One would assume that things would be different, now that Martin Dressler is gone. He died last year. Cancer, the bane of humanity. Despite us not being friends, I wanted to reach out to Elias at the time, but I decided against it. My dad was sipping on champagne, snarling and telling me to “leave that little fucker to cry his heart out, like he deserves.” In his mind, the sins of the father are a perfect excuse to try and torment the son, too. He’d tossed the flowers I’d bought in the trash and ripped the card to shreds before drowning the pieces in his glass of scotch. The look in his eyes when he reminded me that the Dresslers were to be avoided made me remember just what it felt like to be at the wrong end of my father’s rage.
You could say that my hatred for Elias was mostly a result of how much I feared my father. That wouldn’t be far from the truth. Still, it didn’t discount the fact that Elias had done his own work to make me hate him. As for my father, a part of me thinks that maybe he’s afraid that the son will succeed where the father did not.
“I don’t get it, though. Why Trinity?” I asked. “Did you talk to him? I know you and Elias are not mortal enemies, like the rest of us.”
Janelle’s more of a peacemaker. But she shakes her head, leaving my curiosity unquenched. “Sorry, no. I only heard from some of the other students about his transfer. They say it’s got something to do with Trinity’s proximity to Amber Lake, the psychiatry clinic. You know, the private one.”
I can feel my eyes growing wide. “Oh, right. His mom’s a patient there…”
“Yeah, they had her committed a few years ago?”
I nod slowly. That was another time I wanted to reach out to Elias and extend an olive branch along with my sympathies. Again, my dad specifically forbade it. I mean, the man can hate with the fire of a thousand suns…
“Either way, I’m in trouble,” I say after a while. “It’s bad enough I’ve got Giselle basically sabotaging me, now Elias is there, too?”
“Kira. Don’t worry about him. Focus on yourself,” Janelle replies. “If you want to dance again, you can’t let anyone or anything get in the way. Especially some old family feud that Mr. Malone dragged us all into…”
I know she’s right, but the irregular rhythm of my heart tells me there’s great danger ahead. Elias is not just a regular disruption. He’s a tornado, mercilessly tearing into my life whenever he gets a chance. Sure, I never shy away from hitting back, but in the end, I’m the one walking away with deep wounds.
Elias knows how to hurt me, and I feel so vulnerable right now.
I’m a bird without wings, and I fear he will not hesitate to cripple me further. He’s handsome, yes, and charming, and smart as a whip… a concentrated mass of self-confidence and sex-appeal. But he’s also cruel.
He broke me more than once. I don’t want him to break me again.
WHEN WE WERE YOUNGER
None of the kids want to be here. Quite frankly, the adults don’t want us to be here either – if the fact that they stuck us in a room with a babysitter is anything to go by. But when your richness means you throw Galas way too often, you’ve got to keep up pretenses. And we, the offspring, get roped right into that.
Tonight, I’m wearing the most pretentious dress I’ve ever worn. It’s a Vera Wang piece – the same lady who made mom’s wedding dress. I’m guessing that’s why I look nothing like a child and everything like one of those toddler in tiara not-at-all-adults. The lace on my arms itches like a thousand fire ants, but I know better than to scratch my skin in public. Instead, the same fake smile my mom wears, is the same fake smile I’ve adapted. Soon enough, I’m sure, it too will slip.
But the dress and the bougie wougie everything aside, the thing that bothers me the most is that Janelle isn’t here. Father found someone else to stick on my tail tonight. Even though he hasn’t caught me uttering a word to the Dressler kid since that day in the park, he’s still extra careful. Still likes to keep more than just his eyes on me. Maybe he can read my mind. Maybe he knows that out of all the kids in this room, he’s the only one I wouldn’t mind hanging out with. The only one who forces me to steal more than just one glance at him. Just like all the other times I’ve seen him, he’s dressed to perfection. His hair freshly cut, his green eyes pop like emeralds in the sun.
