Here Lives a Corpse: A Dark Bully Academy Romance (Here Lies Book 1)

by C. L. Matthews

I smirk at my inner ramblings and towel off. In ten minutes, I’m fresh-faced, dressed, and headed out the door to meet my guys.

  It doesn’t take long for me to go to the cabin. As soon as I’m at the door, Bridger is opening it. I haven’t seen him in days, so seeing his warm brown hair that’s messy and boyish in the best way makes me smile. He doesn’t return it, but that’s Bridger for you. He’s not one to fake anything, let alone give away what he’s feeling. It used to polarize me when he would practically ignore my questions, but he isn’t for small talk, and I’ve grown to admire it.

  “I’ve missed you,” I mutter.

  Unlike the others, Bridger keeps his distance. Not just his heart, but his body. We don’t kiss. Not since initiation and even then, it almost feels like something I’ve made up. I often think of his lips and how they’re most often in a straight thin line, and I wish I could soften them up with my own as he moans my name.

  He stares at me, and those eyes of his gleam. It’s so subtle, but I know he’s happy I’ve missed him.

  “Where are the others?” I question.

  “Giving us a few minutes.”

  His low voice sends chills across my skin. He has that effect on me. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s not touchy, and I can’t tell what he feels without him giving me that skin-to-skin contact, or if it’s because he secretly scares me a bit.

  “What for?” I ask before turning right into his chest.

  I start to tumble, and he grabs my shoulders, making emotions and feelings sizzle up and down my spine. My body shivers, loving how aggressive his touch is and how silent he is when he thinks people don’t notice.

  I do. I notice.

  He releases me, only to stare into my eyes as if he needs me to feel what he feels without the words.

  “Homecoming?” I offer.

  A smirk tries breaking free before he stops it. “Yes.”

  “Are you asking me, Bridger? Or are you wanting me to?”

  I place a hand on his face and watch as he trembles a little. When I swipe those flattened lips, he drags his teeth over it and bites down. I moan without meaning to, and his eyes flash with lust. It’s so sexy to be on the receiving side of those eyes. I’m stunned. His body warms mine with every inhale and exhale. It’s beautiful. We’re beautiful.

  “Come with me, Col.”

  Only my brother and Bridger called me Col. Not Colton or Colt. Col.

  “But I-I,” I stutter, wanting to say yes. He makes me want to say yes. I imagine it’s where our bodies would rub against one another and his hands wouldn’t leave mine. It’s all I can think about, and it has me melting against him.

  “If you keep making those little sighs, I’m going to have to do something about it,” he grumbles, his voice deeper than before.

  It’s thrilling, knowing I can make him react even when he refuses to bend for anyone. It’s sexy. Power. Having control over a situation all while giving it to him.

  “Then do something about it,” I whisper.

  That’s all it takes. He hauls me over his shoulder, smacking my ass roughly. I squeal at him, loving every second of his hand on me. As we pass four rooms that I’ve never been in, we finally make it to the media room. The screen isn’t lit, but the dim lighting is. He sets me down on a recliner, and within seconds, he’s shucking his shirt.

  I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen him shirtless. That’s three. Three times. He’s not a swimmer like Ross, or into rugby like Lux and Ten. I can’t watch him shirtless whenever I want. He crouches down, putting us at eye level, and I’m practically melting at his stare.

  When he leans forward, I make it my mission not to go the rest of the way for his mouth. This moment, when he’s finally letting me taste him again, I want him to offer that to me. He moves slowly, finally relaxing those stiff lips, and I’m a goner. His mouth, without the constant contempt or grimace, is haunting. His bottom lip is a little larger than the top, but they’re both soft-looking, and I want to taste them.

  He growls, as if knowing my intentions. Leaning even farther, he closes the gap and bites my bottom lip. I bow upward, pushing into him, needing more, so much more. A moan escapes me when he licks the bite as if to say I’m sorry, and then he’s kissing me.

  Bridger. Is. Kissing. Me.

  I melt into him as he brings me to his chest, holding my hips as if I’ll disappear. It’s rapturous and sensual. It has me hot and needy, and when a whistle sounds out around us, it isn’t me breaking us apart. It’s him.

