by Iris Taylor
Shattered Rose
Ravenshaw Academy, Volume 2
Iris Taylor
Published by Iris Taylor, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SHATTERED ROSE
First edition. January 10, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Iris Taylor.
Written by Iris Taylor.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter One
I couldn't believe my ears. There was no way the past I had tried so hard to put behind me was catching up with me again. Not here, not this way. But the sounds kept on coming. And Adrienne's evil smile stayed on her face, frozen, like hard ice on a cold, cold heart.
"Please, no." My voice sounded breathless, and perhaps to others who didn't know the context, hot and bothered.
"Yes, baby, just like that."
I shut my eyes and willed the memories of that day to remain firmly stowed away in the deep recesses of my mind. Nothing good would come out of them resurfacing now, or of me breaking down. I needed to stay strong, and focus on the events unfolding in front of me. But the sounds went on and on, a cruel reminder of the horrors I had to face, of the helplessness and self-disgust I had to endure for a long, long time.
Focus, Angel. You can do this.
"Where did you get that?" I asked again, in a stronger voice this time. "Whoever gave that to you needs to know it is a crime."
Adrienne laughed mirthlessly. "A crime? Cara, I don't know where you keep your head buried, but it needs to come out of the sand. This voice clip is easily available online. You just need to know where to look. I'm sure if I tried harder, I'd find the video too."
A sudden pang of pain sliced through my soul like a shard of glass, bleeding me until there was no more left to drain. I felt my knees buckle, and could only think of her words. Available online? Did Sam upload it? Did Billy?
It was sickening. All those horrible times when I was forced into submission, when I was taken without my consent. For all to hear, for anyone sick enough to download and see.
"Please. Tell me exactly where you got this from."
"It doesn't matter where from, you slut. You could report one site but what about all the others it's already uploaded to and shared on? You should've thought twice about letting someone record you in the first place. Especially of something as slutty as this."
Her haughty, self-righteous judgment of me seized away all sane thoughts. Instead, all I could feel was a white-hot fury, bolstered by pain and revenge and sadness. She had no idea what I had been through. She had no right to assume I had been a voluntary participant in that recording. How dare she.
Without thinking, I jumped on her and felt my fist connect with her cheek. The thud of her head against the floor was not as satisfying as I needed it to be. Lunging again, I held her head and slammed it hard against the floor. The crack that sounded this time made me feel slightly better. Soon, I felt a pair of hands pull me off her, but I was already done making my point.
"The next time you make assumptions of people, make sure they're the correct ones."
I shook my head and allowed myself to be led away from her, my body still shaking in anger. Girls like her probably had a one-track mind and only thought the worst of others. She hadn’t even considered other scenarios, or thought of a less public way to humiliate me, let alone talk me to me in private to show me the clips she had discovered. She had such audacity to come to those conclusions of me. The cruel way she played the recording, in front of everyone, threatened to undo me. I hated them. I hated them all. I wiped away my angry tears with my restrained arm and took a deep, cleansing breath. When I saw my locker, I stopped and wrested my arms away to unlock it and grabbed the bag that was ready inside.
"Come, we have to go to the principal's office." The voice belonged to Mr. Wilkins, my old biology teacher. He had been holding my arm firmly the entire time. I nodded, the fight gone out of me. He led me to the too-familiar set of oak doors and knocked.
"Come in," said a female voice inside. Entering, I held my head up high as Mr. Wilkins escorted me inside and explained to the slender lady with her short, grey hair what had transpired outside. His version of events were matter-of-fact and straightforward, with no trace of judgment, simply a report of what he had seen. I was not too far gone in my moment of anger that I wasn't able to appreciate his kindness, and I gave him a grateful smile.
Miss Marshall listened with interest to what Mr. Wilkins had to say.
"Well, Cara. It seems to me that violence is the first resort for you in a number of situations."
I counted to three in my head before replying. Miss Marshall was, as expected, not on my side. "If you have a minute, I have something to show you." She nodded and waited expectantly.
I took out the contents of the bag and placed them one by one on her table. The condom with its creamy fluid stood out starkly against the table, that is, until I took out the heavily edited photo of me in leather and placed it next to the condom.
She looked at the objects on her table with a mortified expression and looked at me irately. “What is the meaning of all of this?” she asked. She looked like a dried up scarecrow, just nicely dressed. Taking a deep breath I replied, “These items were taped to my locker door a few weeks ago. It caused a lot of rumors to spread about me at the time, and caused me a lot of trouble. No one has come forward claim responsibility for the incident.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Miss Marshall looked at Mr. Wilkins before clearing her throat. “And why have you only brought this up now?”
