by R Holmes
"I need to see you in my office, now," William seethes. For someone as calm and collected as he normally is, I'm surprised by the bite in his tone. He brushes past me toward his office, and even though there are a million other things I'd rather be doing, I follow him. Especially after spending hours downtown at the station yesterday. My head throbs and it's barely nine a.m.
When we're inside the office, he slams the door shut and walks over to the massive cedar desk, taking his seat. The look on his face, paired with his less than happy demeanor, means I'll be getting my ass chewed. Flopping back into the chair opposite to him, I fold my arms across my chest, feigning boredom.
"This has to stop, Rhys."
I clench my jaw and avert my gaze out the window. My jaw ticks and I don't bother responding to his comment.
"Enough is enough. You're a legal adult now, and soon you'll be a functioning member of society. This has to stop. I can't always bail you out of situations," he says.
That gets my attention.
"So, that's what this is about? Sick of bailing me out, William?"
"Don't try and spin this on me, Rhys. I have tried my hardest to break through the barrier you have so insistently put up since I became your guardian, to no avail. You refuse to let anyone in. This isn't detention, Rhys. The police are questioning you and your friends for arson and attempted murder. What happens if you go to prison? Are you just going to throw your entire life away for these boys?"
Yeah, like he'd understand. He's never understood anything about me or my life. I lean further back in the chair. "Stop pretending to care. I'm eighteen now, no longer your ward, which means I’m no longer your problem.
His eyes soften. "I understand you will never forgive me for what you heard, but, Rhys, I was young, just out of seminary, I was as lost as you were. I had hoped somehow we'd maneuver the unknown together, but you've never let me get close enough to try. I simply don't want to see you end up in prison. You're smart, have the highest GPA in your class—you were meant for more than this." He places his hands on the desk in front of him, leaning closer. "I know what happened with your pare—"
"Don't," I hiss. "Do not fucking mention them, ever again. You made it abundantly clear, even as a child, I was nothing but a burden to you, William, and I'm not interested in mending bridges to satisfy your conscience. Don't worry about what I do."
I rise from the chair and walk toward the door, but before my hand reaches the knob, I turn back and say, "For the record, even if you had truly tried, I'd still be as fucked-up as I am today. You would have never been able to save me."
With that, I open the door and walk out.
A sinner like me? Broken, immoral, unforgivable. I’m too far gone.
The next week passed in a blur. Mara cornered me every chance she could, and I spent the rest of my time locked away in the library researching for the essay that's due in two weeks for Latin. The weekend came and went, and before I knew it, Monday morning was here, ready to steal all of the joy Chuck and Blair, along with rocky road, brought me over the weekend.
All weekend I was tormented with thoughts of Rhys Blackwood. It was wrong to be thinking of him. And I knew it.
Every cell in my body screams to run in the other direction, but some part of me wants to see just what was is wrong and illicit about him. I want to know firsthand what all of the other girls whispered about in the hallway. See what the truth really is, who was Rhys Blackwood?
Obviously, it’s the part of me I wouldn't be listening to since he and his friends were probably going to be in jail for a really long time for burning a house down and God only knows what else. My stomach aches with the thought of being involved in this fucked-up mess. I should have never listened to what wasn't meant for me. Now, I'm just as guilty as they are by keeping their secret hidden.
I wish I had never been in the library that night.
When my phone begins to vibrate on my vanity, I let out a pained groan when I see Victoria’s name on the screen. I can answer and listen to her lecture me on the importance of fasting and giving carbs up, not just for the sake of Jesus, but for my figure since it’s "less than ideal" for a girl my age.
Her words exactly.
But if I don't answer, then she'll just call incessantly until I finally do answer, and she’ll send me graphs of weight ranges and obesity in females under twenty-five. It is exhausting.
Unlike most girls my age, I didn't even have a problem with my weight. Did I need to lose a few pounds around my love handles, and eat less bread since it went straight to my ass? Sure. But I wasn't what society would deem as “fat” by any means.
