Bitter: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Wicked Brotherhood Book 1)

by Eden Beck

  At least drunk me didn’t feel compelled to take those off. What happened last night?

  I lean my head back and squeeze my eyes shut. As soon as I do, images swim fuzzily to mind.

  Laughing faces. A chugging contest. Beck slamming back three beers while Heath struggles with just one.

  Jasper laughs, banging his fist on the table.

  I can’t chug, I know that at least. I take a couple sips and spit my beer all over the table. They think this is hilarious.

  Suddenly, it’s dark. The sound of snow crunching beneath feet. A hand on my back, between my shoulder blades, drifting down to the small of my back. Vague whispers in my ear. A warm feeling in my stomach.

  My eyes snap open. Oh, shit.

  That is not a memory I expected to surface. Is it even a memory? I’m still so drunk, I can’t tell.

  But I can feel it still, this lingering sensation of a hand on my back—of hot breath on the back of my neck.

  An involuntary shiver runs down my spine.

  Did I do something with one of the guys? Which one? Beck? Heath? Definitely not Jasper; I sort of remember him avoiding me most of the night. That’s the one thing I still feel sure of.

  But the other two … there were moments …

  I know for sure, back at the bridge at least Beck and I definitely had some sort of connection, but is he even gay? Bi, maybe?

  One hand flutters up to finger the edge of the bindings still wrapped tightly around my chest.

  Or, more likely, did I reveal myself in other ways?

  Did one of them discover that I’m actually a girl?

  I pull my bare knees up to my chest and hug them. My head pounds. My stomach turns, but it’s empty, so there’s nothing left for me to vomit up. If something did happen between me and one of the guys, would I regret it?

  I hear the door open again, and Rafael appears in the bathroom doorway holding a bottle of pink liquid.

  “Got you some meds,” he says nonchalantly. “Good to see you’re still sitting up.”

  “I didn’t throw up,” I croak. My voice is so hoarse.

  “You might not even need to smoke today.” He sets the medicine on the counter and goes about pouring out the proper dose. “I’d rather you stayed in bed, or even went to the infirmary.”

  “I can’t miss days. I need to keep my grades up. My scholarship.”

  “Yeah, yeah, the scholarship.” He hands me the tiniest plastic cup filled to the brim with the pink medicine. It looks almost like a shot glass. The thought makes my stomach turn, so I down it quickly and hand it back to him.

  “Do I have time to sleep?”

  “Yes, but there’s a water bottle and some ibuprofen by your bed. Drink the whole bottle and take the pills, and then I’ll let you sleep.”

  I nod obediently and let him help me up. He sighs and pats my back as we walk into the messy dorm room. One of my shoes is on my desk. My pants are actually thrown across the foot of Rafael’s bed.

  “Oh shit,” I mumble, looking around.

  “You tried to seduce me last night,” Rafael tells me.

  I look at him with wide eyes as I sink down onto my bed and grab the water bottle he’s put on my nightstand. “I’m so sorry,” I gasp.

  He laughs. “It’s all right. You didn’t do a very good job. You did a weird little dance—looked something like this—” He moves around jerkily and swings his hips.

  “Oh, no,” I groan.

  “Yep. And then you stood like this, with your feet super far apart.” He models the stance. “And you said, ‘I look enough like a boy, don’t I? Let’s do it.’”

  “Oh, fuck. Rafael, I’m so sorry.”

  Rafael laughs. “Take your damn pills and stop apologizing. It was the funniest shit I’ve ever seen.”

  I pop the ibuprofen into my mouth and proceed to suck down the contents of the water bottle, trying to remember Rafael’s story. I do vaguely remember something about it, but it doesn’t make things any less embarrassing. After I finish the water bottle and lay down, pulling the covers up to my chin, I groan again.

  “Oh, no. Did I throw my pants at you?”

  “Yeah,” Rafael says sweetly as he turns off the light. “You did. And they were wet.”

  I gasp, horrified.

