by J. L. Beck
“Stop staring,” she scoffs.
“Stop looking so hideous,” I respond, crossing my arms over my chest. She already thinks I’m a bitch and I’d rather be seen as that than a push over. I’ve laid down, took the hate, let the Bishops bully me, but I’m done.
I don’t want their hate anymore. I want something else.
“Awe, is Harlow jealous?” Banks chimes in, twisting around in his seat. My entire body lights up, ripples of electricity dance across my skin at the deep baritone of his voice. The coldness in his blue eyes reminds me of the ocean the night that I fell off the boat, cold, and unforgiving. Lifeless and impossibly deep.
“Not jealous,” I lie, because let’s be honest, I am jealous. “Mostly angry, but also, I feel sorry for you, that you had to stoop so low and hook up with someone like this,” I lift my chin to Tiffany. “It’s sad that you’re trying to replace me, as if she ever could, but whatever, she can have my sloppy seconds.”
Those cold depths of his flicker with fire, and his chiseled jaw turns to stone, he looks like he wants to snap me in two and knowing that makes me sit up a little straighter in my chair. It makes me a little happier, knowing that I still have some type of hold on him, even if it’s not the kind I’m really after.
“Watch it, Harlow, my brothers and I can bring you great pleasure, but we can also bring you great pain.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, the professor walks in a second later, and Banks turns around in his chair to face the front of the class. But I don’t miss the warning in his voice. He wants to scare me, but the only thing that scares me is losing my chance with them.
Chapter Twelve
The alarm on my phone goes off, the annoying ringing letting me know my laundry is dry. Putting my kindle down, I grab my spoon and chuck it into the sink and put the ice cream tub back into the freezer. Most people my age are out partying on a Friday night, but me, I would much rather be reading, and chilling out in the dorm. It would be nice if Shelby was here, but they have some really important artist coming to town, so she’s stuck working at the art studio all weekend. It’s whatever though, as long as she is happy, then I’ll be happy for her.
I leave my dorm and head downstairs, my slipper covered feet making hardly any noise against the steps as I head outside to the side building. It houses the student laundry. If my mom ever found out I was doing my own laundry she would be appalled. I didn’t wash my first load until a few weeks ago, and even though it was kind of a nightmare at first, for both Shelby and me. I’m proud to say that I’ve kept the accidental dye jobs and bleach spots to a minimum.
Its past ten and most students are out partying, which leaves the dorm area quiet and empty. I make my way around the building in the darkness of the night. Only two street lights illuminate the sidewalk as I hurry around the building. I’m probably imagining it, but I have this weird feeling that someone is watching me. Like a sixth sense, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as a shiver runs over me.
The feeling doesn’t ease up, even when I finally walk into the communal laundry room that holds about ten washers and ten dryers. The space is completely empty, silent. It almost seems deserted.
Scurrying across the room I grab my basket off the top of the dryer and set it on the floor.
I open the dryer and start grabbing my clothes, stuffing them into the basket without folding them, because who the hell has time to fold. It isn’t until I grab the second handful that I notice something black on one of my white T-shirts.
Plucking the T-shirt from the basket I lift the fabric and stare at the front of the shirt in horror. Written there in large black block letters is the word SLUT. What the fuck? Shaking my head in disbelief, that someone would even be that immature I pull out another handful of clothes. I pray that’s the end of the cruelty, but I should know better. One of my favorite sweaters has been destroyed. I cringe when I see the word WHORE written into the pink fabric, streaks of black ink bleed into the shirt and I know I’ll have to toss it out. I know it’s just a shirt, but it’s mine, it belonged to me.
One by one I check every piece of clothing. Every single one has something written on it, something horrible, and offensive, and something that doesn’t represent me as a person at all. But the person who wrote these hateful words wouldn’t know that, because they believe only what they want to.
Angry with the world I stuff all the clothes into the basket and slam the dryer door shut. The sound so loud it echoes through the vacant space. My hands are shaking as I grab the basket and place it against my hip to carry it. I will myself not to cry, but the tears well in my eyes anyway. College wasn’t supposed to be this bad, high school totally, but college? People were supposed to act like adults, be mature, make good choices, and stick up for others. I guess I never expected the brothers to follow me. That threw a wrench into my perfect future.
They wanted revenge, well, they had gotten it and the next time I see them I was going to tell them that. I’m going to let them see how broken I am. I deserved the pain, the hate, the anger the first time around, but this? No. Enough is enough. My parents showing up wasn’t my fault, someone set me up, just like with the boat, and if they would’ve listened maybe things would be different.
With my laundry basket of destroyed clothes in hand, I speed walk back to my dorm. My vision is blurry with unshed tears that I try to blink away. There’s a tingling on the back of my neck, it’s the same feeling I got earlier.
Someone is watching me. What if it’s the same person who shoved me off the boat? Panic claws at me and I take the corner a smidge too fast, catching the edge of the basket on the wall. The impact sends the basket to the ground knocking it out of my hands. Clothes spill out on the sidewalk and into a big pile of textiles.
Fuck my life.