I just wasn't perfect. Not in her eyes at least.
And less than perfect meant you were a flaw in her plan. She worked entirely too hard to create this image to anyone looking inside our glass house. An image her friends at the country club, the girls in the women's society, all of my father's influential, rich friends, cared more than anyone could image about. The real, real housewives of Orange County. This image meant everything to her. And since I was not a size zero, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and the IQ of a lab rat… I didn't fit the mold she desperately wanted me to.
Her image included way too much Botox, fake boobs that put most porn stars to shame, and enough lip filler to keep her afloat if she was going to drown. Sighing, I swipe across the screen and answer. Better to get it over with now rather than later, when I'm in public and she FaceTimes me ten times until I pick up.
"Valentina, darling," her velvet purr singsongs through the line.
My eyes roll on their own accord.
"Hi, Victoria." I plaster on my fake "let's pretend we like each other for the sake of my father" voice. Sickly sweet, and not an ounce of real.
"How is school? I trust you are keeping your GPA up? Completing your assignments? Your father is paying a fortune for St. Augustine." She laughs.
Here we go.
"Of course I am. I have a 4.0 and perfect attendance. No infractions." I glance into the mirror as I speak to her, taking note of how dull my hair looks with the large purplish-blue bags under my eyes. I reach for the concealer on my desk and start applying a too-thick layer to cover the obvious evidence of no sleep.
"Oh great, honey. So, you know on Saturday mornings, I do yoga with Joann down at the country club. Joann? You know, Marie Ella’s mother?
"Uh-huh."
She starts talking a mile a minute and I have a hard time even keeping up with what she's saying. "Well, her daughter, Amelia, just tried these new magic diet pills. Not that I think they're actually magic, but she said apparently she lost ten pounds in less than two weeks! Wouldn’t it be amazing?"
Uh, no, it sounds unhealthy and makes me queasy just thinking of what she's ingesting to actually make it happen.
"Sure," I lie.
"Anyway, I told her to send me the link to purchase and I bought you a six-month supply! They should be at your dorm any day now. You know Christmas break will sneak up on you and we have the charity gala with all of Los Angeles' politicians, we must look our best."
I don’t reply.
"Valentina, sweetie, are you still there?"
I let out a ragged sigh.
"Yes, Victoria, still here. Thanks for the heads-up, I'll be on the lookout for it. How's Dad? I haven’t heard from him lately." I try to cover the hurt in my voice, even if she won't notice, but it hurts that my dad hasn't even bothered to pick up the phone to check in on me after my load of summer school classes. It's like, just because I'm thousands of miles away, I don't exist any longer.
I'm surprised Victoria calls and pretends as much as she does, it's not like my dad pays attention to anything in my life anymore.
“Oh, sweetie, you know how busy your father is. He’s got a big, high-profile case he’s working on right now…” She trails off.
Shocker. Once again I’m the least important thing in my dad’s life.
My heart pangs and I clear my throat. "I really need to get off
and get to class. Thanks for checking in on me, Victoria."
I don't bother giving her the chance to respond as I end the call.
After the call with her, and the fact that my dad hasn’t even bothered to pick up his phone and call or text, my mood is sour as I gather all of my books and my laptop, shoving them in my backpack. I grab an oversized cardigan off the rack on the back of my door, shoulder my bag, and head out. The halls are buzzing with the "new year" feeling since it's the official start of our school year. With a little over a month of classes so far, there is a sea of new faces, mostly freshman, and then there’s the same crowd from last year. The ones like me, who stayed through the summer because being locked away at a boarding school a million miles from home was better than being at home. There were things that most, if not all of us, were trying to escape.
I make my way over to the main building which houses most of my classes, aside from Latin and religious studies. The huge, cathedral-type building is so tall I have to crane my neck up to see the black, wrought-iron cross that sits at the top of its highest peak.
