by J. L. Beck
The mere mention of her name sends a shiver down my spine. I almost want her to be a secret, my secret that no one else knows about, that I get to torment and touch whenever I please.
“I wouldn’t touch that bitch if you paid me to.”
“You don’t need money, asshole, so nobody’s paying you to touch her.” I snort and take a drink of my beer, trying not to think about how territorial that statement sounded. The truth is, Aspen doesn’t mean shit to me, not in the sense that I actually care about her, but strangely enough, I don’t want anyone else interested in her either.
“Her father’s caused a shit load of problems for people. I can’t tell you how many offers my father’s had slide across his desk to kill him,” Matteo admits casually.
Nash takes a long pull from his beer before speaking. “I heard she helped her father, made friends with people, became quite a socialite for her daddy. Spied on people and shit.”
A socialite? I lean my head back and listen to them talk. I’ve seen Aspen at a few fundraisers, but she never looked like she was there to make friends with anyone. I always got the impression she hated being there.
Ren chimes into the conversation. “Even if she didn’t help him, she’s a rat simply by association. You know the shit her dad did to Quinton’s family. The apple never falls far from the tree. She can’t be trusted.”
“It’s shaken shit up, that’s for sure. I’ve heard rumors that people had to move, go into hiding, and don’t even mention the shit load of money lost because of that prick. In my opinion, she deserves whatever penance she gets,” Matteo explains with an odd tone, almost like he wants to be the one dealing out the penance. Too bad for him that someone else will… me. Matteo better not get in my way.
He continues talking, saying something that makes both Ren and Nash laugh. For a moment, I space out. Whatever it is he’s saying turns into background noise.
It isn’t until the subject changes that the grip on my beer bottle tightens, and my own frustrations bubble to the surface.
“The booze they have here sucks…”
“I need a sleazy strip club and a hooker who will do whatever I want for fifty bucks…”
“I just want a fucking double cheeseburger…”
Sitting here listening to everyone else’s so-called problems makes me snap. Their complaints are superficial.
They don’t have the first fucking clue what it’s like to lose, to be lost and never found. The beer slips from my hands and crashes to the floor. Brown liquid sputters out the top, reminding me how close to breaking, to succumbing to the pressure, I am. Who knows what the hell I’ll do if I don’t walk away right now, but I don’t want to find out.
Ignoring the spilled beer, I turn, storming off in the direction of my bedroom to be alone with my thoughts.
“Q, what the fuck?” Ren’s concerned voice fills my ears, and a second later, his hand clamps down on my shoulder.
I shrug off his hand and whirl around on him, pinning him with a glare. “I’m done socializing for the night. Leave me the fuck alone.”
The warning in my tone is clear, and Ren’s brows shoot up, shock etched into his features. Taking a step back, he raises his hands, and I turn away, walking the rest of the way to my room. Once inside, I close the door behind me and lock it.
It’s so stupid, especially when a door isn’t going to stop Ren from coming in here. A part of me knows one of the reasons he came with me is because he’s afraid of me snapping. Afraid of me shutting down and never resurfacing.
As soon as my ass hits the mattress, my cell phone starts to ring. It’s a FaceTime call from Scarlet. My fingers itch to hit decline, but a sliver of guilt cuts through me. If I don’t talk to her, she’ll be upset, and I care way too much about my baby sister to ignore her call. Plus, I’m the one who left her to deal with all the problems at home. The least I can do is maintain my relationship with her. I owe her this much.
Without thinking further on it, I hit the answer key, and on cue, her smiling face reflects back at me, and I force myself to smile.
“For once, I wish you would smile with a real smile. You look so angry all the time.”
“I do not, and if I do, I don’t mean to.”
Scarlet’s pink lips form into a pout. “I miss you already.”
“I miss you too. It won’t be long till winter break. I’ll fly home to see you.” I shudder at the thought. I want to see my sister more than anything, but my parents are a different matter. I can’t stomach a visit with them right now. It’s all too soon, too much.
“I know, but it’s so far away. I wish you were here. Mom and Dad are driving me insane. They’re like two mother hens, always checking in on me and asking me if I’m okay.”
I hate the sadness that reflects in her eyes and back at me. Sometimes, I feel like Scar is all I have left, and I’m all she has. We have to stick together even though I’m miles and miles away.
“You can call me whenever you want, even if it’s just to talk. I’m still here for you.” The light in her eyes brightens and what I’ve said seems to cheer her up a little bit. The door behind her creaks open, and Mom pops her head inside the room. As soon as she sees me on the screen, she closes the door.
Scar looks over her shoulder at the door that’s now closed. She shakes her head and then returns her attention to me. “Mom’s really upset, and Dad, you know he’s good at masking his emotions, but even he can’t hide that he is miserable. I know they miss you, though, and they want to talk to you.”
I can feel my blood pressure rise at the mention of them wanting to talk to me. It’s not my fault that I left with so many things unsaid.
“I’m not talking to either of them, not after what they did, and all the secrets they’re keeping.” It’s hard to hide my anger from Scar, but I manage to keep my voice even and the venom out of my words.
“All they want to do is talk,” Scarlet replies.
