“Sir, I am not interested in any form of conflict,” I say, almost mechanically. “I just want to go back to dancing.” He seems to relax upon hearing this. There’s even another smile coming but it fades quickly as I continue with the rest of my statement. “However, should Giselle or Lorna or anyone else associated with them decide to harass or attack me in any way, I cannot guarantee that I will not hit back, twice as hard. You should know me well enough by now to understand that I’m not the kind of person who just takes shit from people, especially frustrated and talentless scabs like Giselle Brooks.”
“Talentless or not, she is the prima ballerina of Trinity High, for the time being,” Hargreaves replies dryly. “It has resulted in generous donations to the school’s arts fund from her parents.” Only heavens knows how many cocks her mother had to suck to muster up the cash. Giselle might be able to afford the tuition here, but she’s not exactly the definition of RICH.
I scoff. “Then I should definitely break her legs. Madame Olenna would have no choice but to make Lorna the prima ballerina in my absence. At least she’s got talent.”
“Kira—”
“I’m kidding, sir,” I chuckle softly. Deep down, maiming Giselle is still an option on the table, but he doesn’t need to know about it. “Rest assured, I will not initiate any kind of trouble here.”
Only half-assured, Principal Hargreaves nods once. “I’m glad to hear that. Now, I’ll let you get to class. You don’t want to be late on your first day back.”
I give him a faint smile, a dull ache settling in my ankle. Fumbling through my jacket pocket, my fingers find and clasp the silver pillbox I always carry with me. It’s there if I need it. I should take one now…
It’s too early. I took one a couple of hours ago. My mind shoots the thought back at me. Abandoning that idea, I leave Principal Hargreaves behind, too, and head to my locker, at the far end of the central hallway. My first class is a couple of doors back from it, but I need to drop my bag first and check that no one messed with my locker while I was gone. I wouldn’t put anything past Giselle at this point.
Cold shivers run through me as I spot Elias outside my classroom, leaning against the wall and laughing at something Giselle just said. Of all people, Giselle. Because Trinity isn’t filled with breasts of desperation waiting for him to swirl ecstasy around their nipples. I squint once. And then twice. Just to see if I’m imagining shit. Honestly, this has to be some kind of joke. When my gaze refocuses on them again, I know that I’m not just seeing things.
Lorna’s with them, too, but she’s not the one he’s fucking. No, Elias is doing Giselle—it’s evident from their body language, from the way she basically rubs herself against him. He’s got a hand on her hip, fingers working under the hem of her white shirt, and I dry-swallow hard, resisting the bile rising up to my throat.
This is quickly shaping up to be a worst-case scenario. My worst enemy, Elias, with the queen bitch herself, Giselle. I can only imagine how these two might plot against me. Lorna doesn’t worry me. She won’t do anything without her bestie’s approval, anyway, which is downright pathetic, and she’s also extremely predictable. Giselle, not so much. No, Giselle is dangerous, and Elias is even worse. He knows too much about me.
I can’t let them see me worried about them, so I put on a straight face. It feels like concrete paralyzing my cheeks, but I hold onto the sensation as I walk past them. There are more students around me, moving in the same direction. Hopefully, none of the three assholes noticed me.
“Welcome back, Kira,” Giselle’s soft voice comes through, and my jaw clenches, almost reflexively. Son of a bitch.
I reach my locker, with Elias, Giselle and Lorna just a few feet to my right, now. Turning my head slowly, I find that none of them are smiling—not even in a sarcastic or murderous way. I give them a brief nod and work the combination into my lock, then open the door while holding my breath. There’s nothing in here to cause any alarm. It’s untouched, thank the stars.
Shoving my bag inside, I retrieve a couple of books, a notepad and a pen before I put the lock back on. I can feel their eyes on me this whole time, burning through my skin and into my flesh.
“I see you’re walking fine,” Giselle adds, obviously looking to stir some kind of trouble. Dammit, it’s my first day. I really don’t want to indulge her this early in the game. But she’s probably dying to rub her prima ballerina position in my face.
