Vindictive: A High School Bully Romance

by Mae Doyle

  The first thing I do after setting up my new account is find the profile for Kennedy Academy. A lot of the posts center on academics, but I know that it’s impossible for them to not post about their golden quarterback. Sure enough, in just a minute, he’s there, staring back at me from the screen.

  His cocky grin. His perfect hair. I swear, he’s looking straight into my soul. It’s a damn shame that he’s such an asshole. From the moment I saw him on Monday morning I wanted him. My body longed for him and it pisses me off to not have control over that part of myself.

  How can someone so hot be such a bastard? Maybe the secrets to why he’s such an ass are hiding in his account.

  My finger hovers over his username for a moment before I tap it.

  YourPrince.

  I’m coming for you, asshole.

  ***

  Three hours later I have to pee and am no closer to finding out what the fuck made Clay the way he is. I’ve stalked not only him and Bethany, but also his lackies Teague, Robby, and Brett. They’re a fucking circus, but they run the school. If anyone knows something about why Clay is so fucked up, it’s going to be one of them.

  My mom called me a few times, but I kept ignoring her and finally she gave up. I can’t help but cringe every time I hear her voice. She used to call my name and I’d go running, but now? Now I just want to get as far as possible from her and Ted.

  I have to get off of my mattress and do something, although I’m not sure what. My bedframe will hopefully come today and I should set up my room, but all I want to do is sleep.

  And shower.

  This shirt is comfy as hell, but it smells like Clay.

  Suddenly, I’m disgusted with myself. I hop off of the bed and lock my bedroom door before running a scalding hot shower. Once the water’s hot, I strip and lock the bathroom door, too.

  Bethany knows where I live. She’s been here once and I don’t put it past her to come again, this time with Clay. It’s not like my flimsy little door could hold him, though. I shiver as I think about how easily he picked me up and carried me.

  He could easily break my door down when I was in here and there wouldn’t be anything that I could do to stop him. The thought terrifies me but it also sends a thrill through my body. The idea of being helpless with him should scare me completely, but I crave it.

  If only there was a way for me to have some more control with him.

  I can’t handle the idea of him knowing where I live. The only way I can be away from him is to be in my own room. He runs the school and he’s a god on the football field. The steam quickly fills the bathroom and I climb into the shower, wincing as it pounds down on my skin.

  My loofah was one of the first things that I unpacked and now I scrub myself, pressing hard to not only exfoliate, but to try to remove any memory of his hands on me. It rakes across my body, scratching hard and leaving behind red marks. I don’t care. I don’t want to think about his hands touching me.

  His skin touching mine.

  The way his eyes took in my entire body when I was in the kitchen.

  Fuck. The way he bit me. My finger’s still sore, but there’s no mark. Sighing, I soap up my hair while I try to think.

  I know that I look like Tiffany, but I don’t know why he hates me so much. I have no idea why he wants to make my life a living hell just because she and I could be sisters, but after my shower, I intend to find out.

  Since I don’t have a car, I can’t leave my house, but I can do online research.

  I’m in the middle of a great daydream about bringing Clay to his knees, enjoying the scalding water running over my back, when my phone dings from the other room.

  Ignoring it, I rinse my hair, but it dings again. And again.

  It’s like a fucking symphony coming from my room, but I have no idea what it could be. Nobody here has my number. Nobody here knows how to find me, and I made it clear to my friends in Florida that we were done.

  So what the hell is going on?

  I dry off as quickly as possible and run into my room to grab my phone.

  Fuck.

  Instagram.

  Someone found me and started tagging me in pictures from last night’s game. That was most of the dinging noises that I heard, but not all of them.

  There’s also a host of friend requests and new messages from people I don’t really know but who must go to Kennedy Academy.

  And at the top of the list is a message from YourPrince. I know that it’s cliché as hell, but my heart drops down to my toes when I see his name in bold on my screen. He’s on his phone somewhere, looking at pictures of me.

