my backpack and violin case before heading downstairs.

  “You going to make new friends today? Gonna have a great day?” She offers me a piece of toast, but I ignore her, instead pouring myself a cup of coffee and dumping in some sugar.

  My mom looks happier than I’ve seen her in a while, and she actually has clothes on. Well, not that I’d count a mini-skirt and a tank top on a woman her age as real clothing, but she’s not wearing lingerie.

  I’ll count that as a win. She also has on a full face of makeup and a huge necklace that Ted said came from his mother before she died.

  The coffee is strong and I take another sip, feeling the caffeine run through my veins. Fortifying me. Helping me prepare for the shit day ahead of me.

  Ted is leaning on the counter. “Don’t you see that your mom made you breakfast, Elle? I don’t think that you have any reason to be rude to her.” He’s got on cowboy boots, which is ridiculous, since he works in sales, and has combed his hair to the side to hide his bald spot.

  Every time I look at him, he makes eye contact with me and grins. I hate the way he licks his bottom lip, the tip of his pink tongue snaking out and grazing over his skin. I swear, I have no idea what my mom sees in him, but for some reason, she believes that he’s what she needed.

  He got her out of Florida and into this dump, so it’s not what I’d call a win.

  “She toasted a slice of dry bread, Ted. I hardly think that that counts as cooking. Or parenting.” I take a huge sip of my coffee and stare at him over the rim, daring him to respond.

  He opens his mouth to say something, but I push past him and walk outside. As soon as I do, I know that I’ve made a mistake.

  Fuck, it’s cold. Florida was never this cold, but Massachusetts is my own personal hell, so of course it’s going to be sweater weather.

  I don’t own a sweater. Since we moved so quickly and I didn’t really have a chance to go shopping before our trip, I didn’t bring acceptable clothing with us. I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb at Kennedy Academy.

  Yeah, like I wasn’t going to already. Like my mousy hair, the fact that my clothes hang off of my body, and the fact that I live on the shit side of town aren’t putting me apart from the rest of my peers, I have to contend with wearing a damn tank top in the freezing weather.

  At least it’s not snowing, right?

  The bus appears at the end of the street and I watch with apprehension as it comes closer. No senior should have to ride the bus in high school, but here I am, a new kid, about to get onto the stinky bus with other kids who don’t have cars.

  Ted offered to drive me to school, but I don’t want to spend anymore time with him than I have to. He gives me the creeps after he crawled into my bed our first night here. Now all I want to do is escape. Escape my house, escape this town, escape Kennedy Academy.

  Escape my life.

  I used to have a car and that’s all I can think about as I board the bus and look around. If my mom hadn’t sold it before we moved well…

  I’d still be here in Blacksburg, but I wouldn’t be getting on this damn bus, that’s for sure.

  Everyone grows quiet as I stand at the front and look down the aisle. This is something that they don’t teach you in class – where you sit matters. What you wear? It matters. How you breathe?

  Everything.

  They also don’t tell you how much a bus smells. Hormones and sweat. It’s disgusting and I can’t help but wrinkle my nose when I catch my first whiff.

  I choose a seat towards the back and scrunch up against the window. I know that I don’t look like a senior. Everyone here probably thinks that I’m a stupid freshman, and that’s okay with me. I just want to make it through the rest of this year alive.

  ***

  “Elle Suttles? Yeah, I have your schedule right here. If you wait a moment, I’ll get an ambassador to show you around.” The school secretary glances at me, a curious smile on her face.

  An ambassador? Shit, this place is over the top. I was expecting to have my printed schedule shoved in my hand and to get pointed in the right direction of my first class, but Kennedy Academy is nothing but classy.

  The halls of Kennedy Academy are packed, and people keep bumping into me as they walk by. Instinctively, I lift my violin case and hug it against my chest while I wait. The secretary calls someone on a bright red phone and then turns back to me, a triumphant smile on her face.

  The ambassador must be on their way.

  The secretary leans over her desk towards me, a huge smile on her face. It’s inc
redible that she can even smile with as much Botox as I think she probably has. I can smell her perfume from here and I almost gag. She looks like everyone else in this stupid town – blond with big hair, bigger tits, and fake lips.

  “Bethany Bryson will be here in just a minute to show you around. She’s just the best, I’m sure that you two will be wonderful friends.”

  I eye her suspiciously and don’t answer. I’m not here to make friends, and I seriously doubt that this woman has any idea the type of people I want to hang out with. Also, there’s something about her that seems off. She keeps eyeballing me like she wants to say something but is afraid to.

  “You know,” she finally bursts out, “I swear that you could be a dead ringer for someone who used to go to school here! It’s crazy. That’s part of the reason I called Bethany. She and Tiffany knew each other really well. I think that she’ll get a kick out of you being here. Just look.”

  She points over my head and I turn around to see what could have her so excited. Across the hall there’s a huge painting hanging up on the trophy wall. The secretary may be ditzy, but she’s not stupid. Looking into the painting is just like looking into a mirror.

  “What the hell?” I push my way through the crowd of students to get a closer look. The girl’s hair is a bit longer than mine and her eyes are darker, but we have the same face shape, the same expression, everything.

  It’s beyond creepy.

  Under the picture is a plaque, and I’m leaning forward to read what’s written on it when there’s a rough tap on my shoulder.

  “You must be Elle.” The girl standing behind me has her hip jutted out to one side, her hand resting on it. She’s snapping her gum and staring at me. If I thought that I was going to look out of place in a tank top, I was out of my mind. This girl has on the shortest skirt and cheerleading top that I’ve ever seen. The difference between the two of us is that she’s not covered in goose bumps and I’m absolutely freezing.