Break Me, Baby: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Silver Creek High Book 1)

by Belladona Cunning

I’m a realist. Nothing in this contained within this world is black and white. Instead, even the most straightforward situation has stages of gray woven throughout.

  “We’ve been through this before, Karm. There’s no man on the face of this Earth that will have me calling dibs so you can’t touch him. If you want Davis—fuck his brains out. It really and truly doesn’t bother me.”

  So, I may have fibbed to her just now. Jesus, I’m such a shitty friend sometimes.

  Not about the Davis part, but about something else.

  There is one man on this Earth off limits to besties such as Karma.

  One man that will always be firmly in the “do not fucking touch or I’ll rip your hands off” zone, and that’s the bastard who tore my heart out and stomped all over it. He did so with a smile, more like a sneer of disgust, on his face. He trampled over me until I was nothing more than discarded, broken pieces of glass lying on the bathroom floor.

  Callum Lockridge. Rich legacy to his father’s companies, and a certified panty-melter.

  My first crush. First kiss. First love.

  It’s just too bad the asshole is my first and only heartbreak, too.

  Of all the times to think about him, it has to be now, when I’m at my most vulnerable. In the middle of a party where I’m drunk and high as Hell. Figures.

  It seems no matter how much I party, or how many hours I spend trying to forget him, forget everything, I’ll never be able to forget the only boy that got close enough to brand his name on my jagged, dead little heart.

  “Um, well, this isn’t the first time he and I have been together,” she admits, surprising me.

  “Okay? Care to elaborate?” This should be good.

  She shifts back and forth, nervous as all Hell, which automatically has me leaning closer. This is definitely going to be good. A nervous Karma is a blabbering box of confessions.

  “Remember last year, just a few days before homecoming?” I nod. There’s no way I’ll ever forget that. Damn. Good times. I think she’s still trying to pick the pieces of plastic out of her face. “Do you remember when I never came to lunch, and when you got to the office, I was already there and smelled like sanitizer?” Yes, I remember that. It was freaking weird.

  “Yeah. I do. What does that—” My eyes widen, then a stupidly large smile spreads across my face. “No. Fucking. Way!”

  She nods quickly, barking out a round of laughter. “Yup. Right there in Mr. T’s office. We were both called up there, and I noticed he’d been staring at me for quite some time. So, I just asked him what his “fucking problem” was. He said nothing, girl. He just pushed me up against Mr. T’s door and started kissing the fuck out of me. Had me in his arms with my legs around his waist before he even pushed the door open.”

  “Seriously?” I gulp. Hard. That’s fucking hot. Goddamn my girl has game!

  “Yes! It was … epic,” she finishes with a soft smile.

  “But, how did you end up smelling like sanitizer?”

  “Oh.” She blushes. “We were on top of the principal’s desk, and we may have knocked over the bottle. It got all over my back and soaked into my shirt. I’m surprised you didn’t notice I put my hoodie on. Particularly, since it was billion degrees outside.”

  Now that I think about it, I do remember. She sat down beside me in that uncomfortable chair in front of the secretary’s desk and wore that blasted hoodie like it was the dead of winter, instead of September.

  I also remember thinking she was a tad weird as she shifted next to me. But I never said a word, not even a peep. I figured she probably just got her period or something. Not fucked some hot-as-fuck dude in the principal’s office.

  Wait, a minute … “You got lucky that day because of me! I saw you for, like, two minutes before Mr. T pulled me into his office for slapping that girl upside the head with my lunch tray. So, ergo, you owe me for getting to bump uglies with Davis in the first place.”

  Something occurs to her, causing her lips to purse in thought. “Why did you hit that girl with the food tray?” She thinks she’s slick changing the subject like that, but I know her game. “You never told me why.”

  And I never will. “It was nothing.”

  Karma doesn’t look convinced, and rightfully, she shouldn’t be.

  I’ve always been a terrible liar.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Oh, my God,” Karma gushes, her eyes wide and trailing over my outfit. “You will absolutely slay Silver Creek High, girl!”

