Blackthorn Elite: The Entire Series

by Beck, J. L.

  “Don’t let him scare you. He’s still mourning her loss. He doesn’t know how to deal with pain. Someday, he’ll find a way to heal, but until then, he’s going to be grumpy,” Trish says, snickering. “Life is short, and losing Jillian taught us that.”

  “Would your parents be okay with us all sitting together?” Ken asks.

  “Uhh, I don’t know. I mean, they can’t tell you to leave the table if that’s what you mean.”

  Ken laughs, and it reminds me of all the times he would tell us stupid dad jokes, and he, Jillian, and I would laugh until our cheeks hurt, and tears rolled down our faces. I miss smiling, being happy, feeling joyful instead of dead.

  “Good, then let’s sit together,” Trish exclaims and grabs my hand. Together we walk back toward the table while Ken turns and goes to talk to Jackson. He returns a moment later, shaking his head, and Trish gives him a little frown before shrugging her shoulders. My own father refuses to look at me as well, but my mother makes small talk with Trish.

  It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but it’s the most structured my life has felt since losing her. Slowly, everything around me melts away, and I allow myself to feel normal for once. I allow myself to feel like I’m not the reason she died.

  78

  Jackson

  How can they do this? How can they talk to her like she didn’t take Jillian from us? How can my mom hug her like she didn’t destroy our life? How can my father forgive her as if it wasn’t all her fault?

  I’ve never felt so betrayed in my life. My own fucking parents, what a joke.

  Sitting in the corner of the large room, I tighten the grip around the glass of champagne. My hand is shaking with barely restrained anger, and I know the thin glass is going to give way any second now. It’s going to shatter in my hand, like my life shattered the night my twin died.

  Even though it physically hurts me to do so, I can’t look away. Every time my mom’s hand rests on Kennedy’s shoulder, I want to throw my glass at them. With every smile they give, it only adds gasoline to the fire. Fueling my hatred and anger until it threatens to swallow me whole. Darkness is my best friend, and I feel the need to give in to it right now.

  They act like I’m not even here, ignoring me like they should be doing to her. I can’t fucking take this any longer. I need to get out of here, I can’t breathe.

  Just as I get ready to walk out, I notice Kennedy getting up as well. She heads to the bathroom, and instead of leaving, I decide to follow her. Taking the long way around, I avoid my family all together and make it to the bathroom just as she is walking back out.

  Sneaking up behind her, I grab her by the arm and pull her back. She lets out a shriek and twists in my hold. “Jackson!”

  “Shut up!” I keep dragging her with me. She stumbles over her high heels, and I have to pull her up before she hits the ground. Once we are hidden around the corner, in a corridor away from the event, and any prying eyes, I push her up against the wall.

  “What fucking games are you playing? Trying to get close to my family again? What’s the plan now? Killing someone else close to me?”

  “What? No… I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  “You like playing the innocent little girl, don’t you? You might be able to fool my parents, but never me, do you understand? I know what kind of person you are. I know how black your soul is. You’re ugly inside.”

  “Stop! Let go of me, Jackson.” Kennedy fights back, anger flickering in her eyes, which only fans the flame of rage inside me. If I wanted to, I could hurt her–really hurt her–but I wouldn’t come back from that, nor would my heart allow me to do such a thing. No matter how much I try and deny it, I care too much about if she’s living or dead, even though I shouldn’t.

  But there are other things I can do to her, other ways to show her that I’m in control and that I always will be. Sliding a hand beneath her dress, I grab onto her thigh, squeezing it harshly, making sure she feels me. I can give her pain if I give her pleasure at the same time.

  Her eyes go wide, the hazel really standing out, and her throat bobs as she struggles to get away from me, but I push her back against the wall. As my fingers run up the inside of her thigh, she goes stone cold, and then I feel it. Something rough and raised against the creamy smooth skin of her thigh. I run my finger across the line, it feels almost like a scab.

