by R. A. Smyth
He fires a final glare my way, not waiting around for a response, grumbling something about how even he shouldn’t be awake yet.
Completely confused, I look back down at my phone. It’s barely four a.m. Opening up the alarm app, I notice it’s set to go off every day at the same time, and the tone has changed from the usual soft wake-up one I use.
What the fuck? Seriously, Cam? I’m going to fucking murder you—in the morning, when I’ve had more sleep.
I’ve forgotten all about it by the time I wake up again, trudging into the kitchen in nothing but gray sweats. Pouring myself a bowl of cereal, I open the cutlery drawer, staring into it for far too long before it registers with me, and I slam it shut.
“Cam,” I snarl, glaring daggers at him as he stumbles into the room, still half asleep, his hair sticking up in all directions as he lazily throws himself onto the sofa.
His head snaps up to look at me, his eyes pulled together in confusion. “What?”
“Where the fuck are the spoons?”
The expression on his face would be comical if I wasn’t so fucking furious right now.
“Dude, what the fuck are you talking about? They’re in the drawer.”
“No, they’re not,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “You’ve gotta stop this. It was funny the first few times, but it’s getting annoying.”
“Man, I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I stomp across the floor toward him, and he gets to his feet, facing off against me, that same stupid look of confusion on his face.
“No? So you didn’t set my alarm to go off in the middle of the night? Or hide my backpack behind the sofa? What about putting West’s glasses in the coffee tin? And all the rest of it. The amount of crap you’ve pulled the last couple of weeks is ridiculous.”
His eyes widen, his mouth dropping open. “That’s been happening to you too?” He runs his hand through his hair, turning away from me as he barks out a relieved chuckle. “Fuck, man, I was beginning to think I was losing it.”
I scrutinize him, taking in the relief written clearly on his face, my mind running a mile a minute.
“It’s not you?” I clarify, but I’m pretty certain it isn’t.
“No, man.” Realization dawns on him, the smile slipping off his face and I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “Who is it then?”
I shake my head, trying to figure that out.
“There’s no way it would be West or Mason.”
I agree. Cam is the only one of us who would do something so childish. Outside of the four of us, there’s only one person I know who would dare to sneak into our private space and mess with us.
“Hadley,” I growl, watching as Cam’s eyes grow even bigger.
“No way,” he gasps in disbelief, but I can see he believes it too.
“That bitch,” I snarl, unable to stand still, stomping back toward the kitchen.
“Hey, man. Now that’s a bit extreme,” he argues. His defense of her has me spinning around, storming back toward him.
“That’s not all she’s done.”
He once again looks confused, but I push past him, not answering the questions in his eyes. He needs to see it for himself. Grabbing the notebook from my bag in the bedroom, I stomp back into the living room and slam it down on the table.
“Read that,” I sneer, pointing at the book.
His gaze darts between me and the book before he hesitantly reaches out, lifting the book and opening it up to the first page.
I observe him closely as his brows draw together, his eyes scanning down the page before he flips over to the next one, doing the same. Page after page, his expression darkens, his eyes turning hard and his nostrils flaring.
“I don’t...what the fuck is this? Where did you find it?”
“I don’t know. She was hiding it in her room.”
He focuses back on the notebook and we stand in silence for several long moments as he flips back and forth through the pages. I’ve already read it several times over, trying to understand why.
When he’s finally sick of looking at it, he lifts his head, his icy stare meeting mine.
“What are we going to do about it?”
It’s about time we were on the same page. I just had to prove it to him, make him see for himself that she was no good.
A cruel smirk lifts my lip. “I have an idea.”
Chapter 19
You know that feeling when everyone is talking about you, but you have no idea why or what they’re saying?
Yeah, that’s exactly how I’m feeling right now.
I cast my eyes around the room, taking in the students gawking at me. Others are flicking their eyes back and forth between me and their tablets, while some girls lean across the aisle, whispering to the student beside them. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I can only guess it’s not good. It never is.
My tablet is in my bag, but something tells me I shouldn’t look at it here, with eyes on me. By now the whole room is watching me intently, some students blatantly staring, waiting for me to react, to do something. I’m sure as fuck not about to give them anything. Whatever fresh torment Hawk has unleashed, I’m not about to make it fodder for these pathetic saps. Today is the last day of the month. On Monday morning, a new girl is chosen, and I’m supposed to be done with this shit. I should have guessed Hawk wouldn’t let the occasion go without a special send off.
Blocking them out, I pretend to focus on my schoolwork for the rest of class, impatiently counting down the minutes until the bell rings so I can escape and find out what’s going on.
The last ten minutes of class feel like they last a lifetime. Every minute filled with hushed whispers and quiet chuckles under breaths. Not one person bothers to fill me in on what the fuck everyone is finding so funny, not even one of my old scholarship friends. I didn’t really expect them to involve themselves, and I can’t blame them—they’re just trying to get through this school and start the future they’ve been working for the last four years.