  “No—the bottoms. The legs. Because you’d been walking in the snow. Get you remind out of the gutter!” But he bursts out laughing before he can even finish his sentence. “God, it was so funny.”

  I let my eyes shut. I’m exhausted.

  “It would be even funnier if I wasn’t so absolutely sure your antics are gonna get us both killed.”

  “Cool, thanks,” I mumble, turning over on my side. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

  I need to sleep. I need to forget this awful, pounding headache and the bile that keeps trying to rise in the back of my throat. But when I close my eyes again, I’m not met with darkness.

  I’m met with another bleary memory.

  A hand brushes mine, then pulls away.

  “Sorry,” mumbles a deep, slurred voice.

  “I don’t mind,” I say back, my words running together. The hand returns, this time folding its fingers around mine. The thumb brushes over my knuckles.

  “Soft.” The owner of the voice sounds astonished.

  “Rough,” I reply, feeling callouses.

  “From lacrosse.”

  Is it Heath?

  I jerk awake as my alarm rings. My head feels a little better, but the alarm definitely isn’t helping; I roll over and slam my hand down on it, one hand immediately lifting to press against my pounding temples.

  Maybe it wasn’t a memory at all. Maybe it was a dream.

  That would make this whole mess at least a little less … complicated.

  “Still wanna go to class?” Rafael asks.

  I turn my head. He’s fully dressed and sitting on the edge of his bed, sticking textbooks into his backpack.

  “No,” I mumble, “but I have to.”

  “Stubborn jackass,” he says conversationally.

  “Loud douchebag.”

  He chuckles as he zips up his backpack. “You want me to wait for you?”

  “Please. I … feel weird about being around The Brotherhood today.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, going out drinking with them seems like it was a bad idea.”

  You have no idea, I think as I start getting ready. My movements are sluggish. I smell a little bit like beer, but Rafael is patient enough to wait for me to shower. Getting dressed is easy at least, since I basically just wear oversized hoodies over my uniform whenever I’m outside of class, so we’re out the door in less than an hour.

  Even though I don’t need to smoke for my voice today, Rafael claims he needs one for the trouble I caused him last night. My voice might be hoarse enough, but I don’t want to leave his side, so I follow him outside.

  I’m not sure what exactly happened last night, but I keep getting little flashbacks. I remember someone’s hands on me, and my hands on them, too. What did I do?

  “You look so much like a girl,” says the voice in my ear, slurred beyond recognition. His hands tighten on my hips. “You’re so small.”

  “Scrawny,” I say, laughing, enjoying the feeling of my back against his chest, feeling something pressing against my backside.

  Oh, boy. Something definitely happened. Did we make out? Or … more?

  I touch my lips as we head out into the courtyard. Would I feel differently if we had?

  Rafael and I hang out with his friends while we smoke. The boy called Fox—I’m still not sure if that’s his real name—graciously offers me his aviator sunglasses, and I gratefully shove them onto my face to block out the sun.

  He and the others laugh at how small my head is, how much room the sunglasses take up on my face. I grin back at them. Without The Brotherhood kicking me around, school life has become … sort of normal. I hadn’t realized it until now, the change was so gradual. Maybe I�
��ll hang out with them more.

  I only smoke one cigarette, but I’m slower than Rafael, who smokes two. We walk back into the school together, and I’m grateful to have him by my side when we finally see them.

  Down the hall, all three of The Brotherhood stand clustered together near the closed door of a classroom. Probably their next class. They all spot me all at once—and all at once, their faces go blank and they turn away.

  Shit.

  Something must have happened.

  I try to hide my confusion as we walk by them, but they don’t turn around or acknowledge my presence. But they also don’t speak until they’re sure I’ve walked by, a sure sign that they’ve definitely noticed me.

  I glance over my shoulder and meet Jasper’s eyes. He stares, his face blank, and then looks away before I do.

  “What the fuck?” Rafael asks as we head toward our own class.

  “I’m thinking something happened last night,” I reply.

