by R. A. Smyth
She shakes her head. “I can’t tell you that.”
I grind my teeth together. I need fucking answers. “What can you tell me?”
Again, she pauses. “Your parents aren’t who you think they are.”
My hands come up, squeezing her shoulders firmly. “What do you know about our parents?” There’s no way she can know. Hell, we only just found out. How the fuck could she know?
“I can’t tell you,” she reiterates, her refusal to tell me what I need to know pissing me off as a growl of frustration rumbles through my chest. How can I go from wanting to kiss her to wanting to throttle her in mere seconds?
Taking a deep breath, I ask a different question, “What about now?”
“What?”
“You said you were using us at first...what about now?”
“Things have changed.”
“With Cam?”
She gives a small, sharp nod of her head. “And with West...and you.”
Me? Does she feel whatever the fuck this is between us? What does she mean ‘things changed with West’? I didn’t know they were close. Every word out of her mouth is only raising more fucking questions.
“And Hawk?”
“Hawk can choke on a bag of dicks for all I care.”
I have to hold back a laugh at that, silence falling between us once again as I think through everything she’s said. She hasn’t really given me anything to go on. No reason why she’s got that stupid notebook, no understanding of what she’s up to. Yet something in my gut wants to trust her.
Staring into her eyes, her gaze roams over my face and she grimaces as she takes in the myriad of bruises starting to appear. She doesn’t apologize, nor do I expect her to.
I don’t understand this connection between us both, but I feel like she gets me better than anyone ever has.
“I’ll get you your book. Give me a few days.”
Her eyes widen in surprise before her brows pull down. “Why are you helping me?”
That’s an excellent fucking question.
“I have no fucking clue.”
Chapter 21
The days after the video are a dark blur. The headmaster calls me into a meeting, demanding answers I can’t give him; wanting to know who did this to me and why. Not once does he actually mention the video or the posters. He doesn’t ask who I think is responsible; the word ‘bullying’ doesn’t even pass his lips. It’s a complete farce. Everyone knows who did it, but because they’re the fucking Princes, they get away with it.
But that’s okay. I don’t need the school to dole out punishment. I’m more than capable of taking revenge into my own hands. In fact, I prefer it that way. I want to see their faces as I ruin them and tear their perfect fucking world apart.
Except Mason's words come back to me.
Do you really think that just because we have big houses and fancy cars we don't have our own traumas we’re working through?
There was no faking the pain I saw in his eyes. I got a good look at his inner torment, and he made it sound like the others have experienced their own suffering too.
It doesn’t make any sense. What could have happened to him that was so bad? But I felt it. I felt how similar our pain was, like he’d survived the same fucked up shit I had.
A knock on the door pulls me out of my circling thoughts. Ever since the video, I’ve spent every spare moment I’m not in class hiding out in my room. It’s pathetic, I know, but I can’t fucking take the looks and whispers from the other students, and if I have to see the stupid, smug smirk on Hawk’s face one more time, I’m going to do something I regret.
I haven’t even gone to the gym, too afraid of running into Mason. I don’t know what the fuck to make of him after our chat the other night. Things got heavy and far too...real. All this time, I’ve firmly believed they are just like their parents. I’ve thought of them as these rich, controlling, pampered dicks with nothing better to do with themselves, but now Mason has me thinking I have them all wrong.
When I mentioned their parents, he was angry and surprised, but there was also a hint of fear in his voice, a spark of worry in his eyes. But why? Was that concern for me? Or because I might’ve found out something I shouldn’t have, and he’s worried about the repercussions to his family and business? But he took care of me that day, going so far as to tuck me into bed; and he was true to his word. I found an envelope with my notebook in it, shoved under my door two days later. Not to mention the strange connection between us, the steady strength I feel around him.
No, I can’t afford to think like that. I can’t let a couple of nice gestures and some stupid feelings soften my hatred. I need to hold on to this anger and use it to fight back against them, to show them they haven’t beat me down.
Opening the door, I stare speechlessly at my visitor. I don’t know who I thought it would be, it’s not like many people want to hang out with me these days, but I definitely wasn’t expecting Emilia. She was already not talking to me after Halloween; I expected this latest incident to be the final nail in the coffin of our friendship.
She’s fidgeting nervously with her hands, glancing everywhere but at me. “Uh, hey.” She gives me a weak smile, still not meeting my eyes.
“Hey,” My voice lacks any of its usual warmth when I’m talking to her as I look past her, checking to see if she’s alone. There’s no one else about and my posture relaxes a bit.
“I, uh…I wanted to see how you were doing, after, you know...everything.”
Huh, I wasn’t expecting that.
“I’m fine.”
What else can I say? We haven’t spoken in over a month.
She nods her head, probably having expected that answer. She knows me well enough to know I’m not a ‘pour my heart out’ kind of person.
“Right. Well, I just wanted to check that you were okay.”
She turns around to walk away, but I call out her name, halting her mid-step.
“Why?”
I’m not even sure what I’m asking. Why did she come here? Why now?
