by NV Roez
"Fine. I'll take care of you. We've got about forty minutes before Taylor will be here, so let's get you fixed up," she says and goes to grab my hand to lead me to our shared bathroom. Reflexively, I yank my hand back and immediately regret it. Normal people don't do that, do they?
Jesus, why can’t I just relax?
She scrunches her eyebrows into a deep V, giving me the same confused look I'm sure I gave her a few minutes ago.
"You okay?" she asks. For the briefest second, I think about bailing on the whole idea of going to the soccer game. But a promise is a promise.
"Yea. I'm just... I'm fine. I don't get what the big deal is. It's not like we're going to a party or something. We're just going to a soccer game, right? I didn't peg you to have “school spirit”, and I thought you didn't even like sports," I say, shrugging off my behavior and praying that she doesn’t call me out on my odd behavior.
She turns to fully face me. "Have you never been to an ivy league game before?"
I shake my head, and she sighs.
"Okay, first, I'm indifferent to sports. Which is different than not liking sports. And second, it's not about the actual game. You'll see," she says with a smirk.
I snort and roll my eyes. "Right, it's about the overwhelming school spirit you apparently possess."
"Laugh at me all you want, Evelyn Marie Hawton. But we need this. YOU need this. You've been locked in your head this entire week. It's time to come out. I promise, you'll be thanking me when you see those boys in uniform." She wiggles her eyebrows at me.
Her small action squeezes my heart. Ivy used to do that when she was trying to get me to do something she knew I’d be uncomfortable with.
"Cele, I know I slept with Taylor, but I was serious when I said that I don't want to date or even hook up with anyone here. I just want to get through school as fast as I can, and boys are a distraction I really don't need."
"Fine." She raises her hands in surrender. "But it doesn't hurt to look. And trust me, you're going to enjoy the view. Maybe add a few fresh faces to your spank bank." She winks at me, grabs my hand, and leads me to the bathroom. Thankfully, this time, I don't flinch.
In the bathroom, she proceeds to teach me about Huda beauty products, the importance of a good blending sponge, and why primer is a necessity. The whole time she's rambling, I can't help but wonder what Ivy would have thought. I bet she’s giggling right now, praising Celeste for even getting makeup on my face. She was always better at the girl things.
"Hey, earth to Evie. Can I put the S tattoo on your cheek?"
I concede to the temporary tattoo but draw the line at body glitter. That's just a no. Period. She has the same S tattoo on her right cheek and the school's mascot on the other. She even has a black and red Stratham Titan headband for her short ash blond bob. I'd gag if I didn't like her so much.
"Knock, knock, ladies. Monroe, Hawton, you guys about ready?" Taylor shouts from the other side of our front door.
I go to let him in and promise Celeste that I'll go change into “something appropriate”, though I doubt I'll have anything that will satisfy her.
"Damn, Evie, you look hot," Taylor says as he takes in my newly made-up face.
"Whatever. It's just makeup," I counter, rolling my eyes. "You can pour the pre-game shots while we finish up."
The beauty of the ivy league is that even though we have to share a room, most of the rooms in Emily Hall are open concept rooms equipped with a sitting area, kitchenette, bathroom, and separate bedrooms.
Rumor has it that they're not nearly as glamorous as the apartments on Greek Row, on the other side of campus, but it's definitely better than the dorms at most schools with the whole community bathroom concept and sharing a bedroom.
The halfway house I was at last year was set up that way too. Better yet, it's a million times better than the non-room room I had at Ventura. It was their mission to make sure that we all knew someone was always watching.
Ugh... I wish I could just forget that place.
I walk into my bedroom closet and put on my favorite black skinny jeans with the holes at both knees and search for something crimson. I end up with a black, long-sleeve crop top which will show off my abs without showing my scars, and opt for my red Chuck Taylors. That's got to be good enough, I think.
Walking out, I see Celeste has literally gone all out with her red mini skirt that accentuates her incredible curves along with a black blouse which shows off her cleavage and trendy black ankle boots. I smile to myself. Yeah, Ivy would have been really good friends with this girl.
Taylor pours three shots of Celeste's Canadian Whiskey and we salute to a great game and a good time.
"So, how is it that you've never been to an ivy league game before?" Celeste asks. "Didn't you transfer from another ivy league school?"
"No, actually I didn't."
"Okay, wait. Then how the hell did you get Weaver and the board to accept you?" she asks when she sees that I'm not going to elaborate.