When the bell finally rings, I stay seated in my chair, glaring down every single student that looks my way as they pack up their stuff and leave the room. Only when the last person leaves, closing the door behind them do I drop the tough girl act, bending down to dig my tablet out of my bag. Typing in my pin, I see a notification informing me I have received a new email.
With clumsy fingers and sweaty palms, I eventually manage to open up the email. It appears to be a mass email that has, by the looks of things, been sent to every student in the school. Excellent.
There doesn’t appear to be any text, but there’s a video file attached.
My breath comes out in quick, shallow pants, nausea churning in my stomach as my finger hesitates over the file.
Whatever this is, I can handle it. I have dealt with worse. I have fucking survived worse.
I slam my finger down on the screen harder than necessary, holding my breath as the video begins to play. The screen is black for the first few seconds until a light is turned on, illuminating a bedroom. My bedroom.
What the fuck?
I watch as I walk into my room, dropping my bag on the floor and closing the door behind me. From the looks of it, the camera was hidden in the bookcase by the desk, angled so that it pretty much catches the entire room.
I grab some clothes out of my dresser, dumping them on the bed before stripping off my uniform, in full fucking view of the camera. A tingling sensation starts up under my skin as I watch myself strip off my clothes, unknowingly revealing the tattoo snaking up my side, along with every single scar I’ve carefully hidden for the last couple of months. I feel every second of it as this new world I’ve precariously built around me comes crashing down. There’s a reason I’ve kept those scars covered, and it’s not because I’m embarrassed of them.
Now every superficial jackass in this fucking shithole masquerading as a prep school knows part of my deepest, darkest secret. They’ve seen the
marks of my lowest moments. The times when I wanted to give up, when death felt like the only way out.
The video finishes then, with me dressed in a bra and fucking granny pants, a static image for every single student to roam their eyes over and do whatever the fuck they want with.
That tingling beneath my skin becomes a roar as shock is quickly replaced with insurmountable fury; that craving to punch something, to smash a particular someone’s fucking face in.
Jumping to my feet, I grab my bag and storm across the room, throwing open the door, ready to do just that.
My steps falter, though, as I find what must be every student in the senior class gathered in the hall, lining the banks of lockers like they’re expecting some sort of show. Behind them, I can see pictures pasted all over the walls. Someone has strung the same static image I just saw on the tablet over every available surface.
With every poster I glance over, my fury heightens, until it’s an untamable storm. Eyes brimming with fire, I glower at every student, satisfaction coursing through me when some of them take a step back from me, their laughs faltering. The only faces I don’t see are those of the other scholarship students. Well, at least they aren’t here to witness whatever fresh hell this is.
Lifting my chin, I glare at every single fucker as I walk past them. Students talk to one another, no longer bothering to keep their voices low, so as I walk past, I pick up on some of their words.
Abuse. Self-harm. A traumatic accident.
All of them speculating what the fuck happened to me. Like it’s any of their goddamn business.
“Yo, Hadley! Nice panties,” Deke, the fucker, yells, his buddies whistling and chortling, slapping him on the back. Yeah, fucking hilarious, douchebag. You’re clearly winning in life.
I’ve only made it halfway down the corridor when the crowd at the end of the hall parts, revealing none other than the Pricks themselves. I wondered where they were. There was no way they would miss this little showdown of their own creation.
My eyes don’t stray from Hawk as I storm toward them, ignoring every other asshole around us as I take in his stupid fucking smirk and the glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. Gritting my teeth, I throw him my coldest, hardest glare, dropping my bag as I close in on him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I snarl, shoving him in the chest with every ounce of strength I have. He has to take a step back to steady himself, but it’s nowhere near enough. I want to see him flat on his ass, staring up at me, wondering how the fuck I bested him.
The smirk drops off his face, his eyes narrowing as he scowls at me, mirroring my own dark look.
It takes everything in me not to go apeshit on his ass, but just enough common sense gets through to me, reminding me he’s the Prince and I’m a nobody. I’ll be out of here so quickly I won’t have time to process what the fuck happened before I’m dumped on the sidewalk, with no education, nowhere to live, and no prospects for the future.
“You fucking proud of yourself?” I sneer, finally turning away from Hawk to glare at the other three fucktards, making sure they know I’m talking to them too. They are each as responsible as he is.
Mason wears his usual look of indifference. He could be watching paint dry right now, that’s how unbothered he looks by this whole thing. Flicking my gaze to West, he at least has the decency to look uncomfortable. His lips are pinched and I can see what might be regret in his eyes. Too fucking late, buddy, regret does me fuck all good now. Where was your conscience when you were recording me? When you were clicking send on that email?
Shaking my head in disappointment, I finally look at Cam, my lips parting with a quick intake of breath at the molten hatred in his eyes. His posture is tense, his back ramrod straight, his hands clenched in tight fists. Everything about him says he’s a raging inferno ready to explode, the intensity of his fury suffocating. The extent of his animosity seems out of place, but I can’t work out what I could have done to warrant such loathing.
Did he know? Did he tell them? My shirt was on when we had sex, but he might have seen something. His fingers could have grazed over a scar.
Confused, I move my hardened gaze back to Hawk.