  “Getting started without us, dick?” Lux taunts from the door.

  Bridger’s lips are red and puffy, but as soon as he peers back at Lux, they flatten, and he scowls like it’s his job, and the heat is gone.

  It was such a special moment for us, and as soon as it came, it left.

  “I’m sorry it wasn’t anything special,” Mel says, interrupting my long daydream.

  I nod nonchalantly, using my inner Bridger to seem uncaring, but in reality, that moment meant everything. It changed the game. Too bad the game ended up changing us all.

  “Let’s watch some Golden Girls. You can pretend you’re not Gigi, and I’ll laugh and nod like I believe it.”

  We both chuckle, and we open up Netflix and dive in. She’s definitely going to change the game even more, even if I’ve told myself I’m quitting.

  Secrets have a way of getting out.

  They never stay hidden for long.

  I’m just scared to unfold the biggest one.

  The one where the person who murdered my brother went free.

  Seventeen

  “Colton!” Jordan’s voice rang out somewhere behind me.

  Once again, I’m rushing away. I’m not a fan of anyone who’s a part of Student Gov.

  His feet smack the linoleum obnoxiously, reverberating in my ears and turning heads of everyone passing by. It’s bad enough I stand out, between my hair and my past with the boys, but now, he’s being a freaking elephant galloping down the halls.

  “Go away, Jordan,” I hiss, not quite under my breath but not quite yelling either.

  “Why do you put off the vibe that you hate everyone?” He ignores my comment entirely and stops me with his arms.

  This dude likes touching. I’m about to knee him and tell him where to shove it.

  “That’s because I hate everyone. It’s a fact.”

  His mouth tilts at the edges as my eyes roll. We’re stopped in front of Barker’s class. Barker’s my old English teacher, and one of the hottest topics at Arcadia. Apparently, there are rumors he fools around with students. I’d say scandalous, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

  “A girl as pretty as you shouldn’t have so much hatred,” he muses.

  The scoff escapes me before I realize it. “Does that work on every girl you flirt with, or is the Grinch’s heart supposed to grow two times larger?”

  “Are you calling yourself the Grinch?” He chuckles, shaking his head.

  I point to my green hair as if it isn’t an obvious reference. “My heart won’t grow, dude. It’s a dead horse. Stop beating it.”

  “You’re something else, Colton. Not sure what that is, but you’re it.”

  Now, it’s my turn to laugh. “Yeah, okay. What do you need? Lunch is only thirty-five minutes away, and there’s a slice of cheese pizza begging for my mouth.”

  As soon as I say the last part, my face heats. Shit. He probably thinks I was flirting. His smile confirms it.

  “Before you go to Perv Town, remember, I’ve got four-inch platforms on that I’m not afraid to use.” The threat is in my voice, but he’s not taking me seriously.

  “Believe me—” He winks. “—I’m very aware of your boots. They make your legs look longer. And that ass...” he trails off as I smack his shoulder. “What?” He blushes a little while chuckling at my discomfort. “It hasn’t flown past me that you don’t wear the regulated uniform. You’re like Goth Barbie with a nice ass. I dig it.”

  I’m sure my
face is redder than wine with my pale complexion. The amusement in his expression makes me want to run. It’s been a long time since anyone has flirted with me.

  “I’m going to—” I try.

  He puts a finger to my lips. “Go with me to the lame Crystallites party tonight,” he finishes for me.

  Except that wasn’t what I was going to say, even if that’s what I’m doing tonight. With Mel.

  “I-I, um. I’m not invited,” I stall, hoping he doesn’t see anything but uncertainty in my eyes and not the truth of the fact that I’ll be crashing one way or another.

  “You are now. They say you can bring a date. That’s you. My date.”

  Sweat lines my head at the implication. He wants me to go... with him. Why? What angle is he playing?

  “They’ll shun you for bringing me,” I try, hoping he drops it but secretly wishing he doesn’t.

  “Who cares? I want you there. If they can’t suck it up, it’s not worth my time.” He twirls a lock of my hair, staring at my mouth intently. “You’d make it fun anyway.”

