I hate the iciness in his voice. I hate that I know he is angry at me—again. I hate that he wasn’t here when I came out and now, he is angry at me for no good reason. My heart is pounding as if I did something wrong while he wasn’t there.
“He is my friend, of course I’ll hug him.” I say after a pause. Then I hear him coming closer, knowing better than to turn around. I don’t want him to hurt me today. He is my tormentor and the way he does it is so clever—he ignores me when the boys are around and as soon as they are not watching, he turns into a mastermind bully—with all his forces of evil targeted on me and me alone.
I hate it. And I also hate that I don’t want anyone to know about it either, waiting each day that passes for whatever he has in store for me. I tried talking about it to a teacher, even my own mother but I just couldn’t get the words out, scared that they would punish him. For some reason, I don’t want anyone to touch him or punish him in any way.
I have seen some of his bruises. . .
“So, I’m not your friend?” He questions.
I’m about to say hell no and he can go get a hug from the devil but something about the tone of his voice, something about it has me pausing. I suddenly want to see him. To see his face, so I turn around and there he stands, in the shadows, looking angry, dark and well. . .lost.
“I don’t know what you are.” I say quietly, not knowing how long we have before the boys come back.
Each moment that I have with Alex feels so magical, as if it will disappear any moment. I’m so damn jealous of it, not wanting to share it but I know it won’t last long. As soon as the boys come back, he will go back to ignoring me.
“Liar.” He accuses and I stop, taken aback by the softness of that word, “You know exactly who I am to you.”
I’ve known this boy since I was six years old and he was seven. Now I’m nine and he is ten and just like my brother, Alex is getting bigger by the day. It seems like he is pushing himself to be bigger though, meaner and faster. Since they are all boys, they like to make everything a competition—as apparent as is my attention.
“Alex.”
“Look up, Star.” He abruptly says, cutting me off. I look at him confused because the way he said that.
“Yes, I know there are stars up there.” I say, cocking my head to the left. Is he not feeling well? Because the boy I know., the bully that torments me—is much smarter than that.
Of course, there are stars.
“Look up.” He says so softly, so compelling that I can’t help but do as he says. Craning my neck back, I gaze up at the stars in the sky. They are shining so brilliantly, I don’t know how it’s possible but there is a long stretch of wispy white clouds covering parts of the sky and somehow, it looks blue from here.
“Wow.” I gasp in amazement when I notice the beautiful hues, blending in with the stars.
“That’s what I see in your eyes.”
I gasp when I suddenly hear his voice right beside me. I have no idea when he moved to stand there, I never heard him move. For whatever reason that I hate in that moment, I start blushing. And it’s not the first time either.
“I see stars in your eyes.” He says and I snort when the words sink in.
“I’m hardly a star, more like the moon. . .” I joke but he grabs my hand into his firm grip and my blush deepens. I look down, fearing that he might see my face. I don’t want him to see my blush, not again.
I have no idea why he makes me feel this way and I can’t say I’m comfortable with it. All the girls at school always want to be around the Blue Boys, trying to be in their group in sports or any other group activities. I’ve heard what they say about my brother, Noah, Emmett and Alex and well, they are not wrong but I’m not one of those girls. Besides, they hate me, I don’t really belong.
“You try to hide behind others, you are smart but don’t want to show it. You see people for what exactly they are but you never judge them. You are a star.”
That’s some deep stuff coming from a ten year old. I squint my eyes looking at him. Is he alright? Where was he earlier?
“Only in your eyes then.” I say with a nervous laugh. I have never experienced this kind of tender moment with him. It’s always been chaos after chaos and for me, I never minded it because in those times that he would make my life hard, his eyes were on me.
He saw me. . .and that’s all that has ever mattered.
“Yes, in my eyes. You are my Star.”
I can feel my heart racing, my tiny hand in his as we stand side by side watching the stars in the sky.
“Now what am I to you?” He asks and this time I know he wants a genuine answer.
God only knows how many days I have spent watching him play football with the boys in the huge backyard. Days that I have spent trying to figure out why he is so. . .cold.
Cold and dark. Almost like death.
“Ace.” I mutter and somehow that one word feels just right. It washes over me, settling like a comfortable blanket.
He does look cold, though and it’s not just because of his amazing eyes. I know he is ruthless and dark. It’s all in his eyes.
But I’ve also witnessed his strength causing him to get the respect—and maybe a whole lot of fear—he has earned from his peers, the power he wields at such a young age. He is a true king but to me he is the Ace in my life. The big card, the one I know I will always have in my arsenal.
He once beat up this kid at school for stealing my lunch money, every single day for the entire week. I guess the goal was to starve me, torment me until I go back wherever I came from. The kids at school were terribly mean, but none of them dared to look at me or touch me.
I think that’s when my crush on him developed.
“Why?” He doesn’t bother asking what an ace is, after all, the boys and I play card games all the time. And yes, he ignores me then too, but I don’t mind.
