I pull the shoes to my nostrils and then fling them across the room, wishing that I could throw my hands away right along with them. Who the hell would do something like this? Well, the answer is easy, honestly, but… No. No. Elias isn’t that mean. In fact, he isn’t mean at all. We had a fight, sure. But this kind of vengeance…it’s…
I feel tears stinging my eyes. I’m not quite sure what to do. I can’t exactly wear shoes wet with piss. But I need my shoes if I’m gonna be able to dance.
A part of me wants to throw my hand across my stomach and pretend that I’ve got a belly-ache. But another part of me really needs to disappear right now.
The door swings open. It’s Janelle. The smile on her face is immediately erased when she sees the dread on mine.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m pretty sure Elias pissed in my shoes,” I say, fighting and failing to hold back my tears.
Janelle shakes her head and then rushes over to me. She hugs me tight and I can feel her heart racing in her chest just as quickly as my heart races.
“I’ve got this,” she says.
“Just leave him alone,” I retort. “It’s not worth it.”
5
Elias
I’ve heard about Malone’s charity events since I was a kid. Sheldon, Dad’s advisor—and now mine, told me that my parents used to attend these parties before it all went south between the Dresslers and the Malones.
Little-known fact, Dad, William Malone and Joe Fowler started out together in real estate. They even had a company. Fowler, Dressler & Malone. Then something happened, and Dad and William had a huge falling out. Joe picked Malone. Dad went out on his own. To this day, I wonder what it was that drove them apart.
Mom didn’t know, and Dad never told me.
It’s strange for me to be here, but it’s an interesting sensation. I welcome the silent danger of the unknown. The mojitos are as good as Kira said. The music’s not bad. I can tell from the debauchery that things are about to get super wild after midnight. There are so many important people here, too. They clearly feel comfortable enough to lose themselves in this place.
I wonder what kind of dirt William might’ve gathered over the years about some of these people. After all, I’ve heard the rumors. If the gossip is anywhere near the truth, chances are I’ll witness a few Wall Street execs vacuuming cocaine off William’s Bohemian crystal coffee table later tonight.
This is as close as a Dressler has ever gotten to a Malone since Dad and William had their business breakup. I feel as though I’m in the belly of the beast, a mixture of curiosity and fear swirling through me. Fortunately, I’ve got a hot chick on my arm and a particularly strong mojito in my hand. You catch more flies with honey, that’s for sure. I’m only sorry I didn’t think of this sooner. Rivalling Fowler & Malone is a challenge, but not impossible. We’ve done it before, and we can do it better.
I should be more honest with myself, though. I doubt the feud will live on for much longer. William is getting old. He’s making mistakes. And even if those mistakes don’t bury him, he’ll retire soon. I need to figure out who’s taking his place. There are rumors about Janelle Fowler being a runner up to Kira for the CEO chair, which is why I’m hoping my social engagement here will bring me closer to more accurate intel. Whoever succeeds the old bastard, I plan on making peace with them. Maybe even merge Dressler Corp back with Fowler & Malone. The combined capital would put us worlds ahead of the competition across the country. There’s strength in numbers.
None of this will happen while William is still calling the shots, though. All I can do now is schmooze the motherfucker until he stops looking at me like I’m a cockroach on his kitchen counter. Funny thing is, I’m getting better vibes from him than from Kira. Well, not really funny. Maybe a little sad.
Giselle pushes herself against me. I’d take her into the bathroom and give her enough to keep her sated for the rest of the night, but I’m starting to think Kira’s actually right with regards to her accident. At first, I was inclined to chalk it up to a terrible accident. After all, Kira wouldn’t be the first dancer to break something. It didn’t seem so far-fetched before.
But Giselle is quite predictable and transparent, despite her attempts to come off as mysterious and multifaceted.
“Kira thinks you had something to do with her accident,” I say, smoothing my hand over her ass.
She leans just that much more into me and licks a line from my neck all the way up to my ear. “And what if I did,” she whispers, then pulls back, pouting at me just a little, “would you punish me for it?”