I’m tempted to just leave them and run back to my room but decide not to give someone the satisfaction of seeing them sprawled out across the concrete. The last thing I need is my panties strung up like lights across campus. Angrily I bend down to grab the last shirt off the concrete, my fingers brush against the fabric when I get this strange feeling in my gut, like something bad is about to happen. I have this sudden urge to scream, and so I do.
A blood curdling scream rips from my throat just as a large figure appears next to me. I scramble backwards, landing on my ass, pain flaring across both cheeks as the figure crouches down next to me. His large hand reaches for me and if I hadn’t recognized the face attached to that hand, I would have probably suffered from a heart attack.
“Calm down,” Oliver’s deep voice pricks my ears, his eyes scanning my face. Can he see the tears, the sadness in my eyes? “What’s wrong with you? You look like someone kicked your dog and pissed in your cheerios.”
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Actually, what’s wrong with all of you? Have you been watching me, again? I can feel eyes on me.”
“Stop, no one has been watching you.” He says it like I’m crazy for thinking it, and hell, maybe I am, maybe it’s all in my head.
Picking up the basket and its content, I get back up onto my feet. Oliver reaches for something on the ground and to my embarrassment it turns out to be a pair of my panties. Sadness overrules my anger and humiliation. I’m sad because having Oliver this close after everything is hard. So hard. I hate not being able to fall into his embrace and feel protected. Instead, he’s standing there holding my panties that have the word CUNT written on them.
I try my very best not to cry, but my best is not good enough today, my only hope is that the light from the building is not efficient enough to show my tears. Snatching the piece of cotton from his hands I start walking away from him, but to my utter surprise he grabs my wrist and pulls me back towards him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks again, his voice softer and I can’t help but burst into laughter. It’s not a ‘ha ha that’s funny laugh’, it’s a humorless, sad laugh with a sob in between.
“Did you serious
ly just ask me that?” I’m surprised by the question, but I’m even more surprised when he takes his hands and cups my cheeks, he drags his thumb over the delicate skin under my eyes and wipes the last few escaping tears away.
And like a river with overflowing banks the words flow freely past my lips.
“You want to know what’s wrong? I want you, I want all three of you, even after everything, I want you, and trust me, I know I shouldn't, I know it’s wrong and it will never, ever work, and I know you’re back to hating me. But, at least I admit how I feel.” A moment of silence settles between us as he lets the words sink in while continuing to stroke my cheeks with such softness it takes everything in me not to sink into his touch.
I can see the turmoil in his chocolate gaze, “You’re right, it won’t work and it’s all kinds of wrong...” I wait for the unspoken but, but it never comes. I don’t miss the pain and want in his eyes though. I’m too familiar with both not to notice it. “We all want something that we can never have, and you, Harlow, are the one thing my brothers and I can never have.”
I swear my heart breaks a little more inside my chest when he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to my temple. His lips burn into my skin and my whole body starts to tremble.
When he starts to pull away, I say, “I didn’t call them, my parents. I don’t know who did, but I didn’t, and I didn’t tell them that it was you or your brothers that pushed me off that boat. Someone set me up.”
Oliver nods, taking a step back, while exhaling a breath. He looks so conflicted when he says, “It doesn’t change anything. We were born rivals and we’ll remain rivals. Your family’s damaged mine and I can’t betray my parents by loving the enemy.”
Love? I watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows. He turns to walk away, and I anchor my feet into the ground to stop myself from going after him.
“You love me?” I croak, unable to stop the question coming out.
Oliver blinks, his long lashes fanning against his cheek, “Don’t waste your love on somebody who doesn’t value it,” he says before giving me his toned back and walking away. He’s speaking in riddles, does he mean I don’t value his love? Or they don’t value mine?
My head is a cluster fuck, my emotions sprawled out across the concrete like my clothes were a short while ago. Someone is out to hurt me, to destroy me and I can’t tell if it’s the three men I’m falling for or someone else.
I turn and take one step before I come to a sudden halt yet again. Standing a few feet away from me with her arms crossed over her chest is Shelby.
“What the hell are you doing, Harlow? Haven't they done enough?” She scolds me.
“It’s complicated, I…” I start but can’t come up with any further explanation. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re perfectly right, I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you can be so naive and keep letting them play you like this. Haven't they proven over and over again that they are out to get you? They don’t love you, they don’t even like you. You let them do this to you, you let them break you and then I’m the one you go to in order to pick up the pieces.”
Her words slice into me like a dull knife. They hurt incredibly bad, especially because on some level I know she is right. I let them close, I let them touch me and kiss me, because I wanted them to, no matter the consequences. They wanted to hurt me, and I let them, but the way Oliver just looked at me, the words he spoke. He said love, he said he loved me and deep in my heart I feel that he wasn’t lying. He loves me and I love him.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Shelby. But I can’t help the way I feel, and I think deep down they feel the same about me.”
“Then you are stupid. They don’t care about you and I’m done watching this train wreck. I can’t stand seeing you like this, with them,” she spits, and I don’t miss the hateful tone in her voice.