“I see you’re still crap with sarcasm,” I mutter, walking towards them. There’s no other way in, unfortunately. I have to interact with these three in order to get to class. The pain in ankle begins to swell, blistering heat working outwards to make my existence miserable, once more. Perfect timing.
Elias cocks his head to the side. “Aren’t you going to welcome me to Trinity High? I’m new here,” he says, a mischievous sparkle in his forest green eyes. He’s cut his hair since I last saw him as they wheeled me out of the dance hall. It looks good on him. Elias is bursting with sex appeal, as usual. Damn him. If he were ugly, it’d be so much easier not to hate him as much as I do. But then again, if he were ugly, he wouldn’t be able to get away with half the shit he does.
“I’m sure the school’s welcoming committee handled that already,” I reply dryly, eager to get into class. Elias moves, putting himself between me and my path.
“Yeah, but I would appreciate a warmer welcome from you, in particular, since we go way back and all that.”
Giselle perks up at that and pushes herself closer to Elias. I’m not sure how much he’s told her about us, but if the way she’s acting is anything to go by, he hasn’t said much. She’s trying to claim her territory – to make it known that he belongs to her and her alone. Good for the both of them.
Rolling my eyes, I take a deep breath and shoot him a cold and flat smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Welcome to Trinity High, Elias. I can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you here, but I will do my best to stay away since you’re such a fucking pain in my ass—and not the good kind, either. I hope you’ve got your class schedule already. Stay away from the linguini they occasionally serve here. It’s definitely one of the lesser dishes prepared at Trinity. Oh, and try not to get too involved with the ladies here. Some,” I say, looking at Giselle and Lorna for a moment, “have souls so tiny and black, yet legs so easily spreadable...”
“I see defeat has made you quite bitter,” Giselle snickers.
“If you call breaking my ankle on purpose defeat, sure, Toots,” I reply dryly, then look at Elias again. “Now, move the fuck out of my way.”
He smirks, with no intention to let me through. The hate between us is almost palpable. It’s been going on for years, and while our venomous exchange might draw a gasp from those around us, Elias and I are actually used to it. In fact, it’s our way of saying hello to one another. We’ve been taught to exist as enemies.
I do remember a time when we tried to get past it, but it blew up in our faces.
“That’s my girlfriend you’re calling a whore,” he says.
“I only said ‘easily spreadable’ legs. It doesn’t necessarily imply such a harsh word, Elias. But if you think your girlfriend is a whore, maybe you should tell her now, before you guys get in too deep,” I hit back, the rage bubbling beneath a perfectly still surface. My ankle is hurting more and more, which makes me itch for another pill, but I have to keep some kind of control over this. I have to…
“Kira, I’m sure there are other career opportunities for you,” Elias sighs, crossing his arms. “And I understand you must have some frustrations, now that Giselle is above you. Maybe that’s why you’re lashing out. Maybe you’re projecting something. Either way, you should fuck off into a dark corner, you’re beginning to feel like a sore sight for my eyes.”
There’s a string of expletives waiting to get splattered all over him. I’m gripping my books a little too tight against my chest, my other hand balled into a fist around the pen. The devil in me wants me to stab him in the eye with it. But that
would just make me look like an idiot in front of Principal Hargreaves, for whom I do harbor an inkling of respect.
“You’re the one who’s in my way, Elias,” I ultimately say.
Giselle smiles. “It’s a shame we won’t be seeing you in ballet class. I noticed you didn’t sign up at the beginning of the year.”
There’s a perverse satisfaction oozing out of her, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let her have any. No, she almost destroyed me. I may not feel like I’m ready to come back. I may never come back… But Giselle cannot win today.
“That’s because I’ve been studying from home, Walmart Barbie,” I reply. “I’m here now.”
Elias finally steps aside, just as Giselle is about to say something. He keeps her to the side, though, squeezing her upper arm, as if to keep her quiet. Surprisingly, she obeys and just bares her pearly whites at me like a caged animal. Lorna can’t even look at me anymore. I know she knows. I know there’s a thread of common sense inside of her, still, otherwise she’d be just as vocal against me as Giselle is.