Something unsettles in the pit of my stomach. I can’t read her. Is she just using my hatred for Kira as fuel to our sexual fire, or is she admitting her guilt?
“I’m serious, Giselle.” The need to get away from her strikes fast and hard.
She huffs and blows out a breath through her nose. “Of course I didn’t trip the little bitch on purpose. God Elias, I can’t believe you think I’d be that cruel.” Despite the fact that her words tell me she didn’t do it, her eyes tell me that there is a very fucking big possibility she did. It shouldn’t matter to me. Honestly, it shouldn’t. But somehow, the sourness it leaves on my tongue is unbearable.
“We should check out the upstairs bedrooms,” she whispers in my ear. Her hand’s on my cock, trying to bring it back to attention. The only thing I feel right now, however, is disgust. It’s one thing to beat the competition fair and square, it’s a whole other thing to fucking ruin someone just to shine. “Mr. Malone did say we should make ourselves at home…” Giselle continues.
I glance down at her, and I can see how hungry she is. Her gaze darkens, her lips parting, bringing back memories of how hard she likes to work on my cock. Down on her knees as she squeezes her breasts, licking and sucking and begging for me to fill her. Surprisingly enough, as good of a lay as she is, the last thing my cock wants right now is to be inside her. The last thing any part of me wants right now, is to be around her.
Really Elias, my conscience chimes in, like you haven’t done your fair share of hurting Kira. It’s not a lie, of course. But I’ve never done anything close to this. Nothing that could hurt her future; nothing that could crush her fucking soul. At least not on purpose.
“I’ve been a naughty girl,” Giselle whispers. She’s getting pathetically needy now. A part of me wants to punish her. Fuck her so hard that she’ll need stitches to put her pussy back into place. Lucky for her, a stronger part of me doesn’t want to fuck her at all.
“I thought you liked the party,” I reply, one hand finding her ass cheek again. I squeeze hard enough to make her wince.
“I like the idea of fucking you in Kira’s bed more,” Giselle grins.
There it is. The deviousness. The maliciousness. She’s not here because she wants to be with me. She’s here because it gives her the opportunity to hurt Kira. Normally, I’d be the first to indulge in such dirty fantasies, but ever since I saw Kira get carried out on that stretcher… something changed inside me. And the thought that Giselle might have intentionally put here there…
The animosity that once fueled me is dull, like a blunt blade. Curiosity has taken its place. I find myself thinking about Kira, even when I’m not supposed to—that includes the times I’m fucking Giselle until she screams my name out. It’s funny, how time screws with us. With me, in particular. I never wanted this war between Kira and me. Neither did she, though I doubt she’ll admit it. The only one still fanning the flames is William, but even he is beginning to loosen up a little.
Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way. One thing’s for sure, though. Giselle is a heck of a lot less appealing. My erection seems to agree. Perhaps another mojito might change my mind.
“You naughty little thing,” I force a chuckle and nibble on Giselle’s ear.
It makes her giggle as she presses her chest to mine. Her nipples harden. Yeah, she’s aching for another round. What we did in the limo on our way her
e obviously wasn’t enough. I know Giselle would love for Kira to catch us fucking on her bed, but that wouldn’t work in my favor, in the long run. Giselle is beautiful, but painfully shortsighted. I’m trying to establish a rapport with the Malones, not spite Kira. And if I’m being perfectly honest with myself right now, there’s a part of my heart that wants to soften for Kira.
“I want you,” Giselle whispers, her hand slipping between us and cupping my cock through my pants. “I can tell you want me, too…”
I give her a smile. “Tell you what. Head back inside and grab us a couple of drinks, then go upstairs and find Kira’s room. Text me, and I’ll come find you.” I say the words, but I really haven’t got a plan as to what happens after she texts me. I guess my hopes are that she’ll get distracted. Or that I’ll find the hatred I’m supposed to have for Kira and not give a damn about what Giselle did to her. Maybe I’ll even fuck Giselle in Kira’s bed and tease her pussy with the whip Kira hides in her nightstand. I laugh a little at the memory of that; of how I snuck into Kira’s room a few months back and watched her pleasure herself. I guess that was just my way of seeing what I’d be up against coming to Trinity High.