She turns on her heels and before I can say another word, I watch my best friend walk away. The only person who has stuck with me throughout the years is walking away from me, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
With my head hung in shame and my heart a bleeding mess I walk back up to my dorm, of course there is a group of girls snickering in the hallway. All three of them give me the stink eye as I pass, but I don’t care. I don’t know if it’s them that massacred my clothes, or Tiffany maybe? Maybe it’s even the brothers, I don’t know.
All I know is they can cut me with their eyes, and kill me with their hatefulness but I will still rise the next day, like the sun hanging high in the sky I won’t let them stop me from shining.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, I wake up with swollen eyes and a crust sticking to my eyelashes from crying all night. Rubbing the gunk out of my eyes I sit up in bed, for a moment I think my vision is fudged up but then I see that the twin size bed across the room from me is vacant.
I’m alone, Shelby’s bed still made, letting me know she never came home last night. Did I lose my best friend? I grab my phone from the nightstand and check to see if she called, or even texted? When I see that she did neither, my heart sinks a little deeper into my stomach.
What is happening to me, to my life? Moving here was supposed to help things, but it seems like it only isolated me, made me weaker, sadder, which is hard to believe since I was sure nothing could destroy me like my father’s lies had.
Wrapping my arms around myself I cuddle deeper into Sullivan’s sweatshirt, which I’m still shamelessly wearing almost every night. It has long lost the smell of his laundry detergent, but in a weird way it makes me feel closer to him. I should probably burn the damn thing after all he’s put me through, but I can’t.
It’s like a bandage for my heart, a security blanket, because even though I know he’s not here and probably never will be again having an article of his clothing makes it seem like he is.
With a heavy heart, I peel the sweatshirt off my body and pull on the last clean pair of jeans I have. I pair it with an old sweater from the bottom drawer of my dresser, while making a mental note to go shopping later and replace everything that was destroyed yesterday.
Going through the motions of my morning routine, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and comb my hair. I don’t bother putting on any makeup, since I’m not trying to impress anyone. My eyes catch on the reflection of the person in the mirror. I don't recognize her, the bags under her eyes, and the sadness in her dark gaze. My life wasn't perfect before I came here, but it wasn't this crazy, not this sad. Pulling up my mop of blonde hair into a messy bun, I take one last look in the mirror.
I can do this.
Who cares that someone's after me, or that half the school looks at me like I’m a sasquatch and the other half like they want to hurt me? Or that the three guys I had to fall for are the biggest bullies of them all.
I put my books and notepads into my bag and grab a granola bar to eat on the way to Social Psychology. It’s the one class I share with Sullivan and I’ve been dreading going all week. Of the three brothers, Sullivan has avoided me the most.
Dragging my feet to the class, I make it there just in time. Sullivan is already sitting in his seat, his eyes trained on the professor, as if he can’t wait for him to start the class. His arms are folded across his chest, the fabric of his shirt straining, making his arms look even more muscular. Internally I curse myself for even noticing, for thinking about how strong his arms felt when they were wrapped around me, making me feel safe, secure.
There is seriously something wrong with me.
I should not be lusting after one of the men that have made my life hell, after the enemy, the bully. But like a bad habit I just can’t kick my addiction to the Bishops. The entire walk to my table I watch him out of the corner of my eye. Sullivan’s eyes never move away from the board. He doesn’t even glance up at me as I pass him, but I know he can tell I’m there. I don’t need him to look at me to know my presence affects him.
I know he can sense when I’m n
ear just like I can do with him and his brothers. I can tell by the way his jaw flexes and his back oh so slightly straightens out, as if he is on edge. If he was a dog, his ears would be perked up right now, listening, and watching for danger.
When I reach my seat, I slump down into it, trying my best to pretend like I’m not affected by him being here. Placing my books, and notebook down on the desk I busy myself, making it look like I’m doing something. The professor starts his lecture, but no matter how much I try and pay attention, I can’t.
Like a nervous tick, I spend the entire class chewing on the end of my pencil. I’ve written some notes down, but to be honest I didn’t listen to half of what was said, my mind occupied with the brown haired, blue eyed asshole sitting five seats away from me, the asshole who hasn’t even looked my way once. I expected him to be upset about my parents showing up, about the things that they told his brothers, but I never expected him to turn his back on me. I guess if anything I’m disappointed in him, in the fact that out of all three brothers he didn’t even hear me out.
Lost in thought, I didn’t even realize the professor had dismissed the class until people started getting up to leave. Sullivan is out of his seat and out the door before I even blink, the only proof that he was actually here is his rain water scent wafting through the air. Standing I shake my head in disbelief, how mature. Gathering up my book and notebook I shove them into my backpack and zip the thing before putting it on. Even with all the tension and awkwardness between us I feel a twinge of loss at his absence. I wish I didn’t feel this pull towards him, like my heart is breaking when he fails to acknowledge that I exist.
Everything about us is wrong. Wanting to be with them, it’s forbidden, like poisoned fruit that’s dangling right in front of me. But, they’re always slipping through my fingers. I escape the confines of the room and walk out the double doors and onto the sidewalk.