I almost rolled my eyes. Trust her to care. Instead, I kept my voice steady. “Today, a group of students cornered me and accused me of being a prostitute.” Before continuing, I looked at her squarely to gauge her reaction. Her face was impassive. If I had to guess, I would have said that she probably didn’t want to know - as long as her school’s good name was kept out of it.
“Naturally, I was affronted and reacted as such, because the accusation was grossly erroneous and unfair. I am bringing this up with the school first, naturally, but if no action is taken, I will of course feel inclined to report these incidents to the authorities.”
Her once expressionless face became a chagrined one. “And who else would that be?”
“The police. I believe there is a zero-bullying tolerance policy the school is meant to implement. I suggest the culture of bullying prevalent here be looked into closely before serious consequences occur, either to the students or to the teachers who turn a blind eye.”
Her rapid blinking told me that she was more affected by the threat of being reported to the police than she was by the news of my bullying. I wondered how much Adrienne’s and Elijah’s parents had already paid her to keep their children’s behavior off record. I wondere
d if my overzealous speech betrayed how much this whole thing was affecting me. But she needed to know I was serious. I wasn’t a dumb pushover the elite could manhandle as they wished. I was a high-achieving student with a past that would have drowned other, lesser, people.
Next to me, Mr. Wilkins cleared his throat. “What would they be basing their accusations on?”
His sudden interjection, the depth of meaning and – did I misread the emotion behind his words? – concern he showed made my eyes suddenly well up with sudden emotion. I wiped the tears away quickly and swallowed. “My past is mine to disclose. My mother and I moved here for a very good reason – one that I’m sure everyone else is working towards: a good future. I would be very happy if I could continue working on that goal without having to deal with the games played by over-privileged students who have no better things to do with their time.”
I nodded my chin towards Miss Marshall and turned to leave the room and its suffocating four walls. Once outside, I headed straight down the corridor and went round the corner, feeling my knees buckle and collapse. The school was already quiet and empty, signaling the end of a long Friday and what was supposed to be a free weekend to enjoy. I didn’t feel so carefree – in fact, I had never felt so empty and lost.
Lucia’s words earlier reverberated in my mind. “It looks like what Elijah called your mom.” Even Lucia couldn’t look at me in the eye. I wondered what it would be like if I told her the truth. A sense of helplessness besieged me. I had lost one of my few close friends because of the burden I carried, and I had no desire to explain myself to her, or to anyone else, for that matter. Damn you, Sam. If I had been capable of true violence, murder would have been the first thing on my to-do list. As it was, my mind was still rational, which meant that all I could do was move eight hours away and pray my uncle only visited once a year.
You could report him. The thought plagued me, as it always did, over the years. It was an exhausting notion to entertain, one that I couldn’t summon the energy to look closely into. Especially now, when he was physically removed from me. I could report him, but with no solid evidence, what guarantee do I have that he will be taken away? I thought back to the voice clip Adrienne had played. She was right. Maybe if I looked hard enough, I could find the videos. I know he had recorded me a few times. That would be evidence right there. And then the endless questioning. Reliving the entire thing, again and again. It was like voluntarily going through hell, retrieving parts of the past I had tried so hard to push back. No, I couldn’t see myself reporting him any time soon,
As I sat, slumped on the floor, my back to the wall, I saw a pair of brown loafers step in front of me.
“Miss Bradley. A word, if you don’t mind.”
It was Mr. Wilkins. His long-ish blond hair covered his left eye partly, but I could still see the worry written all over his face. I stood up silently and nodded, picking up the bag that was still on the floor.
“Come this way.” He led me towards a set of glass doors at the end of the corridor and I saw that it was an empty sitting room connected to a kitchenette. The floor had white ceramic tiles and looked pristine, and there was a small fridge and a coffeemaker on the white laminate countertop. He took two glasses and poured some water into them from a jug and offered me one. I silently drank the cool liquid and relished the soothing effect it had on my throat. I hadn’t realized how parched my throat was until then. He gestured for me to take a seat in one of the empty sofas.
“I want to apologize for how the school has welcomed you since you arrived here.” He cringed, and continued. “I am a relatively new teacher here, having arrived less than two years ago from Turnstead - a town near here. I, too, have noticed certain – oddities, shall we say, peculiar to this school that I did not observe when I was teaching at other schools.”
He stopped and held my gaze. His irises were a deep blue and if the light wasn’t playing tricks on me, had golden flecks in them. I realized Mr. Wilkins was actually quite pleasant-looking, if not outright pleasing, to the eye.
When I didn’t reply, he continued. “One thing that caught my attention was the class system practiced amongst the students here. By that, I mean – the hierarchy. The elite, and the less privileged.” He started pacing around the small room. “And the bullying amongst students that is prevalent and in fact, encouraged, I must say, to keep this system alive. Encouraged – by the culture in this society. It is a system that is also evident outside the school – in the community.”