“The both of you stay away from the Dressler kid,” dad warns for the umpteenth time. His voice is saccharine sweet. So much so that you’d never guess that he’s the type to make an enemy out of a kid. I’m not stupid enough to miss the warning in his tone, however. Neither do I miss the way mom rolls her eyes. Not that she has any say in the matter. When it comes to the Dresslers, dad pulls all the strings. Hell, over the years it’s become more and more obviously evident that she doesn’t have much of a say in anything, or any strings to pull.
Lena, the kid dad has paired me with, nods her head at my father’s words. She looks a bit like a rat, her face protruding from the nose down. I bet she squeals just like a rat too.
Our parents leave our sides and move into the main room. As soon as the door clicks shut, Elias is by my side. He does this a lot when we’re around each other – waits for our parents to leave in order to make his move. He’s brave like that. Unruly, disobedient, deceptive – all of it. Still, he never lingers for very long. Usually his words don’t make it past ‘hello’ and neither do mine. But rooted in that single word is so much more. Ever since the day I met him in the park, I couldn’t get him out of my head.
I’m sure it’s not natural for a girl my age to think about a boy as much as I think about Elias. It isn’t healthy either – the way my heart quickens. The way my palms sweat.
Right now, both of those things have reached a level they’ve never reached before. This time is not like all the other times he’s managed to sneak in a ‘hello’. Janelle is my friend. Janelle knows how to keep a secret. Janelle isn’t the kind to go flapping her mouth to my dad about me breaking his stupid rules. Lena, though, she’s different.
“Hey Kira,” Elias says. His voice sounds sadder than I’ve heard it. When I look up at his face, I see that the sadness hasn’t only taken a hold of his voice. It’s in his eyes, too. I want so badly to open my arms and hug him the way mom hugs me when I’m not doing alright. But I know better.
I set my jaw and look at the spot over his head. I don’t have it in me to be mean to him while staring into his eyes.
“What do you want, Dressler?” I hiss, calling him by his last name, like it’s some kind of insult. Just the way dad does.
He pulls his hand to the front and reaches out a piece of paper in my direction. “You remember Sally?” he says, still holding the paper out to me.
His green eyes glisten with unshed tears and I can feel my throat starting to close up. So much so that I don’t even bother to answer him, but I do spot the picture on the paper. It’s of his dog. She looks just as beautiful photographed as she does in person.
“We’re not supposed to talk to you, Elias,” Lena chips in, reminding me even more that what’s happening here has already gone too far.
“I’m not talking to you, Stuart Little,” Elias snaps back.
I know that I should come to her defense, if only for the sake of having her keep her mouth shut when my dad is back. But I’m afraid that if I open my mouth, a laugh will slip out instead of words. The truth is, Elias is spot on with that Stuart little reference.
Elias’ eyes find me again and this time, I don’t look away. “Sally died,” he says, just as Lena starts to moan about how much trouble I’m going to get in for talking to him. I’m in the middle of contemplating whether or not to tell Lena to suck on a lemon and offer Elias the hug that I know he could use right now. But just in that moment, I see my dad’s face, peeking through the glass door. Automatically, the foulest words I’ve ever spoken shoot from between my lips. “I don’t care about your stupid dog, Dressler. Maybe she died because she couldn’t stand being around your disease of a family.” Again, dad’s words. They don’t sound anywhe
re near as vile as they do when they leave my father’s lips. But I know they affect Elias. Anger replaces the tears in his eyes and his hands shoot out, crashing against my shoulders, sending me sprawling back into Lena and the table behind us.
“When did we start allowing guests to bring their animals to these events.” That’s my dad’s voice. Followed by my dad’s hands as he pulls me from the ground. The grip he has on me hurts more than the shove I received from Elias. Of course, he doesn’t realize that he’s holding me tight enough to snap my arm in two.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I can do nothing to stop them from falling. I’m not crying because I’m hurt, though. I’m crying because I hate the way being mean to Elias makes me feel. I’m crying because I feel sad for him. And I feel sad for Sally, his dog. And for his mom. I saw, at the park, just how much she loved that dog.