  Thinking about me. Taunting me. Five days ago I would have been thrilled that someone like him would look at someone like me, but that was before I figured out that he’s a fucking psycho.

  Shit. Shit, shit shit. I did not think this through.

  Biting my lower lip, I debate opening it. Curiosity wins out and I tap it, closing my eyes as I do.

  It’s not going to blow up, but it sure as hell feels like it may.

  When I look, there’s just a message. Nothing terrible. No bomb. Nothing.

  Nice username, kitten. You think of me when you set this account up?

  Fuck.

  Clay

  I just love it when a plan comes together. My idea came to me over the weekend, but I had to wait until today to make it happen. Nobody wants the prince of the school to have problems in classes. Teachers will bend over backwards and they’ll expect students to do the same.

  There’s only one student I want to have bending over backwards, and she’s who I have my sight set on.

  “So, you’re telling me, Clayton, that you think you need an English tutor?” Mr. Tate looks at me over his glasses and I try to look embarrassed.

  It’s not easy. This is not an emotion I’m used to having. Nothing embarrasses me, but that’s what’s expected of me right now. “Yes, sir. I just want to make sure that I finish out the year as strong as possible, and a tutor will help me feel more confident about that. Colleges don’t want someone with just a good arm, you know.”

  It’s bullshit. That’s all that colleges want, and it’s all that they see when they look at me. I know it, he knows it, everyone knows it. I’m just hoping that he doesn’t care or wonder what I’m up to.

  Hell, my parents gave more money to this school than they’d seen in years and then I came along to bless their football team. This asshole teacher better give me exactly what I want right now if he knows what’s good for him.

  He sighs and picks up a piece of paper from his desk. “There are a few students we can recommend,” he begins, but I cut him off.

  “Elle Suttles. I want her.” My cock twitches in my pants at the honesty of my statement. “I mean, I’ve heard that she’s great at English and I think that she’d be perfect.”

  For a moment, I think that he’s going to pick up on my Freudian slip, but he’s too dumb to realize what I was saying. It’s the truth. I want Elle, and I’m not going to let anything get in the way of me having her.

  He cocks an eyebrow at me. “How do you know Elle? Do you two have any classes together?” He lets the paper fall back down to his desk while he looks at me.

  “No, sir. But she’s on the cheerleading squad with my sister, so she’s always around anyway. Might as well help me with my grades at the same time, right?” I shrug, trying to make it look like it’s something that I just thought of right now, not something that had me dreaming all weekend.

  Elle can’t possibly say no when a teacher tells her that she needs to tutor the star quarterback.

  “I have her in my last period for AP English. Why don’t you come by before practice this afternoon and we can talk to her? How does that sound?”

  “Mr. Tate, you make me feel so much better.” I stand up and shake his hand, trying to hide my glee. “I can’t wait for Elle to help me out. She just seems so smart and on top of everything.”

  Not only on top of her class
es. I want her on top of me.

  “She is. Now, don’t you have another class to go to?” I grin at him and stroll out of the room, ignoring the curious stares from his students waiting to come in. They’re more afraid of me than they are being late to their class.

  Everyone knows to give me my space. Everyone except Elle.

  Teague is waiting for me outside Mr. Tate’s room. “Well? You got little Elle as your tutor?” He falls into step next to me as we walk down the hall. Everyone parts. Everyone stares. I love it.

  “Hell yeah. He’s going to tell her this afternoon that she needs to help me out.” We high-five and meet up with Robby and Brett before walking to our next class. Once in there, I settle into my seat, but I don’t bother really paying attention.

  I know that I should focus on what the teachers are saying, but I honestly don’t give a shit. All I can think about is having Elle all to myself. She may try to argue with Mr. Tate, but I know that he’s not going to let me fail, so he’ll make sure that she tutors me. There’s nothing that’s keeping her from having to spend time with me.