  “Well, obviously. But what kind of thing?”

  I hesitate. I’m not sure what to tell Rafael, honestly. I’m still piecing the events together myself. “I don’t remember the whole thing,” I tell him truthfully. “But … I think there was some flirting.”

  I would’ve thought that Rafael would find this surprising, but instead, he cracks a grin.

  “Ah, so you’ve made them wrestle with their sexuality. That’s hilarious.” He glances once more over his shoulder. “About damn time someone did.”

  Sure. I just wish it wasn’t me.

  I’ve got enough on my plate without making one—or more—of my bullies start to wonder if there’s something more he’d like to do to me aside from just pushing me around.

  Even if the thought does make those treacherous butterflies in my stomach make a reappearance.

  Math class. I’ve been dreading it all day because the entire Brotherhood will be there.

  Sure enough, they’re already in their seats when I walk in and past their desks. They all glance down and avoid my eyes. I remember at the beginning of the year how they would jump at the opportunity to trip me or order me around.

  Even when they were avoiding me thanks to Jasper’s temper, they didn’t avoid me quite like this. Not, at the very least, to the extent that Heath scoots his chair ever so slightly to face away from me.

  “Look at them,” Rafael says in a whisper that’s almost gleeful as I sit beside him. “I never thought I’d live to see the day that The Brotherhood was struggling with the thought that they might be gay.”

  “Stop it,” I say, pushing his arm, but he grins and shakes his head.

  “Oh, no. I can see it. That’s what gay panic looks like.” He flips open his textbook. “I should know. I’ve seen that look in the mirror countless times.”

  I ignore him as the professor makes his way to the front of the classroom to start class. He lets us know what the lesson is going to be, then tells us to get out last night’s homework.

  “Uh … Alex,” he says after sliding his finger down the list of names in the roll book. “Why don’t you collect everyone’s papers today?”

  The whole thing’s a charade. Most of the professors pretend to pick someone at random, when in reality, they almost always pick me. The Brotherhood’s punching bag.

  Though maybe not anymore.

  I hate doing this anyway, I always have. It feels like middle school. Reluctantly, I get to my feet and head down my row first, doing my best to “accidentally” skip a few of my classmates who are still frantically writing down answers. The pounding in my head doesn’t help my mood.

  The Brotherhood sit stoically at their desks—or so I think before I get closer. Beck has his arms folded so tightly his muscles are bulging. Heath has his chin on his hand, trying to seem nonchalant, but his other hand is on the desk, and he’s drumming his fingers rapidly on the wooden surface. Not even Jasper seems relaxed. I see his jaw working as I approach.

  They’ve all got their papers sitting as far away from them as their desks allow without actually allowing them to fall off. I collect them quickly and move on, but something tells me that they feel far more awkward than I do.

  “Dude, chill,” I hear Heath whisper to Jasper once I’m past them.

  “I can’t,” Jasper whispers back, and something about the way he says it makes me freeze. It sounds familiar.

  And then it hits me. I remember. Not the whole night, no, not even the whole situation. But the relevant parts? Oh, yeah.

  I remember.

  The music gets louder. People are dancing in the limited space in the bar. We’re all there, too, dancing, laughing. I don’t understand a word of the song playing. It’s all in German.

  I feel loose. My hand brushes someone else’s.

  “Sorry.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Soft.”

  “Rough.”

  “From lacrosse.”

  Laughter, more music. I stumble and fall backward. He catches me, grabs me by the hips. We laugh, and he bends to whisper in my ear, “You look so much like a girl. You’re so small.”

  “Scrawny,” I say with an almost uncontrollable laugh.

  I feel something hard pressing against my backside. I don’t move away from it. Neither does he. His lips are at my ear again. “Maybe we should head back.”

  It’s dark. We’re walking in the snow toward the car, laughing, hollering. Where’s the car? Who knows? We should find it. It’s cold.

  He’s next to me again. Ahead of us is Heath, stumbling around, kicking snow up. He’s not looking.