“Elias,” Giselle croaks, bring my attention back to her. Her eyes twinkle with delight as she pulls herself away. “You know where to find me, Mr. Dressler,” she whispers.
“Attagirl,” I mutter, watching her go back inside.
Ironically, this is the second time I feel like I can breathe properly. The first was when I left her by the mojito bar, earlier. I’ve just made sure she’s busy for the next ten minutes or so, which gives me enough time to find Kira. I don’t know why I need to find her. Maybe give this whole no-enemies thing another shot?
I move through the crowd, but she’s nowhere to be found. The last time I saw her, she was walking away from the party, not deeper into it. From where I stand, on the edge of the massive rectangular pool, I can see a gazebo on the eastern edge of the garden. It looks pretty isolated from the rest of the world. Something moves inside.
Not something. Someone.
My heart jumps a little. It irks me. Hell, I still remember the rage boiling inside me as I watched Kira get carried out of that dance hall, crying out in pain. I remember wanting to break the neck of whoever had hurt her. But I’m not breaking Giselle’s neck now, am I? I’m screwing her, instead.
By the time I reach the gazebo, my muted excitement shifts into ice-cold alarm, chills trickling down my spine as I get closer. Kira’s on one of the benches, slumped on the side. There’s a bottle of champagne at her feet. I glance at it for another moment, taking note of the fact that its empty before my eyes roam back to Kira. She looks a little too pale for my comfort. There’s no questioning that something is wrong. For some reason, I don’t think this is the way she gets at all the parties her father throws. If that were the case, he’d have a closer eye on her. But Kira – the Kira that I know – she keeps her shit together and is one hundred-percent in control of her appearance. Always.
“Kira?” I say, nudging her a little. Her body moves like it’s completely void of life. My first hope is that she’s just tired; fell asleep out here like a homeless little baboon. But I have a really fucking bad feeling that that’s not the case. I swallow hard and it feels like my throat is lined with two sided blades. I eye the bottle of champagne next to her. She’s nowhere near large enough to be able to down this much alcohol and not be puking her guts out.
A faint hum leaves Kira’s throat, but she doesn’t move. I kneel in front of her, my blood rushing as I place a palm on her forehead. She’s way too cold. This isn’t right.
“Kira? Hey. You okay?”
No answer.
“Kira. It’s Elias…are you…”
No answer.
My heart’s practically hammering in my chest, as though it’s fighting for a way out, scared shitless by the situation it’s been presented with.
I shake her a little, “Wake up, Kira,” I say. And again, nothing.
Jesus fucking Christ, if her father sees her like this, only the devil himself can save her.
“Kira, wake the hell up,” I try again, shaking her shoulders this time.
She’s completely fucking unresponsive. I check her pulse because I’m not really sure what the hell else to do. I’ve seen people drunk off their asses. This doesn’t exactly look like that.
I check her pulse again.
Again and again and again. I feel something. It’s not much, but it’s there.
“Shit. Kira, what the hell did you do?!” I whisper, pulling her up into a seated position. Her head lolls back, as if there are no bones left in her body. Her make-up streaks down her cheeks in smudges of charcoal. I take the mask off to find myself breathless as I gaze upon her. There is beauty in this soul of hers. A fragility I’ve seen before, but never dared to admire from up-close. There’s also a bottle of pills. My eyes widen as it rolls onto the ground.
“Kira!” I whisper again. When she doesn’t answer, I gently slap her face, hoping for a reaction. “What the fuck did you do?” It’s more than just a question. It’s a plea for her to wake up, to snap the hell out of whatever trance she’s in.