  Once I have her alone to myself then I can destroy her. I want to make her fall in love with me and then I want to break her heart. I hate her for having Tiffany’s face. I hate her for making me think about how I killed the girl I loved.

  But now that she’s going to tutor me, I’ll be able to make her pay. There’s no way that she can wiggle her way out of this, not when Mr. Tate now thinks that I’m in desperate need of a tutor.

  ***

  “As much as I’d love to help Clay, sir, I just don’t know that I have the time to be tutoring someone in addition to studying for my own classes and cheering.”

  This bitch. It’s hard for me to believe the words that are coming out of her mouth. Elle does a good job looking like the victim. I narrow my eyes at her but she won’t look at me. Fine, she wants to be the victim? I’ll make sure that she really is. She won’t have to pretend for long.

  “You know, Elle, at Kennedy Academy we take the call to help our fellow students very seriously. I know that you love cheering but I also know that you’re excelling at your classes. It’s not every day that we get such an advanced student dropped in our laps out of nowhere.” Mr. Tate tents his fingers and leans forward across his desk to really look at her.

  I glance at Elle to see if she’s going to respond to the compliment, but she doesn’t smile.

  What a frigid bitch.

  She has on the same tight jeans that she wore last week but a new sweater. It’s too big on her and hides all of her curves, but it does make me wonder exactly what she has going on under there. I’ve seen her tits, and they’re great, but now I want to see the rest of her.

  I want to see how much she really is like Tiffany.

  “I understand that, Mr. Tate.” Elle looks a little embarrassed, and I feel a jolt of glee burst through me. “Unfortunately, my parents think that I need to get a job so that I can buy myself a car.”

  That’s a lie. I can look right at her and tell that that’s a lie, but Mr. Tate doesn’t know her like I do.

  “Oh, I see, Elle. Do you think that you’ll be able to balance school, cheering, and a job?” He looks genuinely concerned, the bastard, and I see a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

  “I do, yes sir. If I wasn’t having to get a job then I’d be thrilled to help Clay out, but it’s just simply too much to balance. I appreciate you understanding that.” She shrugs and opens her mouth to continue, but I know that I have to put a stop to this right now.

  It’s time for me to step in and fix everything. If I keep silent for much longer then this is all going to fall apart at my feet and I’ll end up with someone else trying to tutor me. “I’ll pay you.”

  Mr. Tate and Elle both look at me. He looks thrilled. She looks terrified.

  I love it.

  “I’d be happy to pay you, Elle. That way, you can get the job that you need to buy a car but I can still get help from one of the smartest students in school.” Am I laying it on too thick? Maybe, but I’m sure that Mr. Tate is going to lap this up.

  I’m just so fucking generous.

  “No.” She responded way too quickly to that, and Mr. Tate glances at her with concern. “I mean, no, I don’t want you to feel like you have to pay for a service that another student could give you for free.”

  “That’s so kind of you, Elle,” Mr. Tate is looking at her with a mixture of appreciation and adoration.

  It’s time to cut the shit.

  “Elle, you’re right. I could get another student to help me, but you’re the best. I want to make sure that my grades are the best that they can be, so I really need your help. Please don’t leave me hanging on my own. Help me make sure that whatever college I get to will be really lucky to help me.” The smile on my face is bullshit, but Mr. Tate is eating it up.

  Fuck me, I should win an Oscar for this performance.

  Elle’s jaw is practically hanging open, and all I can think about is shoving my cock inside of it and watching her suck it. Stupid bitch probably hasn’t ever given a blowjob before. I want to be the first one.

  “That is so noble of you, Clay!” Mr. Tate claps his hands together. “I’m so glad that you two can figure this out. And it really is perfect since you both have practice on the same days.” Elle shoots me a withering look, but I ignore it.

  “Please keep me up to date on how the tutoring is going, you two. I expect great things to come out of this.” He stacks a pile of papers on his desk, a clear sign that the meeting is over.

  I won. Of course, I won. Elle doesn’t realize that I always get what I want, even if I have to employ other means to get it.