  Twin Aston Martins in the parking lot. I’m stumbling, and so is the boy beside me. He grabs my hand to keep himself from falling, and I almost go down with him. We laugh. He runs his hand down my back, and it sends shivers down my spine. His hand cups my ass briefly, then snatches away.

  Ahead of us, Heath gets into a car. “Beck’s already in here!” he yells.

  I turn. Next to me is Jasper.

  “You can get in mine,” he says, slurring so hard I barely understand. I nod.

  In the car. A partition between us and the driver. I can’t see through it.

  “Soundproof,” Jasper says.

  “Touching,” I say out loud as his hand rests on mine.

  “It’s weird,” Jasper says, or at least attempts to say. “Seeing you with Olive makes me jealous.”

  “Not weird,” I reply as his fingers curl around mine, as he pulls me closer, as his other hand rests on my hip. He puts his face close. His breath smells like beer. So does mine. Blue eyes right in front of me.

  “But I think I’m jealous of Olive. ‘Cause she’s hanging with you.” Jasper’s lips move. Is he really saying these things?

  And am I really liking this?

  Warm. The car, his hands. He leans toward me. My hand is on his knee, sliding up. I giggle.

  “Do it,” I say when his lips stop mere inches from mine.

  Jasper stops. I can see he wants to. I want him to. One of his hands is on my face. When did this happen?

  Chicken. I’ll do it. I lean forward, I’m closing the distance, I’m going to kiss him—

  He pushes me too hard. Harder than he meant. I fall back against the door and he turns away, puts his face in his hands.

  When he straightens back up, none of the warmth remains on his face. He leans forward and raps three times on the glass. He’s rigid when he falls back into his seat. He won’t look at me.

  “Won’t be long now until we get you back to the school. We never should have kept you out so late.”

  “Alex?” The professor’s voice penetrates my thoughts.

  I jerk back to reality and scurry up to his desk to dump the collected homework onto it, then dart back to my own seat, breathing hard.

  “What the hell happened?” Rafael asks.

  “Jasper,” I gasp. “Last night. It was Jasper.”

  Rafael gasps and shoots a look over there. “I knew it.”

  “No, you didn�
��t.”

  Rafael is still considering Jasper carefully. “Do you think he’ll respond if I shoot my shot?”

  I bury my head in my arms.

  “I’m glad you’re having fun,” I hiss, “because this might be all fun and games for you, but this is my life, might I remind you.”

  I bury my face deeper.

  What an idiot I was. Jasper? Getting close to Jasper … like this? I don’t need to peek down at my disguised form to know this will lead nowhere but misery. Jasper, Heath, and Beck might be monsters, but at least they’re honest about it.

  Me? I’m just an imposter.

  If I’m not careful to keep my distance, then one of them is going to figure it out before it’s too late. And the day that happens is the day I have to leave Bleakwood for good.

  I’m so glad mid-term break is coming up soon.

  I need a break from this, and more importantly, from them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I have no idea what my parents are going to say about my stupid hair, let alone my brothers. I’m not even sure I want to be heading home for the break.

  But it’s too late to turn back now.

  I stare out the window of the plane as we start heading for the runway in Columbus, Ohio, flattening my hair nervously when I catch myself reflected back. God, I look stupid. Maybe Mom will take me to a salon. Do something, anything, with this butchered mess that remains of my hair.

  I’m thankful, though, for my brief layover in Chicago. I at least got to change into some more form-fitting clothes, trading in my oversized hoodie and boy pants for some skinny jeans and a T-shirt that actually fits. My hair’s grown out a bit since I left home, too, so my head looks a little less small. I mean, my head’s still tiny and my hair’s still choppy, but it definitely looks better than when I left that bodega in Zurich.

  A sudden feeling overwhelms me, a mixture of anxiety and nostalgia. Has it really been months since I arrived at Bleakwood? Sometimes it feels like I’ve still only just arrived.