“Little shit,” my dad spits at Elias, who’s shooting venom right back at him with his gaze. All of that is expected, of course. But what I didn’t quite expect, as stupid as it is, is for Elias’ eyes to hold the same amount of hate when he glances back at me.
3
Kira
It’s been months since I’ve been away from the dance hall.
My cast has been off for a long time, and the doctor says it’s fully recovered. But the pain persists, and no number of X-rays can pinpoint the problem. Sometimes, it’s so intense, throbbing up my calf, that I can’t even walk. The only thing that makes it go away, albeit for up to six hours, at best, is the Oxycodone.
The prescription expired months ago, but despite not having gone back to school yet, I’ve managed to keep a valuable connection at Trinity High. Jamil is one of the most tenacious and resourceful juniors I’ve ever met. I can’t remember where I got his number from, or how I knew he dabbled in this stuff, but none of that really matters. The boy has a permanent supply of Oxy and other pills for some reasonable prices. Granted, I’m what he calls a “loyal customer,” much to my shame – and so I get a discount. Jamil will be one hell of a businessman someday.
September has come to the Hamptons with gold and ruby leaves sprinkled through the trees. Sunset is earlier, tracing neon red and orange lines across the sky. It’s colder at night. Sometimes, I forget to close the bedroom window. By morning, my ankle is so stiff and aching that I can’t even touch the ground without tearing up from the pain.
My initial resolve has fizzled away, and I don’t understand what happened. I had high hopes for myself. I was determined to get back to dancing. Hell, I still count the days since they removed the cast. Technically speaking, I’m ready to start recovery. I’ve been ready for three months, now… but the pain keeps me in the same dark void I wake up in every morning. At least the Oxy gives me the numbness I need to get through the day.
I have to admit, it’s made me calmer. Dad and I haven’t fought since the day he came to see me at the hospital. Either something important died between us, or I just stopped giving a shit around the same time he did. He pays for everything, including my physical therapy, but I’ve been skipping the past couple of weeks.
The thought of dancing again is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. The therapist says I move well, that I’ve got full strength in my ankle, but whenever he twists my foot, I cry out in agonizing pain. He suggested it might be psychological, which doesn’t make me feel any better. I’ve spent the past month drowning all the demons out with a mixture of pills and Rhett’s single malt whisky, anyway. I’m warm and fuzzy, but I feel wrong. Something is missing, and I know what it is… but I just can’t bring myself to say it out loud.
It would mean accepting that I have a problem.
It’s my first day back at school. My dad, for all his faults, has been generous enough to have teachers come to our house for homeschooling. I don’t want to know how much that cost him, but I am thankful, for he spared me the horror of dealing with Giselle and Lorna… and Elias, on a daily basis. He didn’t say much when he did that, either. He just acknowledged that I needed time away from Trinity High—maybe he hoped it would put the fire out where Giselle, in particular, is concerned. I still feel like breaking both her legs, though. She fucking ruined me.
Janelle has joined the evening school program, since dad’s been giving her more work. That internship at Fowler & Malone is going to land her an executive position, soon enough. I’m sure of it. Fortunately for her, with enough money and strings pulled—many of them courtesy of my dad, Janelle doesn’t have to sacrifice her school activities in anyway. She works with the company during the first part of the day, then heads to class in the afternoon. She’s exhausted, but determined to see this through.
“It’s our last year. Might as well make it epic,” Janelle said to me, not that long ago. Of course, her definition of “epic” belongs to the realm of nerds and overachievers, but that is why I love her.
I stand outside the school building, its reddish brick façade making my stomach tighten, ever so slightly. The morning sun gleams through the French windows, and it carries the faint promise of a better day than yesterday. It’s a beautiful lie, but I’m willing to indulge for as long as I can.