When she turns around, regret flashes across her eyes as she chews her bottom lip, taking a step back toward me.
“I thought about knocking on your door every day. I wanted to, but I was scared. It probably sounds stupid to you, but I like the quiet life I have here. I don’t think I could handle the Princes messing it up for me, or having the whole school...well, you know.”
Yeah, I do. The last week, since the video, the students have been relentless. If it’s not some meathead jock asking if he can see my fucking panties, it’s the girls scowling at me like I’m disgusting, ensuring they don’t accidentally bump into me, like I’m fucking diseased or some shit.
And of course, there’s also Bianca and the other Princesses. They didn’t waste any time cornering me so they could make fun of my humiliation, and remind me just how much I’ll never be one of them. It doesn’t help that Cam chose Bianca again for a second month, a fact she likes to rub in my face every time I see her. As if the twisting in my gut at seeing Cam superglued to her side all the fucking time isn’t bad enough.
“But I couldn’t go another day without at least checking on you.” She licks her lips nervously. “You maybe want nothing to do with me, and I wouldn’t blame you...but if you ever wanna talk, I won’t push you away again.”
I don’t know what to say to her, instead staring at her like a wide-eyed idiot while she glances awkwardly around the hall before giving a sharp nod of her head and slipping into her room.
That afternoon, I wander over to the admin building. It’s a two-story structure on the far side of campus, as old as every other building, where the school reception is, along with offices for the headmaster and teachers. It’s also where the school nurse is based, and the school counselor, which is who I’ve been mandated to see—even if I think it’s a complete waste of both our times.
I rap my knuckles sharply on the door before I can talk myself out of it. It’s not like I hav
e any fucking say in the matter, so I may as well get this shitshow over with as quickly as possible.
“Come in,” a gravelly voice calls out from inside the room. With one final deep breath, I wrap my hand around the handle and push the door open, stepping into the small office.
“Hadley?” the counselor questions when I walk in. I have to say, he is not at all what I pictured when I was told I’d have to see a fucking shrink. He must be newly qualified. There’s no way he’s older than twenty-two or twenty-three.
He’s got neatly styled dark brown hair, moss green eyes, and just a hint of dark stubble dotted along his sharp jaw, all of which gives him a classically handsome look.
Paired with his black shirt and cute black waistcoat, he has that whole ‘hot for teacher’ thing going on. Although, I guess it’s more ‘hot for therapist’?
“It’s nice to meet you,” he greets, getting up from behind his desk and moving around it to stand in front of me. “I’m Mr. Jacobs.” He holds out his hand, giving me a friendly smile, showing off his perfectly straight, white teeth.
“Yeah, hi.” My greeting is much less enthusiastic than his as I ignore his outstretched hand.
His smile doesn’t falter and I could swear his eyes flare at my attitude, but it’s gone before I can be sure.
Lowering his hand, he gestures for me to have a seat on the couch. Talk about cliché. Ignoring the sofa in the corner, I instead stride over and plonk my ass in one of the chairs in front of his desk.
Thinking I hear him huff out a chuckle, I turn around to look at him, but I only find him watching me closely. Too closely; his expression unreadable. After a moment's hesitation, he saunters over to the desk himself, sitting down in the spare chair beside me, not seeming phased by my unwillingness to bend to his will.
Neither of us says anything for a moment, each of us scrutinizing the other. He’s definitely not what I expected, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to just spill all my dark secrets to him.
“I understand you just started at Pacific Prep this year,” he begins. It’s not a question, so I don’t bother to answer him. Something he must realize after a beat of silence as he continues on, “How have you been settling in?”
I take in his overpriced haircut and expensive outfit, ignoring how his fancy aftershave has annoyingly permeated the air in the room, suffocating me with his cedarwood and eucalyptus scent. It’s strangely comforting, but I remind myself it’s a false sense of security, designed to lure in fucked-up people like me and get us to bare our souls.
Not. Fucking. Happening.
Pinching my lips, I sigh. “Why don’t we just get down to why I’m here,” I say, ready to get this stupid session over with.
“Alright,” he agrees easily, giving me a nod of his head. “Why are you here?”
I narrow my eyes at him. He knows damn well why I’m here.
I don’t say anything to his stupid-ass question, and he eventually tries a different tactic.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened the other day?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I grind out between gritted teeth. I sure as fuck am not about to rehash that fiasco.
When I don’t elaborate, he leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and looking me straight in the eye. “Look,” he begins, a serious expression on his face, “I know you don’t want to be here, telling your problems to some stranger.”
“Does anyone want to be here?” I snark, gaining a small smile from him, and damn, it’s cute as all fucking hell.
“You’d be surprised.” He leans in even closer, as though we’re sharing a secret. “These rich kids don’t give a damn, they just want an engaging audience while they listen to themselves speak.”
Cocking my head, I roam my eyes once again over his outfit. Yup, definitely designer. “Aren’t you one of those rich kids?”
He doesn’t answer my question, quirking his lips up in a sly smile.
“The school has raised some concerns. Given your less than ideal upbringing, they felt it would be in your best interests to come and talk to me.”