  “What is this?” I ask, reaching for the hem of her dress, ready to inspect myself. As soon as our eyes connect, I see the pure panic in them. She completely freaks, becomes this wild animal, hell-bent on escaping me. Her hands lash out, and her nails dig into the skin of my face as she drags them downward.

  “Don’t ever touch me again,” she screams as she shoves at my chest, panic clawing its way out of her. I reach for her wrist but miss, and she comes back, landing a hard slap across my face. I’m stunned, shocked by the violent action, which gives her the moment she needs to shove by me and escape. Running away, she disappears while I hold a hand to my burning cheek, wondering if everything that just happened was a dream.

  What the fuck was that?

  She acted like I was going to kill her. I’ve threatened her before, grabbed her, and touched her without asking. She’s never reacted like that before. No. This was different.

  Whatever it is, it’s big. She is hiding a big fucking secret, and I’m going to find out what it is.

  I don’t know why I stand there moping over it. I don’t care what the fuck is wrong with her, just so long as she doesn’t die because her misery is my enjoyment, and if she’s dead, well, there goes my fun.

  Waiting a little longer before I reappear in the banquet hall, I give myself a moment to get my shit together. I go into the bathroom and check my face in the mirror. There is a scratch mark across my cheek, but I can’t do shit to hide it. Not going to lie, the fact that Kennedy attacked me is surprising as fuck.

  Cleaning myself up as best as I can, I leave the restroom and walk back into the party. I make it all of two feet inside the door before my mother is on me, her face a mask of fury.

  “What did you do to her?” my mother asks sternly.

  I choke on my laughter. “What did I do to her? Do you see my cheek? She fucking attacked me. Plus, I’m not the one out here pretending like everything is fine and dandy.” I take a step back, my voice rising, drawing attention from bystanders.

  I don’t care who sees or hears what I have to say. I’m past giving a shit now.

  “I know you’re hurting, son, but you need to calm down. It was an accident. Kennedy didn’t mean to do it.”

  I hate how calm she sounds, how dismissive to what happened to Jillian she is. Her voice is like ants crawling all over my skin, and I want to sink my nails into my flesh and itch.

  “An accident is running into someone with your shopping cart. Spilling a glass of milk. What she did wasn’t an accident. It was murder and the fact that you can’t see that…” I clench my fist, ready to punch something, someone, anything. I’m boiling water, that’s bubbling over. “The fact that you can’t see that makes you a fucking disgrace. You don’t forgive the person who killed someone you love. It’s disgraceful and shitty, and you’re…” I back away needing to go somewhere else to escape this turtleneck of an event.

  “Jackson, wait,” my mother calls after me with tears in her eyes, but her tears mean nothing to me, not when she can sit with the enemy and pretend that everything is all right. Not when she’d rather talk to the person that killed her daughter than her own son, who is drowning right in front of her.

  I don’t wait.

  I run, and I don’t stop until my lungs burn, and my muscles ache. Until all I can do is pass out from exhaustion.

  79

  Kennedy

  The feelings are back, and I’m like a rock sinking to the bottom of them. He felt them, my scars, his fingers ran along the jagged, raised edges. He knows my secret, and he could tell anyone, my parents, his parents.

  “What’s going on,
honey?” My mother intercepts me as I come rushing around the corner. All I could think was to get away from him, to make sure he didn’t learn my secret, but that failed. He knows something is going on even if he doesn’t really know what it is.

  Forcing myself to calm down and pump the breaks, I wipe away the tears from my cheeks and pretend as if all is okay. “I’m just really emotional right now and having a rough time after seeing Ken and Trish, that’s all. I think I want to go home.”

  “We just got here though,” she says, frowning.

  “You guys can stay if you want, but I feel sick. I’m going to go back to my apartment. Maybe we can have breakfast in the morning?” I try to lighten the blow of me leaving, and it must work because she smiles at me and gives me a hug.

  “I would love that. I’ll call you in the morning, and we can see what’s going on.” She releases me, and I nod. I don’t bother saying goodbye to my father, it’s not like he cares anyway.