“Holy shit, that’s Kira Malone,” a voice stands out in the river of students flowing through the main entrance. The flocks are headed to class, and I’m supposed to join them, but there’s a ghost ulcer making everything all the more difficult, for some reason. I could’ve stayed another month at home but… as much as I hate to admit it, my dad’s right. I can’t hide in the house forever.
“Yo, she’s back,” another student whispers, a little too close to me.
I ignore the stares and the hushed murmurs, and I make my way up the stairs. The Oxy is doing its job, and I’m able to walk like nothing happened. Like there wasn’t any surgery required for my mangled ankle. Like I didn’t cry myself to sleep for ten months straight. I pay good money for this concealer, too, though. I just don’t want anyone thinking I’m done and over with, even though this limbo I’m in feels exactly like that.
If only Janelle were here. We’d go in together, laughing and pretending that everything’s okay. Alas, I’m on my own. I have to do this.
As soon as I reach the central hallway, a mere blip in the crowd of nicely dressed geese, I spot a familiar figure waiting for me, just several yards ahead. Principal Hargreaves. He checks his watch first, a simple but ridiculously expensive Audemars Piguet, courtesy of a bribe from some rich kid’s parents. As soon as he sees me, his greenish eyes light up, the glimmer amplified by the rectangular lenses of his glasses. He’s in his mid-sixties, but the man sure knows how to dress to impress. No wonder most of the teachers are swooning over him—male and female alike.
“Kira! Welcome back!” he says, all smiles. I have to give this guy credit, though. He’s the one who approved the overtime for Trinity teachers to homeschool me. I do reckon it has something to do with a sizeable donation made to his charity, but even so, props to Hargreaves.
“Good morning, sir,” I reply. There’s not enough strength for me to offer a smile in return, but I hope my eyes say enough. “Nice to be back.”
“How are you feeling?” Hargreaves asks, as students move past us. “I understand you’ve made a full recovery.”
“For the most part,” I say. He motions for us to step to the side, lest we find ourselves trampled under the thickening current of people looking for their lockers and their classrooms. “It’s a slow journey…”
“Do you think you’ll be able to audition for The Nutcracker again in November? Madame Olenna has moved the audition dates in hopes of having you join them.”
My heart swells a little. I owe that woman so much. I’m a prolific ballerina thanks to her poking and prodding and obsession for perfection. Was. I was a prolific ballerina. Maybe I will be again.
“That’s very kind of her,” I murmur.
Principal Hargreaves seems tense, his smile straining with every second that goes by. There’s something else he wants to tell me, but I ha
ve a feeling he’s still working up the courage. “You should give it a shot, Kira. We all believe in you.”
I don’t know whom he’s referring to when he says ‘we,’ but I take it as an encouragement, nonetheless. “Thank you, sir. I’ll see what my therapist says, first.”
“Good. Please, don’t give up. You’re our star dancer,” Hargreaves replies, his expression stiffening further. “In the meantime, I have to ask you for a favor. I know that what happened with your ankle was an unfortunate accident—”
“If you want to call it that, sure,” I grumble, lowering my gaze for a moment. I emailed him a few months back, asking about the investigation results, since the school has its own investigative bodies for incidents such as mine. Hargreaves promised to get back to me, but I’ve not heard from him on this topic since. I could have asked my father to give him a little prod, of course. But I didn’t want the disappointment of hearing my own father remind me that he’d much prefer it if I gave up on my dream.
“There is no definitive proof that Giselle might have done it on purpose,” he says. “I am sorry we couldn’t be more conclusive about this. Which is why I hope you will not be seeking any kind of retribution against her. You are both students of Trinity, and I doubt I will be able to protect you, should you choose to consider exacting a personal vendetta.”
I stare at him for half a minute, wondering whether I should torch his ass for asking me this or just let it slide, since he’s got the school’s best interest at heart. Nobody wants to pay big bucks to a school where students like me go all out and break the legs of bitches who ruined their future careers.
Beautiful Hell: A Contemporary High School Bully Romance Page 4