  I love her, but we both know that’s a lie. The only thing I’ll be to any of the students is the girl that … No, Jessalyn. Don’t think about it. Don’t let it own you.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I turn away from Karma before she can see the pain morphing my features. I try my best to hide it some days, but there are others every now and then where I can’t. It’s almost impossible. And today is one of those days.

  She doesn’t need me bringing her down. And opening that Pandora’s box will do all that and so much more. It’s my cross to bear; my little freak show to coordinate. Not hers. Never hers.

  “Ah,” I say, playing it off, “you’re just being nice. Stop it, it’s disgusting.”

  At Silver Creek, I’m at the bottom of the totem pole—a minnow in a pond full of piranha if you will. Not that I’m complaining. Because I like the life of being invisible. At least, until I have to handle some things.

  All the guys at school think I’m a quick fix between classes, or a mediocre (on their part) hump under the bleachers during a football game. It’s exactly what I want them to believe.

  I’m Jessalyn Savoy: heartless seductress that will fuck anything with three legs.

  Since that’s what the rich, preppy bitches painted me the summer before sophomore year, who am I refute it?

  Not like it will change the outcome. They will still see what they want to see, regardless of what’s right in front of their face.

  No one needs to see the pain I have inside. The giant, gaping hole inside my chest. It’s too heavy for a place like Silver Creek. No one could understand it, even if I tried to explain it to them with step-by-step instructions, pictures included.

  Laughing lightly, I hear her rustling just before I feel her heat by my side. When I’m sure the turbulent emotions are in check, I finally open my eyes and pin hers in our reflection. “Seriously, Jess, you’re beautiful …”

  Goddammit; why does she have to do shit like that? I don’t have a heart, so I shouldn’t be having all these girly feelings when someone pays me a compliment. That ship sailed a long time ago. Compliments and anecdotes are for the rich bitches at school that thrive on attention.

  I don’t want what they want. I just want to get off and forget.

  It also seems to be only Karma that wrenches these feelings from me.

  “Any guy would be lucky to have a girl like you. All you need to do is open yourself up to the possibility.”

  Not likely.

  I learned my lesson once with that shit, I’m not about to go for a double dose.

  “You know me,” I say, trying to appear unaffected, “I’m not into all that monogamy bullshit. I’d rather be with whom I want, when I want. If I got into a relationship, I would end up getting bored.”

  Not the complete truth, but close enough it counts. The reason being is I’d never allow myself to get to that point with someone, regardless if I like them or not. When guys start talking about hearts and flowers, I beat feet in the other direction as fast as I can. Since sophomore year, that’s always been my MO, and it will always continue to be.

  One guy? Please! No way am I putting all my eggs in the same basket ever again.

  No way am I putting my anything in any basket period.

  After a few moments of awkward silence, Karma’s phone chirps with a new message. It breaks through our comfortable silence, causing my eyes to roll when she squeaks like a little mouse and practically dives for my bed.

  I swear, her and Davis are seriously meant f
or each other. They are complete opposites in almost every way, which is the bread and butter for one hell of a relationship.

  Hmm, are they in a relationship? I may need to ask her about that later. She’s been tight-lipped since the party Friday night, and the only reason I believe I got as much out of her as I did, is because she was too stoned and drunk to deny me. Any other time, Karma is a closed book when it comes to guys.

  Spying her in the reflective surface of my mirror, I can’t explain the knot unfurling in my stomach. The secretive smile on her lips, lust apparent in her eyes. It digs at the wounds surrounding my heart, tempting me to pick the scabs so it can finally mend.

  Finally, allow myself to drop the last shred of resentment I feel and free myself from this torment.

  Before he broke me, I used to have that same look on my face when I received a text or call. The butterfly wings in my stomach would flutter, causing excitement to make a new home in my abdomen. It seemed like the world faded away to nothing, allowing me that little slice of heaven—my own, personal piece of paradise.