“And I’m not ready yet,” I snap, but regret it the moment I do. Scarlet frowns, her brows pinching together like she’s been scolded. “Look, I’m sorry, Scar. I didn’t mean to snap at you, but I’m not ready yet.” My voice becomes gentler, and that eases some of the tension from Scarlet’s face.
“I understand. I just miss being normal.” I hate how depressed she sounds and that there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.
“Things won’t ever be the way they were before, but each day they can get better.” I don’t care what happens to me or how I feel. The only thing that matters to me is that Scarlet is happy, healthy, and content with life. I won’t fail her.
A knock echoes through the phone, and she peers over her shoulder once more. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll call again soon. Behave yourself, brother.” She smiles, and then the screen goes dark, the call ending before I can say goodbye.
I toss my phone down on the mattress and lay back, staring up at the ceiling. I’m spiraling again, and every day I get closer to losing the last remaining shreds of my control. I need something to anchor me, something I can control.
No, not something, someone. The enemy. Aspen. I need to have her under my control again, at my mercy, because as sick as it is, as wrong as it is, it’s the only time I feel like my old self. The only time I feel in control of my life.
8
ASPEN
The days start to blend in this hell hole. The only reprieve is that I’ve somehow stayed off Quinton’s radar. I’ve managed to go an entire week without having a single run-in with him. Granted, I did skip PE class this morning, so I wouldn’t have to see him.
Between the fear of being caught by him and being alone and singled out everywhere I go, I’m a mess. Even the teachers seem to dislike me. I’m trapped in this place with nowhere else to go. Not to mention, I haven’t been able to reach my mom. Every time I try to Skype her, she’s busy. All I want to do is vent to her about this place, not that she would care. She advocated the most for me to go here.
I shelve the pity party I’m setting
up in my mind for later and gather up all my clothes in the laundry bag provided to me when I arrived. I have to go down to the lower level to drop my laundry off for cleaning. Apparently, the students here are too high class to operate a washer and dryer. I scoff at the nonsense and heft the bag over my shoulder.
Yeah, most of us grew up wealthy, but this is still a university. People should at least know how to do their own laundry.
My only clean clothes are what I’m wearing—a pair of sweats, a T-shirt, and an oversized sweatshirt. I’ve pushed off going downstairs to do laundry for so long that I literally have nothing else to wear. I generally procrastinate doing anything that means me walking through the dorms or anywhere else, for that matter.
I actually played with the idea of no longer attending classes altogether, thinking if I fail, they’ll surely send me back home. But what then? We lost most of our money when my dad was convicted. The only assets we got to keep were the house and my trust fund. I don’t even know how much this place costs to attend, but I doubt they will refund my tuition.
Wanting to get this over with quickly, I speed walk down the hall, hoping to pass people before they even realize it’s me. I succeed most of the way. Only a few shoulder bumps, insults, and dirty looks are hurled at me as I make my way downstairs.
Luckily, there is no line when I walk up to the desk. The maid who takes the laundry looks up from the book in her hand with a smile. That smile is immediately wiped off her face when she recognizes who I am.
They must have a fucking picture of me posted in the employee break room or something. How does every freaking person know me?
“I’m sorry, Miss. I can’t take your laundry,” she tells me, a sad frown on her lips. At least she isn’t actively mocking me. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, and I can tell her apology is real, which means it’s not her. Someone is telling her not to help me. As defeated as I feel, I’m not going to let it bother me. I know how to use a washer and dryer.
“I understand. Can you point me in the direction of a washer I can use?”
Her head lowers, and her shoulders sink. “Students are not allowed to use the washers.”
I’m so flabbergasted, I almost drop my bag. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t let you into the laundry room. It’s off-limits to students.”
“But you also can’t do my laundry?” I clarify, and she shakes her head. “So, how am I supposed to wash my clothes?”
She sighs and gives me a tiny shrug. I know it’s not her doing, but it’s hard not to let my anger out at the person in front of me.
“Thanks for nothing,” I sneer and storm off.
I basically run back to my room with the bag of clothes bouncing off my shoulder. My arm already hurts from holding it at an odd angle for so long, but I welcome the pain. I let it fuel my anger.
Swiping my key card, I shove open my room long enough to throw the bag inside, then slam the door back shut and head to the administration building.
By the time I make it to the headmaster’s office, my vigor is slowly diminishing, but I know I have to do this. I have to stand up for myself at some point. What better time than now?
“Can I help you?” the secretary at the front desk asks with a fake smile painted on her bright red lips.
“I need to talk to someone.”
“Someone?” she parrots back at me.
No, not someone, the man in control.
“I want to talk to Mr. Diavolo,” I say, keeping my voice strong.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” I answer before I change my mind.
“All right, dear.” She pushes some buttons on the phone and waves her hand toward the door beside her desk.
Taking one deep, calming breath, I head toward the headmaster’s office and push open the heavy wooden door. I find him sitting at his desk, his feet propped up, and he leans back in his leather chair. His eyes are glued to a large TV screen that is made to look like a window into a forest. Soft sounds of nature play in the background.