Her eyes peel open, but only for a short moment. There’s supposed to be some form of comfort when that happens, however, they’re the saddest blue I’ve ever seen.
Gripping her to my chest, I lean forward and pull the bottle of pills from the floor. Oxycodone. “Jesus Christ, Kira…”
I look up, thankful not to see Giselle anywhere. Kira’s father is out in the garden, laughing with some Hamptonites, so at least I know that he’s out of the way too. The last thing I need is for Kira to be on the receiving end of her father’s wrath. Not while she’s in this state.
“Elias…You know,” she starts, and a laugh, void of every single ounce of humor, staggers from her throat.
I press a finger against her lips, “not now, Kira,” I whisper.
Her eyes roll a little and another small mimic of a laugh slips past her lips. “We could’ve been friends,” she mumbles, drool trickling from the corner of her mouth. I have no time to respond to her words, though I feel them in every crevice of my being. I swallow hard, noticing that with each second, Kira’s getting paler. I’m suddenly terrified that if I don’t get her out of here and into a hospital, she’ll die.
Yes, we could’ve been friends.
Maybe it’s not too late.
I pray to a God that has failed me more times than he’s saved me, that she’ll be okay. I promise him, that if this one goddamn time, he listens to me when I ask him to spare a life, that I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I’ll even take care of Kira so that he can keep his eyes on someone else.
There’s a back exit through the garden, about fifty yards from the gazebo. The parking lot is within walking distance from there. I can do this, without anyone seeing us. I have to. Fuck Giselle for now. She can pleasure herself on Kira’s bed, if she wants. Or she can grab one of the waiters. I don’t really care.
My phone buzzes. She must’ve found Kira’s room. Jesus…
I ignore the message and scoop Kira into my arms and carry her out of the gazebo, careful that no one sees me. She’s as light as a feather. Her head falls back, her lips parted as she breathes audibly. It’s ragged and shallow, and the urgency washes over me like a freezing ocean.
Panting, I rush through the garden and manage to slip through the back gate, leaving the noise and music behind us. Kira keeps mumbling, though I can’t make out much of what she’s trying to say. All I know right now is that everything I had planned for this evening will have to wait.
I need to make sure she’s okay, first. There’s my car. I try to let Kira stand, but her legs are jelly, so I prop her against the car instead, while I dig into my pocket and fish out the car key.
“Hold on, Kira,” I say to her. “You’ll be okay.”
It’s a promise. I’m making her a promise, and I had better come through…
&nbs
p; 6
Kira
Everything is hazy. Yet I feel nothing.
I’m being carried. I hear Elia’s voice, like an echo, ever present in the middle of my consciousness. He tells me I’m going to be okay, and I want to believe him. But I’m not sure I even have a body anymore. My limbs tingle, and I can only open my eyes for the briefest of moments. What did I do? What the hell did I do?
The engine hums and the tires screech as Elias drives dangerously fast. I should be more scared by all the swerving and roaring through the town streets, but I’m not. I know now that combining Oxy with booze was a terrible idea. Shouldn’t have taken a genius to figure that out, really.
I don’t feel anything, so I must’ve done something right. At what cost, though? Am I dying? I’m not sure. My heart feels like its barely beating. My breathing is shallow, and every inhalation feels like a godsend. Every inhalation feels like it’s going to be the last.
Looking to my left, I see Elias in his tux. He looks angry and worried. About me, maybe?
He pushes the pedal to the floor, occasionally looking at me. There’s fear in his forest eyes. I’m scaring him, and I don’t like that feeling. I never did. I hated upsetting him, too, but I did it anyway… because I could. Because I had to. Because of our dads… How stupid it all seems now. How far away and meaningless.
“Kira, stay with me,” he says. The car takes a tight turn to the left, and my eyes roll. Darkness follows, but I hold onto his voice—a thin, golden thread that keeps me alive. If only I could tell him how much this means to me. That he’s doing this. That he looks like he cares.
Trinity High: High School Bully Romance Page 31