  He leans in, and I can smell the pine-mint scent of him. I’m trying not to be affected.

  He’s so close.

  So close.

  His lips hover mine, brushing against my lip rings. “Come with me.”

  His words literally touch my lips, and they feel good. Too good. He needs to step back and give me my brain back. It’s all mush right now with him so close.

  “Walker!” Dare yells from somewhere behind us. His voice dances across my skin devilishly. It always slices into me like a switchblade. Fuck.

  Jordan doesn’t turn to him. He waits for my words, my answer, my funeral in waiting.

  “Okay,” I get out as his smile brushes my mouth boyishly.

  “Give me your number,” he demands gently.

  I shake my head, knowing if I give my number out, it’ll cause hell. What if he’s one of them? He could fuck me over with just my cell number.

  “Fine.” He grabs his backpack, rifling through it. He pulls out a Sharpie and drops down, uncapping it.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper, unable to look away.

  The marker touches my midriff before he starts writing. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Stop!” I swat him away, only successfully leaving a big stripe on my hip.

  “Just writing my number, twitchy. Calm down.”

  “What the fuck is this?” Dare barks, coming toward us. His face reddens the more I breathe, and his eyes narrow the closer he gets. A smile breaks free from me. Something about him sets my soul on fire while bleeding me dry in the same succession.

  “Bro, lay off.”

  “Don’t bro me, Walker. The meeting started ten minutes ago, and you’re here with the Corpse Bride.”

  The amusement doesn’t leave my face. It really should since he’s degrading me, but it’s just too bittersweet. He hates me for an unknown reason, and the more I think of it, the more it makes me wonder if it’s because I picked Ten and not him. He acts like the other day didn’t happen and he didn’t fuck me.

  If whiplash was a style, Ross would outwear it.

  “Jealous, Rossy?” I provoke, crossing my arms, unintentionally making my boobs more prominent. They’re not small by any means, but any chick who does this offers a little more show.

  His eyes drop almost immediately. I watch as he licks his lips with his nose scrunched, almost like he’s in pain and pleasure simultaneously.

  The way his face looks, the pierced dimples and downcast expression, it’s driving me mad. Attraction is a bitter bitch, coming when you want it least and hiding when you want it most.

  “Why are you with her?” he growls at Jordan, ignoring me completely.

  My gaze follows his anger and sticks to his metal. Fuck. He has a lot of it too. His nipples might be my favorite, though. My mind travels to the other day and his shirtless body. It’s insane how much is beneath his uniform.

  It’s unfair how ugly dickholes can be the hottest guys on the outside while ruining me with their words and actions.

  “Colton? Why, do you have a problem with hot chicks?” Jordan challenges, and I blush.

  Ross turns to me, his eyes greener than ever. They’re inhuman. I’m calling it now.

  He leans in, his nose brushing mine. “No problem at all, Walker. This one is off-limits, though.” A derisive noise escapes me, making my nose brush his again.

  “What? It’s a new rule this year. Colton Hudson, Vampire, Corpse Bride, Greenie, or—as I like to call her—mine, is off-limits,” he enunciates slowly, making sure Jordan catches his message. But I’m not his. Not even close.

  Ross reaches behind him, smacking Jordan, and then he’s standing against me, Sharpie in hand.

  “Ross, please,” I nearly beg. “Don’t.”

  An evil smirk lilts at his lips. Then, he’s leaning toward my ear.

  “Stay still. Don’t want to fuck something up.”

  The way his words seep through me should be criminal in itself. They’re like ink, the ink he’s about to imprint my skin with. I’m not sure why I don’t push against him or knee him. Maybe it’s fear. Could even be stupidity.

  “Going to pretend nothing happened?” I ask.

  Ignoring me, he bends down where Jordan just was, and I feel his breath on my stomach near my belly button ring. It’s hot, too hot. It takes everything in me not the squirm, but he said to keep still.

  He’s one to attack. All of the counsel is. The marker touches my skin, and a little noise escapes my mouth, making both pairs of eyes look directly at me. I close my mouth harshly, forcing it completely closed.