“What can I do for you?” he asks, sounding bored. He doesn’t even look up at me until I start talking.
“I get it, you hate me. Everyone does. But I need clean clothes, and since the laundry services refuse to do my laundry, I’ll do it myself, but you need to at least give me access to wash them.”
“You have a bathroom. Wash your clothes in the sink.”
“My sink is broken, and the janitor won’t fix it.”
He simply shrugs, like he couldn’t care less about the condition of my room. “That seems like a personal problem. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“You know I pay the same tuition as everyone else, right? You can’t just take stuff away from me.”
Slamming his palms onto the table, he sits up so fast I barely see him move. Startled, I jump back a foot, bumping into a side table behind me.
“Let’s make one thing very clear, you do not come in here making demands. I don’t give two shits about your comfort or how you wash your fucking clothes. Be glad we gave you a room in the dorms at all because there is a nice little shack with no running water or heat at the surface. Would you rather stay there?”
I shake my head furiously, in the universal sign of no, my tongue suddenly heavy in my mouth. The tranquil sound of the forest scene coming from the TV is drowned out by the heavy thud of my pounding heart in my ears.
“If that’s all, you can get the fuck out now.” He’s halfway through the sentence, but I’m already heading for the door. I can’t get away from him fast enough, and coming here was definitely a mistake.
In defeat, I walk back to the dorms, drowning out any snide comments from people I pass. Back in my room, I pick up the bag of clothes and dump them out on my bed. I’ll have to somehow wash them in the shower later using my shampoo, but for now, I pick the cleanest of my clothes and change into them.
The shirt is now wrinkled, and the smell is less than pleasant. I drown myself in perfume and run the comb through my hair until I look and smell halfway presentable. Grabbing my bag on the way out, I head to my history class, which I missed last week thanks to Quinton.
Surprisingly, I find the classroom right away, and thankfully, I arrive a little early. I take a seat furthest in the back, tucked into the corner of the room. Maybe no one will notice me.
I actually make it through most of the class without anyone bothering me. Professor Brush goes over the Cold War, espionage, and other tactical warfare. It isn’t until he touches the subject of treason that I become the center of attention.
“You probably know that officially Julius and Ethel Rosenberg were the only two people executed for treason, after being found guilty of conspiracy to commit espionage. Of course, many more people were put to death, but your high school history books don’t have that information. Lucky for you, ours do. Open your books and take a look at page sixty-nine.”
I unlock my computer and flip the e-book to the page in question. My stomach flips when I see the image. It’s a naked woman, strung up by her arms in the center of the room. Her lifeless body bloodied and beaten.
“The Rosenberg execution by electric chair might have been called inhumane, but their deaths had nothing on some of the lesser-known traitors. As you can see from the image, Clara Morris suffered for days before she died a slow and painful death.”
“You mean Mather?” someone whispers, and a wave of chuckles moves through the class. The professor continues as though nothing happened at all.
“As I was saying, Clara was raped and tortured for an entire week until she finally died. Videos of her punishment were distributed across the dark web to let everyone know what happens to those who betray their own.”
“Maybe we should do this to Aspen,” another guy says, not even bothering to whisper it. I keep my eyes trained on the screen in front of me and ignore more laughter erupting in the classroom.
“Are you even listening, Mather?” A balled-up piece of paper hit
s me in the side of the head, making me look up.
“Was that really necessary?” I glare at the guy who clearly hates my guts.
“No talking in class, Aspen,” Professor Brush warns.
I know talking back will only make things worse, but my stupid mouth moves on its own. “Are you serious? Everyone else is talking. He threw something at me.” I point at the guy and immediately hear the word snitch mumbled by a few people.
The professor’s eyes turn murderous, and the tone of his voice is menacing. “Marcel was just trying to get your attention since you are clearly distracted,” he defends the guy. “Everyone else is contributing to the class material. You are not.”
“I know a way she could contribute…”
The laughter feels like nails on a chalkboard to me. It doesn’t only hurt my ears, it hurts my soul, and I know I can’t spend another minute in this room without losing my shit.
Without looking up, I gather everything in front of me, shove it in my bag, and storm out of the class. The door falls shut behind me, and I break out into a run as soon as my feet hit the marble floor. Fuck this class. Fuck all of them.
I push my legs to run faster, feeling as if I’m not getting away from these people quick enough. I round the corner to the elevators and run full force into someone. Bouncing back, I land on my ass with a hard thud. Pain shoots up my back, making me groan in pain. In the process, my bag slips from my hand and goes flying across the corridor.
“What the fuck are you doing?” an angry voice booms from above me. My head snaps up, and I find Quinton and Ren staring down at me.
Of—fucking—course.
9
QUINTON
My chest tingles where her small body crashed into mine. Using my palm, I rub the spot and glare down at Aspen, who is sitting on her ass in front of us.
“Do you always run around corners without looking?” I question.
She doesn’t answer with words, simply shakes her head and starts gathering the contents of her bag. She is on her knees crawling over the floor, and my eyes zero in on her apple-shaped ass. My cock twitches against my zipper, and I hate how her body makes me feel. I hate not being in control of my lust.