  But then, it all came crumbling down around me when I found out it was nothing more than a beautiful lie.

  Ha, do you see where I’m going with this?

  My entire life has been one concocted tragedy after another. One I can aptly describe as false sentiments of “love.”

  I’ll tell you; love is a vision—an idea movies and books put in your head. The big guys out in Hollywood state this is how you should think; how you should feel. They don’t care as long as they make that green, and by brainwashing people to believe in the lie that is love, they continue to make their millions off the masses.

  Well, I’m not one of them. At one point in time, as a fifteen-year-old girl, I agreed with them. However, my idea was shot in the foot faster than someone snapping their fingers.

  I wasn’t in love, but the idea of love. Sadly, there’s a difference.

  Now, though, you can’t get even get me in the same room with the word. We’re not, nor will we ever be, friends. I know it’s a lie they feed us, to keep us coming back for more.

  Still, just because I’m bitter, doesn’t mean I will ruin my friend's first taste of the deadly poison. I’ll be here to wipe her tears and hug her when she does finally come out of the illusion. But I will not interfere until she needs me, and she will need me, that much I know for sure.

  It’s all a matter of time.

  That may make me the shittiest friend alive, but I’m still a friend that respects Karma’s decisions. She can fall in and out of love as many times as she wants to, and I will always be here to pick her right back up off the ground. That’s what friends are for.

  “This is so cute,” she gushes, and I seriously have to fight the urge to throw up in my mouth.

  “What?”

  “Davis just texted an 'I love you’ GIF.” She practically gushes all over the place, which pains me, because to be honest, those are new sheets. I don’t want to have to change them because Davis makes his woman wet over a stupid GIF.

  “Isn’t that sweet,” I reply, trying to hide the bitterness in my voice. The moment Karma’s eyes connect with mine, I know I didn’t hide it well enough.

  Furrowing her brows, she worries her lip between her teeth, emotions stinging the corner of her eyes. “Is this … will this bother you?”

  Now I feel shitty. With my cynical attitude, and flippant demeanor.

  That’s something I promised myself I wouldn’t be, because I knew a day like today would come, eventually. Instead of allowing my reservations to exude through the air like death, I need to be more accepting. It’ll feel like a knife being thrust into my chest, then turning for maximum pain, but I need to do this. She deserves happiness. Especially, since, she’s the one that made the last two years of my life bearable.

  “No.” I sigh. “It will not bother me, okay? I’m being a bitch. Just overlook it.”

  Reluctantly glancing back down at her phone, she taps out a few words before putting it away altogether. Rising to her full height, which is still quite a few inches shorter than mine, she rubs her stomach. I laugh softly under my breath, turning to her. I know what she will ask for next. It’s become … sort of tradition for us on the day before school.

  “Want to head out to Deliciously Sweets?” I mean, who can say no to the best ice cream shop this side of the Mississippi? Yeah, right, no one can. Even if our hips groan in protest.

  “Please,” I fake a laugh, “do you even have to ask that question?”

  After leaving the house, we make our way down Maple, then hit across the street to Syracuse Drive. Everything is full of life, and the scents and sounds borderline heavenly.

  I can smell the perfume radiating off Mrs. Johansson’s massive flower beds, where they are filled to the brim with roses, lilies, tulips, and morning glories. My eyes flick over, seeing her beautiful two-story colonial. It’s filled with a radiance of life as the flowers stretch their arms in full bloom from every direction.

  Her house is the sprightliest one on the block, and the only house I haven’t accidently vandalized at some point in time. There is just something so ethereal about it; so majestic. With its black shutters and white vinyl siding. A wraparound porch her husband, Bert, remodeled about six months ago with a fresh coat of lacquer.

  It even has a little porch swing set off to the right—all cedar, all heaven—with a mound full of pillows just taunting you to put your face into. A wicker furniture set sits off to the side, located underneath her large bay windows. It’s the same set they’ve owned since I was born, from what my father used to say, and I can usually see her and Bert this time of night.