I turn around to look at him, in that moment I hear voices drawing closer. The boys are coming and I don’t have much time. I have to tell him this. I grab his other hand and he lets me. I step closer to him, peering up at him in the dark but his icy blue eyes are the light I’ll ever need in this life.
“Because you are the force behind it all.” I know, it’s silly of me to say something that I don’t really understand, but I understand enough. I understand us enough to know what I’m saying.
“No matter what game life decides to play, you’ll always be the most powerful force in the game.” I explain and he sucks in a breath.
“You are my Ace.” I finish, looking him right in the eyes.
I want him to know that I see him, that I understand him and I know there are demons chasing him. His parents are just stupid and hardly ever there and I’ve seen the way he stays away from home. Something plagues him but I want him to know that he is still the biggest, strongest force in every game that life decides to play.
And I hope that he feels what I feel too.
“I’ll always protect you, Star.” He says it like a vow, like a prayer. So soft, but so serious.
“I know you will.”
I should have stepped away then. I should have run back inside the house and straight to my room. I should have moved away from him after that. But instead, hearing Noah’s loud laugh, I crash into Ace—yes, I’ll call him Ace from now on—and circle my arms around his torso, squeezing him to me like my life depends on it.
He catches me, enfolding me into a warm embrace that makes me blush again. I think I just got addicted to my first hug with him.
“My arms are always open whenever you need a hug. And no, it doesn’t feel like the ones I share with the guys.”
I release him, making sure that I don’t look up to see the look in his eyes or the expression on his face and run as fast as I can, straight to my room
FUCK.
How naïve could I have been back then? How stupid can a nine-year old girl be, thinking that the mean, bully tormentor would be her protector? How stupid could I have been to give him
everything in that moment? Fucking hell.
I quickly wipe away the lone tear that fell down my cheek. I try to ignore the pain in my chest, try to ignore the painful longing but I can’t. I remember that night. I remember that was the first time I had seen such a beautiful sky filled with stars with a blue hue that I fell in love with. I know, I have never seen that kind of splendor since that night. Trust me, I searched each night.
My first year in London was the seventh circle of hell. For some insane reason, I tried to sleep outside—just so I could see the stars but I lived in the city, we never saw a night sky filled with stars, let alone stars with a blue hue. Besides, the weather in London was always shitty.
But fuck my life, he vowed he would protect me! He vowed he would but urgh. I scream in frustration, pain piercing my heart and soul. I crash the blunt, suddenly feeling so damn restless. Ace promised but instead, he sent me away like I mean nothing to him. Sent me away like I was nothing and after what happened, I probably am nothing. But we never talked about it, I never got the chance too. . .
I can’t get over just how much I hate this place. I hate every promise made under this very sky, because it gives nothing but heartbreak and misery.
Fuck that and fuck him. I’ll be fine all by myself.
If only that were true. . .
CHAPTER EIGHT
ASTRAEA
EVER SINCE I CAN REMEMBER, Westbrook has always been a place for the wealthiest people ever in continental US. It was almost like Silicon Valley but with even more snottier people with snottier, sickening tendencies.
One of them being Westbrook Blues High.
I remember everything about this school. I remember the excited feeling I had just thinking of attending this school. I remember the giddiness I felt whenever I visualized just walking through the halls of the school and being popular, with lots of friends and then maybe at the end of the year, I would be like some kind of high school ‘it’ girl.
I always thought that I would become that girl whom every other girl wanted to be like. I imagined all the other girls would either want to be me, love me or kill me and I would just smile politely in their faces and remind them that they were not me. Either way, popularity was one of the things that I was so looking forward to whenever I thought of Westbrook Blues High.
Again, how stupid and shallow could I have been? Much shallower and petty than you think, is the answer.
But now. . .I can’t articulate the anxiety I feel as I look up at the large intimidating and extravagant buildings that surround the school grounds. I watch as students pull up to the school in the latest makes and models of cars that people only hear about by rumors.
I watch as athletic guys in their pride athletic W.B.H jackets park their cars and soak up all the attention they can get from the beautiful—albeit over the top—girls who wear fancy shoes, really short skirts and almost transparent white blouses that leave nothing to the imagination.
I watch them all as I sit like a freaking statue in the backseat of the tinted car.
I know that there are a lot of people here who know who I am. I know there are rumors about me, and these rumors have been circulating for years. And judging from what I experienced at my brother’s funeral, I can only imagine that I’m not going to be very much welcomed here.
Not after everything else that happened. Not after all these years and the mess that was left behind. For Pete’s sake, these asshats think I set my own house on fire and ran away—heard that one at the funeral.
“Are you going to attend classes today, Miss?”
Trumbull’s old raspy voice breaks me from my worry as I clink my tongue bar around in my mouth, clutching the pendant that I never remove with a death grip in nervous energy. I know I’ll have to tuck the pendant in, away from view—according to the school rules of course.
I know I can very well be rebellious and do what the fuck I please. I mean, that would have been a great option but here in Westbrook, I would like to keep a small profile. I don’t want to draw any kind of attention to myself and I definitely don’t want any drama. There is no way that I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb here. For as long—or rather a very short time—that I’m here, I’m going to keep my head down, my eyes focused on the goal.