From the outside in, St. Augustine is the epitome of a Gothic style, Catholic boarding school. Everything is old and worn-looking, but in the most sophisticated way. Touched by the hand of God himself, is what Sister Mary Margaret would say. She's in charge of us girls, but the poor lady really can't keep up. Especially in a school filled with girls like Mara, who are the actual spawn of Satan.
It's a dog-eat-dog world within these walls of stone. A hierarchy only understood by those who live it.
The founding families who set the foundation of this school and the town together are the ones who reign. They are royalty here, and everyone who lives here knows it. The Boys of St. Augustine who reign so cruelly. As cold as ice. There's the girls who sit on the throne and rule with crowns of ice and castles made of glass. They flaunt their money, their more than perfect bodies, their last name like it's their birthright… and I guess, it is. Then, there's people like me. Outsiders. The ones who have been thrown to the wolves, who either fight or get eaten alive.
The morning passes uneventfully, and I say a quick Hail Mary for the little things. Mean girl and her shit-for-brains posse seem to have been actually learning to pass the time without tormenting me. That’s the thing about being invisible, you pass by undetected, usually. I’m the first person to walk into English lit, early as always, and I pick a desk at the very back. I pull out my laptop, notebook, and pen, preparing for the lecture, then grab my iPad to read the book I’ve been engrossed in. I keep my iPad in my bag so I can read if I have any downtime.
I start reading and the classroom around me gets drowned out. I ignore the buzz of conversation, the students around me filling in the desks, nothing but the story I’m engrossed in. Which just so happens to be a particularly raunchy, dirty as they come, erotic romance. Completely taboo, and something I’ve come to love to read in the last few months. As much as I live for the classics, I love a taboo book just as much. I’m so absorbed in my book, I don’t see the shadow approach, and suddenly my iPad is ripped from my hands.
I’m in such shock, I almost fall out of my chair into a heap at their feet. I look up and dark, cold, eyes stare back at me. Rhys Blackwood is standing in my English lit class, dangling my iPad in front of my face with a cruel smirk.
Oh no, no, no. Please no.
He glances down at the screen and I leap forward, trying to swipe it from his hands before he can see what I’m reading.
“Ah, ah,” he says, jumping back just out of my reach. My fingers grasp his shirt but then he’s even further away, swiping across the screen at the last page I was reading with his eyebrows arched in surprise.
I feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me, and my face burns with embarrassment at being the center of attention. I hate it.
“Whatcha reading, little lamb?” he says with a vicious tone.
I’m too stunned to find words, and stutter like a fool, still trying to rip my iPad from his grip.
He stands on a chair in the back of the classroom and clears his throat loudly, getting the attention of our classmates. I want to strangle him with the uniform tie that he’s wearing. I pull on his pant leg, but he's so much taller than me, even not standing on a chair, he easily shakes me off.
Loudly, he starts to read, “She takes the head of his cock deep into her mouth, humming a sweet little groan around his girth.”
Snickers and laughter ring out in the classroom around me, and I feel like I might actually die right here in this spot. If I don’t fall over and die, I might puke in front of everyone, furthering my embarrassment.
“My brother slides his cock inch by inch into her ass, hovering above us, while I’m seated balls-deep into her pussy below. The sensation of how tight she is makes me wild with need,” he continues, octaves higher than the last sentence he read.
“Wow, Valentina. You know, if you’re so desperate for cock, I guess I could let you gag on mine.” He laughs mockingly. It’s cold and unyielding.
There’s a whistle from the front of the room, and my eyes dart around the classroom and I see Sebastian sitting in the front row, looking smug. He elbows his friend as they laugh at me.
As if this could get any worse.
“Wait, is this like DP?” a girl cries from the front of the classroom and Rhys smirks, dragging his eyes down to mine. Everyone hoots and hollers, and I want to shrink down to nothing.