  She stands up so suddenly that her chair flips back onto the floor. “I have to get to practice,” she says, grabbing her bag and tripping over the chair leg.

  Before either of us can help her, she’s run out the door. I stand up and carefully pick up her chair after pushing mine in. “Thanks again, Mr. Tate. I really appreciate your help.”

  “Anytime, Clayton.” He stands and shakes my hand. What a fucking idiot. I leave the room with a stupid smile plastered on my face that fades as soon as I get out into the hall.

  My kitten is running and it’s time for me to catch her.

  Chapter 8

  Elle

  I’m practically gasping for air as I yank off my jeans and struggle into practice clothes. There’s no way in hell I’m going to tutor Clay. Tons of other students would fall at his fucking feet for the honor of doing it, and he has to choose me?

  It’s fucked up. I know that he’s up to something shady, but I can’t put my finger on what it is. Not yet. But I will. There’s no way that I’m going down without a fight on this one.

  The rest of my squad is out on the track already, going through some new choreography that Bethany put together. I peek through a window for a moment to watch them. Beyond them is the football team, but even though I squint, I can’t see Clay.

  Asshole is probably getting changed and crowing about how he’s cornered me into spending more time with him.

  I’m pulling my hair back into a ponytail when the door to the locker room opens and closes. I swear, I feel goosebumps pop up on my arms. Blood starts pounding in my ears, making it hard for me to hear anything, although I get perfectly still.

  Everyone’s outside. Nobody should be in here right now. I glance out the window, frantically searching for the one person that I already know isn’t going to be in the group.

  Yeah, everyone’s out there.

  Everyone but Clay.

  My voice is caught in my throat and I couldn’t cry out even if I wanted to. Dropping down into a crouch, I scoot behind the bench and wait for someone to come around the corner.

  The locker room is designed so that people can’t just burst in on someone changing, but it also means that you can’t see who has come in the door. It’s a great design, but right now I hate it.

  “Kitten?” Clay’s voice
is quiet but bold and it echoes through the empty locker room, bouncing off the metal lockers. “You in here?”

  Stifling a gasp by biting hard on my finger, I try to make myself smaller behind the bench, but there’s no place to hide. I glance around the room. Even if I made a run for the showers, there aren’t doors and he could pull the curtain back and easily find me.

  This is like a bad horror movie. I shiver close to the floor, hardly able to believe that this is actually happening to me. There’s literally no place for me to hide, and nobody at Kennedy Academy who cares enough to come looking for me.

  Clay takes a few confident steps towards me. I hear his feet pound on the floor as he comes closer and I shrink down smaller.

  I can’t get small enough.

  Fuck, how did I get into this situation?

  There’s no reason to cry for help. Nobody’s here. The students are outside and the teachers are gone. All that would do is clue him in to exactly where I am and thrill him. I know that he’d love to hear me call for help.

  I can’t do it.

  I’m on my own.

  My whole body feels like it’s buzzing with adrenaline. Even though I’m crouched, I’m full of energy.

  I could take him.

  The thought flits through my mind and I struggle to hold onto it.

  There’s no reason why I couldn’t stand up to him if he tries to do anything. Nevermind that I couldn’t stop him from carrying me out from under the bleachers last week. Nevermind that he’s easily twice my size and packed with muscle.

  I got this. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and prepare myself to stand, but I don’t get the chance.

  I never heard him coming. Clay grabs me by the ponytail and yanks me up to my feet before slamming me back against the lockers.

  One of the locks rams into my ribs and I shriek as the dull ache from that and hot pain from my scalp course through my body. I feel like I’ve just put my hand on a hot stove. The pain is searing and instant, and my entire body stiffens as my nerves start to fire.

  Clay immediately clamps a hand down over my mouth and forces my head back against the locker. It rattles under the impact of my skull and I close my eyes for a second to deal with the pain before forcing them open again to look at him.