“You didn’t think I’d let you get away with walking around these halls defying me,” he simply states, like somehow this is all my fault because I didn’t listen to them before now. “Making fools out of us.”
Stepping in so I’m inches from him, I snarl, “I didn’t do anything to you, but you can bet I’m going to do something now.” Glancing at the other three again, I add, “I’m going to burn your pathetic little lives to the ground.”
Snatching up my bag, I keep my head held high as I storm out of the school, making a beeline to the only place that brings me peace in this hellhole.
I pummel the heavy bag over and over, not giving a shit that I’m in my uniform and my bare knuckles are turning red. Throwing everything I have into each hit, I pretend it’s Hawk. West. Mason. Cam. Every single one of them deserves my wrath. What the fuck is their problem? Hawk has had it out for me since that first day, when I ran into him in the corridor; and he’s only gotten madder since then, as I got closer to Cam.
Maybe he’s got a hard-on for Cam? I snort at that thought. Damn, that would be pretty fucking funny. Cam is most definitely a vagina lover, though. What other reason could he have? No normal person gives that much of a shit about who their friend is in to. Maybe it’s because of who I am? My past. The whole ‘you, us, and them’ crap Bianca spouted on the first day. Cam has definitely deviated out of his lane by pursuing me.
Based on the look in his eye today, Cam fucking hates me. I set that friendship on fire and destroyed everything we might have been. I didn’t mean to, but since when did that matter? Regardless, you’d think Cam’s newfound hatred would have appeased Hawk. Fuck, I don’t know. Who the hell understands the inner workings of teenage boys' minds?
I have no idea how long I pound on the bag, but based on the ache in my hands and the sweat making the back of my shirt stick to me, it’s quite a while. The rage is still pouring off of me when that crackle of electricity alerts me to his presence. Great, what the fuck is he doing here?
“Go away,” I growl, only getting more frustrated when I hear him move further into the room.
“You need to do something more than beat on a bag,” Mason says, somehow knowing exactly what I need.
I continue to ignore him, instead pounding even harder on the bag. He’s fucking right, though. Sure, this is working to drain some of my energy, but it’s doing absolutely nothing for my rage.
“Come on,” he taunts, “show me what you’ve got.”
I bark out a caustic laugh. “So you can tattle on me and get me kicked out? Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“I won’t.”
I don’t move, though. I can’t trust him, and as much as I want to beat his face into a bloody pulp, I want to remain enrolled in this school more.
“Everyone in the school just saw you at your most vulnerable.” His words only fuel my anger. “Guys are going to jerk off to your image for the rest of the year.” I try to zone him out, knowing he’s baiting me, but every single one of his words worms its way into my brain. “I was surprised to see the scars, after all, I’ve seen you in just your sports bra; but then I realized, you always keep most of the lights off when you’re in here.”
Another beat of silence as I continue to fight against my desperate need to throat punch him.
“You know, they’re all out there right now, speculating about what happened to you,” he continues. “Some people have invented an entire sob story for you. A tragic car accident that killed your parents and left you with all those scars.” I can’t help it; a snort of laughter leaves me at that notion. If only.
“Others think you’re a self-harmer. That your life is just so damn pathetic you need to cut yourself open in order to feel normal.”
I roll my eyes at that emotionally dense and equally wrong theory, the
continued slap as I hit the bag my only response.
“I think they’re wrong.” I can’t deny I’m curious as to what his theory is. None of the pretentious twats in this place could even wrap their judgmental little minds around the truth of how I got these scars. They have no fucking clue of the life I’ve endured. They all sit up there in their ivory towers, perched on their thrones of money, judging the fucking world around them, but the truth is they wouldn’t have survived in the world I grew up in. So they can whisper and speculate and judge, but at the end of the day it all means nothing, because I’ve already been to hell and back, and I’m still fucking standing.
“I think someone did that to you. I think you let someone do that to you,” he clarifies. “Or maybe you were a weak, pathetic, helpless, little girl, and someone saw that you weren’t made to survive this world, so they did what they had to do to toughen you up.”
His words penetrate through my tough exterior, embedding themselves under my skin, sucking me into their dark depths. I’m not in the gym anymore. I’m not eighteen. I’m not a fighter. I’m exactly as he just said. I’m a weak, helpless little girl, crying and begging for them to stop. Promising I’ll do better as blood drips onto the floor.
I don’t know when I stopped punching the bag, nor do I remember closing the distance to Mason, but the next thing I know, my fist is flying into his face, finally shutting him the fuck up.
It’s too late, though. I’m too far gone. I can take the shit that’s been thrown my way since I stepped into Pacific Prep. I can deal with the whispers and taunts. I can even handle the speculation about my scars. What I can’t fucking cope with is being thrown back to that little girl who couldn’t fight for herself. I might not be her anymore, but she’s still very much a part of me.
I watch as I rain down punch after punch on him, barely grasping what I’m doing. I feel like a spectator in my own body. Rage, fear, hurt, and hopelessness, the feelings of both my past and present, melding together, creating one hell of a firestorm inside of me and using my body as a vessel to let it all out.