  Speaking of, I smile to myself, as I watch the front door open. Mr. Johansson pushes the storm door open with his back, his pants barely hanging on his hips. He leads his beautiful wife of fifty years out onto the porch with two glasses of drinks perched in his hands.

  Lordy, they are the cutest little couple I think I’ve ever met. If I wasn’t the way I am now, I’d say just by witnessing what those two have, it would be the closest thing to that illusive love Hollywood tries to sell.

  “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Johansson!” I call out, seeing their faces light up in glee.

  “Well, hello there, pretty girl,” she calls back. It’s the same name she’s been calling me since I was seven, and no matter how many times I hear it, it always causes a warmth to spread inside my chest cavity.

  “What’s the drink of choice tonight?!”

  Mr. Johansson smiles toothily. “The missus and I are trying out …” He turns to his wife, cooing, “What this is drink, love bug?”

  See? Totally fucking cute! Even after fifty years of marriage, they still act like they tied the knot yesterday.

  “Sangria, dear!”

  “It’s Sungrita!” he yells, butchering the name. I have to hide my grin behind my hand. I should also probably point out that dear, old Bertie is deafer than a snake is blind during dog days. He can’t hear a lick of nothing, unless you’re right up on him and yelling at the top of your lungs.

  Waving them off, we continue our way down the street. Karma leans into me, chuckling under her breath. “Did he really butcher the word 'Sangria?’”

  “Yes,” I reply, bursting into laughter. “Yes, he did.”

  When Deliciously Sweets comes into view, I can’t fight the growl my stomach releases. I only allow this indulgence every once in a while, because while I might have my mother’s figure, that also means I have her metabolism. To stay fit enough for Fast-Pitch in the spring, I have to watch what I eat and train incessantly.

  Especially, since now, I have to try out for the team this year, which always wasn’t the case.

  A neighboring town high school had to shut its doors over the summer. Each student attending Silver Creek received a notification of the new transfers arriving this year. And now, instead of our high school having freshman through senior in the main building, we’ve had to switch it up. The only clas
s years allowed in the high school now are juniors and seniors.

  Silver Creek is all about making your future as bright as possible. The school system will do anything it takes to pave a way for the best, brightest future, for the kids that step through its doors. With so many transferring this year, it would have led to a distraction of chaotic proportions.

  So, while many of the staff are transferring with them, they will take the old middle school. It connects through a series of doors and hallways to the main building. Thus, lest there are geniuses mixed in with the fray, no underclassman will have a use in stepping into the main portion of the school.

  That doesn’t mean it will not allow them the same opportunities as us, though. They’ll still get the full high school experience, just in smaller doses.

  While most won’t, there are quite a few that thrive on sports, extra-curricular activities, and general education clubs. And in doing so, we must now compete with one another for positions. Where I am a hind-catcher, it’s now rumored I have to beat out five girls, instead of two, for a spot on Varsity. Go me!

  Also, what makes it worse, is the fact the parents will start throwing around money. If the softball coach was a spineless, money hungry man, then I’d have something to fear. But since he’s not, I don’t have anything to worry about.

  Because I know it will happen. Just as soon as one of my classmates don’t make the team or get the position they want, they will cry big, fat tears of fake sadness for their parents so they’ll fix it.

  That’s how it’s done around here. It always has and always will.

  Money buys everything.

  Loyalty.

  Cruelty.

  A false sense of power that most of the popular kids take for granted.

  And now, since the high school is being split in two, I literally have no idea what to brace myself for.

  CHAPTER 4

  “So, which flavor are you getting this time?” Karma asks, yanking open the door to Deliciously Sweets.

  The moment we step inside, I’m hit in the face with the distinct smell of sugar and yeast from their homemade waffle bowls. It’s the only place in town that makes all the inventory by scratch. It’s why they’re able to charge the prices they do, because you’ll get nothing as fresh from any of the neighboring counties. It’s also why they’ve been able to stay in business for so long.