Sigh. I hate talking about myself.
"Long story short, I scored a 1580 on the SATs, supplied a portfolio of work on mathematics, socioeconomics, and computer security coding that the school couldn't turn down." I shrug, praying that’s enough information for her to move on.
"Holy shit! You're beautiful and a genius." Taylor stares at me in awe, and I internally roll my eyes.
I shrug again, hoping that they'll just change the subject.
"Girl, you definitely need to get out more. There's so much more to life than books," Celeste says, grabbing the bottle and pouring a few more shots of the burning cinnamon liquid that Taylor and I are more than willing to accept.
I just smile and stay silent. I am fully aware that for other people, there's more to life than books. But books don't hit back, don't betray, don't die. When books hurt, it's because you want them to. But she doesn't need to hear that.
No one does.
3
Stratham's soccer stadium is a circus of eager pre-gaming fans from both sides. There's an anxiousness in the air that's almost palpable, and the parking lot is littered with cars, beer pong tables, tents, and music. I thought things like this only happened for football games, but apparently, I was wrong. Who knew?
"Let's get some drinks and find seats before we get stuck standing up for the game." Celeste practically drags us through the crowd, unable to hold her excitement. Hmm... okay.
Taylor and I follow Celeste through the stadium to find the “perfect seats” midway up, directly in front of the center-field.
It's a late afternoon, 74 degrees, and cloudy, so watching the game should be comfortable. I haven't watched a soccer game since I was a kid, but like a coming wave, I can’t stop the excitement from taking over.
The feeling is odd yet familiar as the energy from the people around me seeps into my skin. It’s a kind of giddiness that’s so hard to put into words. Celeste was right, though I'd never admit that to her. We did need this before starting classes next week.
"Welcome, Titans!" the announcer shouts through the stadium speakers. Everyone stands up, and the crowd roars to life. It's nearly impossible to not get swept away. I can feel my face grinning like the Cheshire Cat all on its own.
"Before we kick off, let me introduce you to this year's Titans."
As the announcer calls the players' names, they each run out of the stadium tunnel to the center-field line, wave to the crowd, and then walk to the home bench. I can barely make out each name with the crowd screaming and cheering.
At some point, he must have said Justin Prescott because Celeste reaches over and squeezes my hand like if she doesn't she might just jump onto the field. And it all clicks.
THIS is why she was so insistent on showing our school spirit and coming to the game. I'm so giving her shit for all of this later. Iron nail Monroe has a real hard-on for this guy.
Looking down at the players, though, I can see what she was talking about. Jesus. How can one team have so many go
od-looking players? They're all animate Greek sculptures and every fashion designer's wet dream, looking ready to go down the catwalk at some New York City fashion show and instead of getting ready to play soccer for the next ninety minutes or so.
"Alright, Titans! Rounding out our team is our new soccer captain. Introducing... number 12, Elijah Jackson! Let's give him our Titan's war cry," the announcer encourages, and the crowd goes batshit with these weird war cries.
What? Who did he just say?
The crowd's wave of excitement that I've been riding comes crashing down and now, I'm choking on it.
It's not possible, is it?
The universe couldn't—no… The universe wouldn't be this cruel, would it? Elijah Jackson could be a common name, right?
I can feel the blood drain from my face as I look down and watch Elijah fucking Jackson run to the center-field line and wave to the crowd.
It's been four years, but there is no mistaking that face staring up at the crowd with the steel gray eyes from my nightmares.
Elijah Jackson grew up, and not only is he attending THIS school—the captain of the Stratham Titan's soccer team—but he looks like a fucking god. Sonuvabitch...
I fall back in my seat as my stomach bottoms out, and I lose my breath. My entire body goes numb while I fumble to put on my windbreaker. I'm trying to remember how to breathe, but my lungs feel raw and no air will come. There's a chill deep in my bones and it isn't from the weather.
How the hell did this happen? He's supposed to be on the other side of the country, on the beaches of Rose Bay or at UCLA, not Union Point. With over 5,300 academic institutions and over 300 million people in the U.S., why the hell is he here?
The universe hates me.
I stare down at a man who was once the goofy boy whom I'd given my heart to, only to have him destroy me.
What am I supposed to do now?
I survived hell, made all those sacrifices, just so I could make it here on my own. All so I could get a piece of paper from THIS school to keep my promise. This is my plan A, there is no plan B.
Shit.