Find out what the hell happened to George.
“You know I have no choice.” I say to him with annoyance.
Even if I wanted to ditch this inevitable day, there was no way I could get away with it, seeing as everything that happens around Trumbull is reported back to my parents and I’m just about done with the shouting matches.
If I want to beat my parents, I have to find out what kind of game they are playing. The game is already in play, and I’m behind. So, I started by visiting the local police station to get answers of my own, but the damn police report only collaborated the story that my parents told me.
That too, didn’t feel right. Not to mention, the police officer looked at me funny, it was unnerving the hell out of me. So, I left without answers, and a whole lot of questions.
Apparently, George died in a drunk driving accident. The level of alcohol in his system—according to the autopsy report—was higher than the limit. But still, something about it all rubs me the wrong way, especially when the Officers told me that the Officer that filed the report was away on vacation. How can he go on vacation so suddenly, especially after a son of one of the elite families of Westbrook has just passed away? It all reeks of bullshit.
“Why are you even dropping me off? Isn’t there a lowly driver that can save you from this misery?”
“Madam Fields instructed that I personally drive you to school.”
“For how long?” It’s day one and I’m already sick of the eyes that are constantly monitoring me. It almost feels like everywhere I go, someone is watching and reporting back to my mother. She’s so obsessed with me. As if.
“For as long as is necessary.” He answers in that bored raspy voice of his that grates on my nerves like nothing else.
If only I had taken my brother’s offer to give me driving lessons last summer right around the time he got his license. But then again, George was driving cars by the time he was fourteen. He was damn well good at it too, what with all those illegal street racing shindigs.
So it doesn’t make sense that he would lose control of a car he drove so naturally, like it was an extension of him. Then there is the issue of driving under the influence. George was much more responsible than I ever was.
“School will start in exactly eight minutes. I suggest you head on to the administration office.” Trumbull says in an effort to get rid of me.
“Oh shut it, T. You can take your eight minutes and. . .”
Whoa Raea, not today Satan. I mutter to myself, trying to calm down.
When I get agitated, I tend to lash out but Trumbull’s unnecessary pressure just pisses me off.
“I’m going, it’s not like they are not expecting me.” I tell him after a dramatic pause. The thing about Westbrook is that it’s a small place and gossip travels faster than the speed of light. Rich assholes have nothing to do. Their shallow, stupid and not so smart selves are mostly interested in trying to out trash each other, embarrass each other and get popularity.
And will you look at that, I’m back at this toxic place with no way out until I forge it.
I gather my new school backpack, fix my white ankle socks and make sure my new shoes are laced up. Wouldn’t want to trip over my own two feet and let these ravenous teens see that they make me nervous. Hell no.
But at the same time, there was no way in hell I was going to try to blend in their system by wearing some damn high heels today—much to my mother’s dismay—but I don’t need the added stress.
I open the car door and the moment I step out, all eyes are on me. Have they been waiting for me to arrive? That’s just sad.
I can feel multiple eyes that quickly zone in on the semi-new prey of Westbrook High School. I know what they
sense fresh blood in the water. I am after all, the new girl and not just any new girl but the long lost and forgotten sibling of the great George Fields.
Let the festivities begin.
The festivities of picking me apart and break me to the level they want me. I’ll just have to wait and see what level that might be.
Sigh.
I don’t know what it is with these kids. It’s almost like they have nothing else to do around here so whenever there is someone new, they take it upon themselves to find entertainment in any way possible. I would know—I was once part of that vicious, useless system.
Even though they obviously know who my brother was, they have ill thoughts about me and I can see it. I can see the looks of disapproval from the girls frowning my way, probably because my face is not caked up with powders and shit. I can see the smirks from the guys, checking me out.
My noticing all this doesn’t help much to ease my nervousness as well as my social anxiety that I’ve been trying to deal with for a while now.
“Hey new girl!” Someone shouts from somewhere but I ignore them and their snickering. I quickly shut the car door and make my way straight to the administration office.
“You lost, new girl? You don’t look like you belong here.” Someone else hollers. A snotty girl with a nasal voice that needs some major revamping. I think of turning and tell her about that voice that can wake the dead but I don’t even bother because I know they haven’t begun yet.
“Nice socks!” A bitchy girl calls out and her group of friends start laughing as if they have never seen someone wearing socks with proper, none-slutty shoes before. But then again, these girls are vain, all they are used to are high heels and thongs.
I keep walking until I’m in the office and I breathe a sigh of relief when I find one of the office assistants already there with no other student there.
“Good morning dear, welcome back to school.” She says politely but isn’t looking at me, all her focus is on the screen monitor in front of her.
“Err, I’m actually new here this year.” I say after clearing my voice and that’s when she looks up at me over the top brim of her glasses.
Reckless Hate: A Bully High School Romance (enemies-friends-enemies-lovers-enemies) (Westbrook Blues Book 1) Page 10