I go inside, suddenly welcoming the sea of surprised looks. No one thought I’d come back—at least that’s what the students’ expressions are telling me. Slipping into the last desk by the window, I pop the pillbox open without taking it out of my pocket. The Oxy disappears between my lips without anyone noticing, and I swallow it, hoping it will dull the pain again.
My ankle is burning, and it has taken every conceivable effort to stop myself from crying. Elias, Giselle and Lorna come in, taking their seats. Elias steals a glance at me and, for the briefest of moments, I swear there’s a semblance of sympathy in his eyes. Maybe he can see my pain. I don’t know…
What I do know is that the Oxy is starting to matter too much, and I fear I might be losing control soon. I want to dance again, but… fuck, it’s starting to kick in. The pain in my leg is magicked away.
I look at Elias. That softness in his gaze is gone. There’s hate, now. He wants to start some kind of war, it seems. Our previous scuffles haven’t taught him anything. If he wants a war, he’ll get one. But I won’t be the one moving to another school, this time around.
My mind clears up, and my objectives begin to stand out, once more. It’s my last year of high school, and I am not letting this conniving bastard nor that bleached tart ruin it for me. Not when there’s another Julliard scout coming to the winter show this year, as well.
4
Kira
If there’s one thing my dad knows how to do well, aside from his business, it’s throwing a party. Where he lacks in the fatherhood department, he sort of makes up for in his charity events. Our house is packed every other month with one to two hundred people, each eager to sign checks for some of his charities.
William Malone supports many causes—though, to be honest, I doubt he actually cares about dolphins and orphans and ALS. It’s mostly for tax purposes. But the parties… damn. Tonight, he’s hosting a masquerade ball sprawling on the whole ground level of our house, as well as the back garden. There’s a DJ playing some smooth electronic music, the bass rippling through the lounge area and upwards into the first-floor rooms.
I stand in the open hallway above, overlooking the crowd—sequin details of gold and silver, Venice carnival-style masks, many custom-made and fitted with Swarovski crystals; bare-back dresses and snazzy tuxedos; expensive watches and Harry Winston neck-pieces; French champagne and caviar; the epitome of pretentiousness crammed into one mansion, all for the sake of pretending that they care about the environment while they look perfect for the cameras. The local tabloids will have a field day with this party. My dad makes sure of it, whenever he organizes an event.
Some heiress will get pissed tonight and jump into the pool. There will probably be a sex tape circulating on Pornhub tomorrow, featuring at least one trust-fund baby and two of the waiters. All the service staff are proficient exotic dancers who underwent several hours of hospitality service training. It’s part of the schtick. Everyone looks good. Everyone gets drunk. At least half will be snorting cocaine in dad’s private lounge by midnight.
By tomorrow, the Hampton Height’s Nature Fund will receive at least two million dollars in donations from this event. You take the good with the bad, I guess…
I don’t want to be here tonight, but I can’t show any weakness going forward. I’m back in school now, and I’m eyeing that Nutcracker audition again. Chances are my ankle won’t let me go through with any of my recovery plans, but I’ll try, nonetheless. Most importantly, I cannot let anyone see I’m suffering.
It’s nine in the evening, and the party is just getting started. I keep a bottle of vodka in my room, so I’ve already warmed up—just enough to be able to tolerate all the snazzy bullshit that the guests will throw in my face.
Bracing myself for a few hours of fake smiles and even faker compliments, I down the rest of my glass and leave it on a side table as I make my way down the stairs.
“There you are,” Dad says, standing at the bottom of the semi-circular stairs. He looks dashing in his tux. I remember the younger version of him in a similar attire, but with mom’s arm hooked around his. She was always a vision… “Took you forever.”
I glare at him, unwilling to get into an argument this early. There isn’t enough alcohol in my system to put up with his garbage. “Be thankful I even came down,” I reply dryly.