  “Tell Ken and Trish I’m sorry that I had to leave, please.”

  “I will let them know. Go home and get some rest. I love you,” she says and then turns around and walks back to the table. Standing there for a long moment, I realize that I could be screaming for help in the open, and she would never see it. Not because the evidence isn’t there but because she doesn’t want to see it. Unless I tell her flat out, she’ll never acknowledge it.

  Needing to leave before Jackson shows his face again, or worse yet, opens his mouth, I walk back to my apartment, making my feet move as fast as they can without sending me to the ground. I try not to think of the anger I saw in Jackson’s features.

  His hate for me grew in an instant. He thought I was making nice with his parents when he had no idea that I had nothing to do with it. It was all on them but telling him that wouldn’t change what already happened.

  My chest aches, and I want to shut off the emotions I’m feeling. I thought maybe I was heading in the right direction, but Jackson ruined it all. He just had to touch my scars. As soon as I get into the apartment, I lock the front door, strip out of my clothes, and walk into the bathroom. Getting out the razors, I wonder if there will ever be a time when I can get through the emotions without needing pain. Pain covers it all up, it swallows all the sadness.

  Plucking a razor from the container, I sit against the tub, spread my legs, and pick a spot to cut. My hand is trembling as I lift the blade and press it into my skin until blood beads against the edge of the razor.

  Relief floods my veins as soon as I drag the razor across my skin, cutting through my flesh like a hot knife through butter. Euphoric pleasure pulses through me, and soon silence settles over my chaotic mind.

  I’m back in my bubble, protected, sheltered from the storm of emotions. Making another cut, I hiss as the skin separates and a burn zings across the inside of my thigh. I’m not ashamed here. I’m not broken or sad. I am merely me. I drop the razor blade and let the endorphins consume me, feeling the warmth of blood against my thighs, and smelling the coppery tang as I breathe through my mouth.

  After sitting there for a long while, I get up, clean the cuts, and wash my face before getting myself ready for bed. I feel lighter, free, and as I crawl into my bed, I consider talking to my parents about leaving Blackthorn. If I’d known that Jackson was here, I’m not sure I would’ve chosen to come here.

  Still, if it comes down to staying here or going home, I’m staying. At least here, I don’t have to deal with how much my father hates me or face the fact that my mom would rather ignore my problem than help me.

  There is always the option of transferring somewhere else, but I doubt that would happen midway through the semester. I may just have to deal with Jackson for a little while longer. I can do my best to avoid him and hope for the best.

  * * *

  The next morning, I get up early and meet my parents at a local diner near campus. I’m both happy and sad that they’re leaving today. Happy because my dad hates me, but sad because they are still my family, and at least my mom pretends to care about me.

  When I walk into the diner, I find them sitting at a horseshoe-shaped booth. They’ve ordered coffee already, and one for me as well.

  “Good morning, sweetie,” Mom greets as I slide into the booth, taking the seat beside her. Dad doesn’t even look up from the paper he’s reading. I really don’t want to react; I just want to push my anger toward him down, but I’m tired of being treated like garbage every time he sees me. I’m still his daughter.

  “I ordered you a coffee, eggs, bacon, and toast with strawberry jam. I hope that’s okay.”

  I nod and pour some cream and sugar into my coffee, stirring it with the spoon. Taking a sip of the coffee, I let it warm me all over before I set the mug down.

  “Are you feeling better today?”

  “Yes.” It’s the truth. I’m feeling much better today, but only because I cut myself last night. I always feel better afterward. It’s like I’m cleansing myself when I do it.

  “Good. We stayed for a little while longer and then went back to our hotel. Trish and Ken were sad that you left without saying goodbye. I told them you weren’t feeling well.”

  Taking another sip of my coffee, I try not to feel guilty for walking out without even saying goodbye. They poured their hearts out to me, told me they loved me and missed me, and I disappeared to use the bathroom, and never came back.