This time, I found my voice enough to ask, “You mean the bullying carries on outside?”
He nodded. “Their rich parents – who I shall not name – are very much practicing the same hierarchical system with similar, shall we say, harassment of others outside of these school borders. Unfortunately, it’s just the way this community is, and I’ve been told it’s not something anyone has tried too hard to fight.” He paused. “However.”
He took a step towards me and sat down across from where I was seated. “It’s never before gotten to the point of spreading malicious untruths of that nature amongst the students. And it’s never been met with such resistance from a victim. I’m beginning to feel that this may escalate to unprecedented heights.”
“You mean, they’ve never had to deal with someone who fights back, and now they’re going beyond what they normally have to do?”
He nodded. “Most students typically fall into line within the first week or so. I’ve been told you haven’t exactly bowed down to the students who call themselves the elites.”
I snorted at the term. “As they want to be known. I’ve already told Adrienne and Jessica that I’m here purely to get good grades and get into a good college somewhere. For some reason, they can’t simply leave me alone.”
His lips quirked into a smile. He really was a good-looking guy. “No, I doubt they could. I understand you’ve dated Victor Gray as well?”
At the mention of his name, a pang of sorrow hit me, weighing me down. Victor, the guy I had taken a chance on, who I had opened my soul up to. The image of his hands in Jessica’s was indelible in my mind.
“Very briefly. Turns out he was one of them.”
He nodded. “My point is, you have backbone and they don’t like it. Miss Bradley, I’ve been following your progress in class and perhaps, outside of class as well. You are a very bright student but I think for your own safety you may need to consider your actions around your peers.”
I looked at him incredulously. “Do you mean to say you think I should conform like all those other bully victims?” And here I thought he was on my side.
“I am on your side. That’s why I’m giving you such advice. You have less than a year here and then you can escape this place, once and for all. Go to college as you are aiming for, without being embroiled in the politics of this place.”
I didn’t realize I had spoken my thoughts about him out loud. But I was beyond caring now. “They should be stopped, Mr. Wilkins. This is not their playground.”
He shook his head. “You still have a lot to learn about life, Miss Bradley. Ravenshaw Falls is their playground to run and play with as they wish. You and I, we are the outsiders who are trying to get the best out of this place. We play by their rules, and we come out unscathed. But we need to come out, and not be stuck in their games forever.”
I heard a veiled warning in his words. Was he also a victim of bullying like me?
“I’m afraid I can’t agree to that, Mr. Wilkins. I’m not the type to sit down and bear it.” At his hesitation, I quickly qualified my words with, “But I understand the sentiment and intent behind your words. Thank you for reaching out to me. I’ll try to think about what you said.”
Chapter Two
“So you mean to say, they somehow found clips of you being uhh...doing that online?” Simon asked, scratching his head.
I looked at him square in the eye. “Say it, Simon. Videos of me being raped. Non-consensual, forced intercourse with an underage girl. Ra
pe.”
He pulled me towards him and hugged me tight. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so skeptical.” He sighed. “I don’t know how you stay so strong. That’s a whole lot of crazy to deal with. You have one sick uncle.”
I nodded. I was actually glad to have confided in him. He hadn’t asked me once why I hadn’t reported Sam to the police, or why I hadn’t told my mom, or put pressure on me to do anything at all. He was proving to be a loyal friend. Only Simon had spoken to me after that degrading picture of me went viral at school, and with no signs of pity or accusation on his face – both of which I couldn’t bear to deal with at the moment.
He had brought me to a quiet diner near his place, and forced me to down a plate of fries and a burger, knowing I hadn’t had much to eat all day. When I had calmed down somewhat, he waited until I was ready, his hand holding mine, and told me he had his phone switched off so that we would not be interrupted. Somehow, he knew exactly what I needed that day – a stoic, nonjudgmental shoulder to cry on.
The words had poured out of me like water. It was as if a dam had broken, and years of agony, hurt and self-doubt unveiled themselves in front of Simon and I, surprising even me. I had always thought of myself as resilient, and able to rationalize everything that had happened to me. Sam and Billy were the ones who were sick and needed help, not me. I was the victim of their base, evil desires, ones that they had no ability or wish to keep restrained. I thought I had healed quite well, and only needed to be removed from them physically in order to fully recover. I had never been more wrong.
And so Simon had awkwardly dabbed my red eyes and nose with tissues, and given me a long, tight hug whilst the sobs continued. The diner remained empty save for one or two older couples, who barely batted an eye at my display of emotion.
“Cara. Listen. I think you need to stop taking things into your own hands. You obviously need more than one head to figure this one out. I have a friend who’s really good with computers and stuff – we can get her to find out where these files are posted and see what she can do to remove them.”