“You look beautiful,” he mutters, briefly smiling. I suppose I remind him of mom. I’m a lot like her. The blonde hair, the blue eyes, the pale skin. I’m wearing a long and tight black dress, layers of silk and tulle overlapping. Diamond glimmer around my neck, paired with a delicate bracelet and teardrop earrings. My Venetian mask is bigger than most, with satiny black feathers fanning out and tiny crystals mounted in elegant swirls over the temples. If there’s one thing I stay true to, it’s the image of a Malone. Flawless, never giving the tabloids a reason to rub their hands together.
“The Malones are entertainers,” my mom used to say. She loved these events. She was adamant that our fraternization with the guests had its limits. If anyone wanted to engage in any kind of debauchery, it was our job to facilitate, not to participate—which is why no one ever sees my dad snorting coke lines in his lounge along with his guests.
“How’s it looking so far?” I ask Dad. Mentally, I am somewhere else. Physically, I certainly fit into this loud and glittery picture.
“Quite mixed, if I’m honest,” Dad replies. “The oldies are mostly flocked around the cocktail bar. The young ones, as you can see, are already high as kites and gradually moving the party out in the garden.”
“Not a bad thing, if you ask me,” I mutter. “It minimizes the risk of anyone puking in the Murano vases.”
Dad chuckles. “Oh, honey, I’ve had those put away, already.”
Looking around, I see what he means. Glass copies have replaced them on every single display surface—not that I can blame him. A single piece costs about five to ten grand. We may be rich, but we’re not wasteful, my dad likes to say. I guess it’s this mentality that has kept him above the line for decades.
“Smart move,” I say, and we smile at each other for a most precious second. It’s one of those rare moments where my dad and I are in a sync of sorts. “For how long do I have to be here? I’ve got ballet practice in the morning.”
Dad frowns, his eyes scanning my face. “You’re still going ahead with that?”
“I told you I wasn’t going to quit.”
The music is loud and getting on my nerves, so this is the last conversation I’d like to have right now. The sooner I end it, the better. “Kira, we talked about this,” he says, and I raise a hand to silence him.
“No, you talked. Let’s not get into this right now.”
“Fucking hell. You have better things to do with your life. You need to grow up already. Janelle might be good at her job, but I need you to take over when the time is right,” he says, his voice low. “Dancing was nice and fun while you were a kid
, but you’re eighteen now, and it’s time to start acting like an adult.”
I’m about to respond, when something catches my eye. I know most of the people here tonight—socialites and heiresses, app developers and Ivy League darlings, but there is one couple I hoped I wouldn’t have to deal with tonight.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I ask, watching Elias come through the front door, accompanied by Giselle. The butler takes their coats. Elias is rocking that tuxedo, the black fabric neatly tailored around his athletic frame, the sharp lines accentuating his most appealing features. Giselle looks hot in a tutu-style dress—pale pink sequins and a fluffed up cotton candy tulle skirt. They’re both wearing carnival masks, but I’d recognize them anywhere. Elias is tall, dark and hot as an active volcano. Giselle is as pretentious and as entitled as ever. Yeah, they’re not hard to spot, even in a big crowd.
Dad follows my gaze, a smile testing his lips. “I’m surprised he accepted my invitation.”
“Excuse me?” I croak, my blood running cold.
My whole life, Dad has made a point of the rivalry between the Malones and the Dresslers. He hated Martin, and he fucking loathes his son, too. So, why did he invite Elias to this event? Something reeks here. I’m extremely uncomfortable.
Elias spots us and gives Dad a polite nod. He and Giselle make their way towards us, and I feel like I’m shrinking, suddenly wishing for an invisibility superpower so I can just disappear.
“I invited Elias,” Dad points out the obvious. “I know, it’s unexpected, but I think it’s time to move on. Martin is dead. Dressler Corp is doing well, still bidding against me on New York projects. I’m hoping I can build a bridge tonight,” he says, then looks at me. “So, don’t fuck this up, Kira. No fighting. No arguments. Nothing. Be on your best behavior.”
I can’t believe I’m hearing this. “My whole life, you taught me that Elias and his dad were the boogeymen. Every fight I’ve ever had with Elias was because of you. You started this fire, and now you want me to be nice? Are you kidding me?”
Beautiful Hell: A Contemporary High School Bully Romance Page 5