  “Personally, I’d prefer if you kept your distance from them. We just got settled into this new place. I don’t want the past to get brought up all over again,” Dad adds, finally glancing up from the paper. He doesn’t look at me as he speaks though, more like through me, as if I’m not even there. I curl my hand into a fist beneath the table.

  “Trish wants to have lunch, surely that isn’t dangerous,” I mock.

  “I don’t care if it’s dinner, lunch, or a party. I don’t want you spending any time with them. You killed their daughter with your underage drinking and driving. You’re lucky we knew the judge. Otherwise, you would be in prison right now.” And there it is. He always finds a way to bring me down, to make me feel lower than dirt.

  Looking away, I say, “I’m starting to think I would rather be in prison.”

  “Oh, stop it, sweetie,” Mom interjects, obviously, trying to defuse the situation. “Everything is looking up. Plus, you seem to be doing well at Blackthorn. College is just what you needed.”

  “Yeah, about that…” I fiddle with my silverware. “I was wondering if maybe there was another option. Maybe a different school I could attend. I like Blackthorn, but I’m…”

  I don’t even get to finish before my father interrupts, “You’re so goddamn ungrateful. First, we make sure you don’t end up in prison and help you so you can afford to attend this school, and then you ask if we can find you somewhere else to go.”

  “Travis,” Mom scolds, her cheeks turning red.

  “Don’t bother, Mom. I don’t know why Dad doesn’t admit that he’s ashamed to have me as his daughter. He’ll never let go of what I did. He’ll always hold it over my head, reminding me of how shitty of a person I am.”

  “Kennedy,” she says, sighing. I can see how torn she is. She’s being tugged in both directions, but I don’t need my mom to take my side. I know I fucked up, but I don’t need to be reminded of it every day.

  Scooting out of the booth, I can see my mother wants to reach for me, but I shake my head at her. “I’m going home. You guys don’t have to come here anymore. Clearly, Dad doesn’t want to see me, and I’m done feeling like shit. Done being treated like this. I know what I did was wrong. I know I fucked up, but I can’t change it. I can’t fix this.”

  “Wait, Kennedy, don’t leave, you haven’t even eaten yet.”

  Almost laughing, I say, “You’re more concerned about me eating than what I just said, and that is one of the problems, Mom. I love you, but I can’t do this anymore.”

  I leave the diner with tears in my eyes but hold my head high as I walk down t
he sidewalk.

  When I get back to my apartment, I make myself some breakfast and crawl back into bed. My fingers move all on their own, tracing over the scars, each one a reminder of how close I was to breaking. I’ve survived so much so far, surely, I can survive Jackson a little longer.

  I’ll just avoid him, just like I’ll avoid my parents. I’ll live in my own little bubble and hide from the rest of the world. Either way, I’ll survive because something tells me that’s what Jillian would’ve wanted.

  80

  Jackson

  My parents spent the rest of the weekend trying to calm me down, telling me I need to stop being angry and see a therapist. Fuck, therapy? There is nothing and no one that can fix me. Sitting and talking about my sister’s death with some doctor, who has no idea what I’m going through, isn’t going to help me. I don’t care if it helped them.

  I’m actually relieved when they finally leave after dinner. We said our goodbyes at the restaurant, and I started walking home. The problem is, I don’t want to go back home. I don’t want to sit alone at my place, but I also don’t want to go anywhere else. I don’t want to talk or feel, which leaves me aimlessly walking around town.

  It’s dark outside, the air crisp, and when I check the time, I realize it’s almost midnight. Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I look around to see where I am. It doesn’t take me long to notice I’m basically standing across the street from Kennedy’s apartment complex. Fuck, can’t I get away from her? Anger surges to the surface and all the calming down I’ve achieved by walking around evaporates into thin air. She fucking ruins everything.

  Before I even think about what I’m doing, I’m across the street and walking into her apartment building. Climbing the stairs, I take them two at a time, suddenly, I have this deep, primal urge to see her, feel her like I did when she was at my place, bent over my couch with her ass in the air.