  Ross hums a little as he continues whatever the fuck he’s doing to my skin. Luckily, Sharpie is removable with some acetone. If it, for some reason, doesn’t go away, I can wear an actual regulated uniform. Either way, I’m fine.

  He stops, reaches back, and gives Jordan the marker back, and I close my eyes to my reality. It’s like I’m a glutton or something. These guys aren’t nice, though Jordan seems to be kind, and I’m letting them touch me.

  Ross towers over me once again, leaning close. “Don’t ever let anyone touch you, Vamp. We don’t need another mishap, do we?” His voice is so calm and eerie. It almost doesn’t feel like a real threat.

  He kisses the side of my throat before backing away. He grabs Jordan by the back of his neck and leads him away, and I stand here like a fucking broken doll.

  He just kissed my throat.

  In front of someone else.

  All while pretending he didn’t fuck me only days ago.

  I run toward Ivory Tower, praying whatever he drew on me isn’t a dick.

  It takes me no time to get to my dorm, and with only a few stolen glances, I’m sure I’ve passed under the radar of prying eyes. I’m throwing my backpack in the foyer as soon as I enter, running to the mirror. As soon as my eyes catch what’s on my hip, my hand goes to my mouth. The gasp that leaves me isn’t quiet.

  Property of Student Gov.

  Who the fuck does he think he is? On the left side of my hip there’s six digits of a number, and a long line that hits my hip piercing. Hopefully, Jordan can find me tonight. I’ll be there. I’ll be wearing something that’ll make them all shit bricks.

  They want to fuck with me, so be it. I’ll fuck with them right back.

  Eighteen

  The mirror stares back at me, or rather, the girl in the mirror. It’s me, yet it’s not. The person reflected oozes confidence, security, and no-fucks-given. The person inside my body screams fear, disappointment, and cares-far-too-much.

  My hair, like normal, is acid-green. The black underneath that I got touched up by Scotty gives it a new darker edge. Before I looked punk. Now, I look goth goddess. Corpse Bride, just like Ross says.

  My chest aches with the blue hues of a melted iceberg staring back at me. It’s the first time since he’s been gone that I’ve really seen my eyes. I’m not sure what came over me after my shower, why I didn’t im
mediately stick my contacts back in, but as the Icelandic eyes stare back at me in shame, I know it’s a necessary evil.

  “Why do our eyes match?”

  Cassidy stares at me, his face almost comical at my question. “We’re siblings, Col. Why wouldn’t they match?”

  We’ve always been close. There’s a connection between us two. Time with him is laid-back. It helps that we have the same hobbies, but we also love doing extreme sports. Whether that’s biking or skateboarding—which I suck at, by the way—we always find things to do together.

  “But we don’t have Mom’s eyes,” I think aloud.

  Mom’s hair isn’t the same, and her eyes aren’t either. When Moms told me and Cassidy she wasn’t biologically our mother, we knew, but we always wondered who our dad is. Being young was the only reason we didn’t understand.

  We’d only ever known two moms, we didn’t know you had to have a dude to make a baby.

  Being a thirteen-year-old struggling with identity issues isn’t easy. Cass is better at disguising his wants to learn more about our dad, but curiosity gnaws at me constantly.

  Did he not love us?

  Are we not good enough?

  Were he and Mom in love?

  What is their story?

  I shake the memory as I think of my brother’s eyes, his boyish charm, and the moments we shared before he was stolen from me. It takes all my will not to sob. Not tonight. It’ll be different at this party. I know what to expect, what not to drink, and the right questions to ask.

  Trading my silver lip rings for black ones give me an edge. Winging my eyeliner, I make it less dramatic than usual. Topping it with gray eyeshadow makes me appear fierce, when I’m anything but. What truly makes my outfit, though, is the transparent top and huge X’s over my nipples. When I went to Spencer’s after Scotty did my hair, I found tape in their adult section. It’s definitely not for this, but who’s to argue?

  The single tattoo on my ribcage, a raven, one I got to signify the loss of Cassidy while also proving my intent of ill will on the boys if they ever came for me, shows through the black mesh of my top. My belly ring that I changed for my bat dangle shows, too. My skirt is beyond short. It’s tulle underneath leather pleats and blacker than activated charcoal.