Less than ideal upbringing? That’s putting it mildly. I don’t think he could have found a more diplomatic way to say ‘the fucked up shit you’ve been through’.
“Of course they have.” I snort, shaking my head at their audacity. “They’re worried about how I got some old scars, but they don’t seem to give a flying fuck about the threats, the dirty looks or anything else that’s happened since I rocked up to this hellhole.”
“You’re being bullied?” He phrases it as a question, but he doesn’t sound surprised. And why would he? I’m sure, just like everyone else, he’s already heard about the video and the posters.
“Well, I didn’t post that video or put those pictures up all over the school myself now, did I?” I reply sarcastically, feeling my body heat with anger once again over the whole goddamn situation.
Overlooking my attitude, he continues to stare intently at me. It’s as though he’s worried if he blinks or looks away for a second he will miss some important tell. I’m better than that, though. I’m not that easy to read and he’s soon going to realize that. “How bad has it been?”
I glance away, not wanting him to see how affected I am by everything.
“Look.” I sigh, so done with this whole stupid meeting. I knew it was going to be a waste of time. “I’m not here because of that. It’s nothing I can’t handle. The school referred me to you because they were obligated to do so, but there’s nothing for them to be concerned about.”
He stares at me intently for a long moment and I can feel him trying to dig under my skin, trying to work me out. Fat fucking chance of that.
“Hadley, I’m going to be honest with you,” he says, his lips pinching as though he doesn’t want to say the next words, but knows he has to. But words like that are never followed by anything good. Before he even says it, I know what he’s going to say.
“I saw the pictures of you.”
Before I can cuss him out—I mean that’s gotta be all sorts of inappropriate, right?—he holds up his hand, silencing my unspoken words
“It was purely so I would know what the school was talking about. They were worried you were self-harming.”
“And you don’t think that?” I ask curiously, guessing from his tone that he hasn’t drawn the same conclusion.
He looks at me for a long moment, the silence building between us until he gives a small shake of his head. “I don’t.”
I swallow around a lump in my throat, not entirely sure why I’m suddenly feeling emotional.
Coughing to clear my throat, I lick my unexpectedly dry lips. “Then what am I doing here? You know I’m not self-harming and I’m sure you’re aware that any ‘issues’ with my home life before I came here are redundant now that I’m eighteen and no longer legally a child of the state.”
“Because, regardless of whether or not you’re still in a dangerous environment, someone did that to you. That kind of abuse leaves more than just physical scars.”
I have no words. I literally have no idea what to say to that. He’s more right than he could possibly know, but I’m still not telling him shit.
He seemed to realize he wasn’t going to get anything out of me, not today at least, and, instead of the probing questions I was expecting, he let me go.
As I reach for the door handle, his words stop me.
“I think we should meet for the rest of the semester. Same time next week?”
It’s not really a question, not one I can refuse anyway, so with gritted teeth, I give him a tight nod, not saying anything else as I pull open the door and storm out.
I have no idea what the hell he thinks he’s going to achieve by having me come to his office every week. Does he think he’ll wear me down? That if he forces me to sit and talk to him, I’ll eventually spill all my dark, dirty secrets? Ha. If that’s the case, he’s got another thing coming.
***
&nbs
p; It’s late on Sunday when I pull open the dining hall door, not really paying attention to the few other students milling around as I make a beeline for the freezer, my head already debating which flavor of ice cream I should go for today.
Deciding on strawberry shortcake, I turn to head back to my room when I spot Emilia sitting at the scholarship table. I haven’t spoken to her since she knocked on my door. I have no idea what to say to her, but I miss her. I miss the easy friendship we had.
Hesitantly, I take a step toward her, gnawing on my bottom lip as I approach.
“Hi.” I stand awkwardly on the opposite side of the table, smiling—although it feels more like a grimace—as Emilia looks up from the book she was engrossed in, her eyes widening when she sees me standing there.
“Hey.” A small, hopeful smile touches her lips. “How have you been?”
“Fine. I’m fine. You?”
“I’m good.” She nods, the two of us staring awkwardly at one another.
“How are things with, uh, Andrew?”
A light brightens in her eyes, a genuine, happy smile taking over her face.
“Things are going really well.”
I can’t help but smile at the happiness radiating from her as I sit down, digging into my ice cream as she catches me up on everything that’s been going on with her recently, the two of us falling easily back into our old chatter.
Chapter 22
This job is boring as hell, but when you’re fresh out of college, neck deep in debt and you get offered a ridiculously overpaid job to listen to the pathetic problems of over-privileged rich kids all day? Yeah, you’d have to be brain damaged not to take it. Still, it’s a total fucking bore. Who cares if Daddy won’t buy you a new car, or Mommy spent most of her summer vacation fucking the pool boy?
Well, I guess I’m supposed to give a shit, but growing up in a tiny apartment in a rough neighborhood, learning to fend for myself at a young age because my mom was too busy working three jobs to make ends meet, makes it seriously fucking difficult to have any sympathy for these spoiled brats.