But instead of cowering to him, I stand taller and lift my chin.
“You are such a fucking asshole, Rhys,” I tell him with so much malice, it drips from my words. My nails are cutting crescent-shaped wounds in my palms from clenching my fists so tightly.
I’ve never been so angry in my life. Never been so embarrassed. Never felt so completely powerless at the hand of any other human.
“I feel my cum shoot into her womb and—” He’s cut off by Sister Camille as she walks into the classroom and the heavy door slams shut behind her.
“That’s enough, Mr. Blackwood. You and Ms. Carmichael can both meet me in the library for detention this afternoon at four o’clock for your crude language and disruption of my class. You’re lucky I don’t send you straight to the Father William. Have a seat.” She looks down the nose of her glasses at us both, and I feel completely murderous at this point.
Not only did this asshole humiliate me in front of the entire class, he got me the first detention of my life. I may kill him, with my bare hands. If he jeopardizes my future at Harvard, there will be blood spilled. I have worked my entire life for this.
I snatch my iPad from his hands the second his feet touch the ground, and he gives me a grin. Even if he is ridiculously attractive, I want to slap the grin right off his smug face.
Why is he doing this?
He told me to keep my mouth shut, and I did. Why the sudden torment?
I take my seat and shove my iPad back into my bag, shrinking further in my chair as people still look my way and whisper to each other. Thankfully, Rhys sits at the very front of the classroom, so I don’t have to see his face, only the back of his head, and even then it’s too damn close.
“Now, everyone, settle down and listen up. This year, not only will you be preparing to graduate, you’ll be preparing to start college. We feel at St. Augustine, we have prepared you in all ways possible for your new future. You are all bright, accomplished, children of God, and you will surpass all expectations.” She gives us a small smile before continuing. “With that being said, this year we will focus on preparing you for what you will expect in college-level English classes. This year will focus on a semester-long thesis that will be your final, and will be the most weighted assignment in this class, counting for a significant portion of your final grade.”
A few sharp intakes of breath sound, and I roll my eyes.
I forget how many people in here probably don’t even know what the word thesis means.
Sister Camille continues, “Not only will you be ex
pected to complete a thesis on a given topic, you will list all references and research used in your thesis. I am assigning each of you a topic, but there’s also one more thing. This will be done with a partner. It is important to learn to work together with another peer using communication skills. Those skills will be needed from here on and into your adult, working life.”
She grabs a paper off of her desk, and begins reading off partners.
“Sebastian Pierce and Alison Lacroix,” she continues and I freeze when I hear my name called.
“Carmichael and Blackwood.”
Oh no. No no no. This cannot possibly be happening to me.
Rhys looks back at me and scowls, all of his amusement gone, then turns back in his desk facing forward. I’ll just have to speak with Sister Camille privately and explain to her that I cannot possibly work with him. He’s completely incapable.
She passes out the class syllabus and topics for our thesis, then the bell rings, and students scurry out of the classroom. I’m still sitting in my seat when everyone has left the room, including Rhys.
“Sister Camille? Can I speak with you for just a moment?” I ask, gathering my things from my desk.
“Sure, Ms. Carmichael. Although I must express how disappointed I am by today’s behavior. It’s very much unlike you.”
“That’s part of what I wanted to speak with you about. Is there any possible way I could be switched to another partner? I just can’t work with Rhys. Please?” My eyes hold her gaze and plead silently.
“Valentina, the purpose of this project is for you to find the ability to work with someone out of your social circle, and communicate. When you are at Harvard, do you think the professor will be so willing to switch your partner simply because you dislike someone? You will be kicked out of class before you can blink. I understand Mr. Blackwood can be… difficult. But both of you are competing for Valedictorian of the senior class. I think this assignment will prove to be beneficial to the both of you, academically and personally. My job is to nurture, and help you grow into thriving young adults. I cannot coddle and give favoritism.”