Celeste looks over at me, curiosity burning in her coffee brown eyes, eyebrows squishing together. "Evie, you alright? You don't look so hot. You know that cliché, looking so pale like you've seen a ghost? That's what you look like right now."
No, not a ghost. A monster... Calm down, Evelyn. Just breathe and lie.
"Yeah, Celeste, I think the alcohol just hit me. That's all," I say in a practiced, steady breath.
I can feel the panic attack edging in my head. I have to get out of here.
"I'm gonna go to the restroom to get some water on my face. Hopefully, it'll pass." She looks worried, so I add, "I'll be fine. Just keep an eye on Justin and you can give me the play-by-play when I get back."
At that, she grins, and I head out of the stands. I’ll text her on my way out of the stadium to let her know that I’m leaving because there’s no way in hell that I am going to sit and watch that fucker play while Stratham University's student body cheers him on.
Walking across campus, back to Emily Hall, vivid memories of years I desperately wish I could forget flood my mind. I can't get to my room fast enough. The smell of a beach I haven't seen in over four years invades my psyche, the warmth of the California sun, moments I felt safe...
"You got sand in my hair, you prick!" I shouted at the pretty dark-haired boy. I laughed and plopped a seat on the sand, trying to catch my breath. We'd been running, competing against each other all morning. I was always his equal.
"Since when did you care about getting dirty, Eve? I thought you loved getting dirty. You're starting to sound like princess Ivy," he’d replied and gone to throw yet another handful of sand in my hair.
"Don't call her that! And I don't care about getting dirty, douche, but I love the ocean, as in the water, not sand in my hair.” I’d meant to sound upset but couldn’t stop my bubbling laughter. He was always so much fun. “And stop calling me Eve. I'm not named after the first woman ever created."
"No?" he asked, tilting his head in thought. "Maybe I should call you Lilith instead. You know, some believe that Lilith was the first true temptation," he said with a sly grin.
And my heart stopped. The way his silver gray eyes sparkled with mischief and his slow, easy smile could compete with the sun and win.
Elijah always took my breath away. I never understood how he’d crept into my heart, but he’d embedded himself there and refused to leave. Not that I ever complained. My world had been that much brighter because he was in it.
Being with him and the rest of our crew had made the depths of hell livable, even if it was for a moment. Even if they never knew how far the devil would break me. In this one moment, he filled a broken part of me that I had given up on. Hope.
"I'm glad you came out today, Evie," he had told me without looking at me, talking into the air. "Everything feels different when you're around. I don't know... everything just feels... right."
I smiled at his little confession, understanding exactly what he meant.
Elijah flopped down next to me and we just stared at the ocean together. He didn't touch me, but I still felt him all around me, like just the air he breathed could wrap me up and keep me safe. Every gentle breeze across my skin brought me closer to him.
I rested my head on his shoulder, closed my eyes, and listened to the steady crash of the waves that were in sync with my heart. His clean soap and fresh linen scent invaded every crevice of my body and soul, easily overpowering the salty sea air. He felt like home.
I shake myself out of the memory as I walk out of the elevator towards my room. I'm going to need at least two shots of Hennessy, a joint, and maybe a melatonin pill so I can sleep the day away. Tomorrow, I'll have to do research, plan, and prepare. But that's tomorrow. Today, I don't want to think any more about a life that was never mine, that died years ago... of beautiful boys who lied.
4
I startle awake. Large, strong hands wrap around my mouth and midsection as I'm being pulled out of my bed. I squeeze my eyes shut with a silent prayer.
God, please, not again.
Please. Not. Again.
But God never seems to hear me.
"Don't make a sound or I'll wake up your sister and bring her along," the devil whispers in my ear, confirming my fears. He smells of alcohol and stale cigarettes.
It's always bad when he smells like that.
"You've been a naughty girl, haven't you, Little Flower? But don't worry, I've got a surprise for you." The grin in his voice sends chills down my spine.
I try to pull away, but he squeezes my wrist harder and I can feel the strain of my bones ready to break. Despite the pain, I don't make a sound. Making sounds always makes it worse and I can't risk him taking my sister too.
He brings me into a small, brightly lit room that reeks of sweat and disinfectant. There's a large four-poster bed pushed up against the wall on the left side and the mattress is covered in some frilly, dirty comforter.
God, please, don't let it be today.
There's a light blue dress neatly placed on the bed that we both know I will not be putting on. I may not be able to fight, but I won't help him either. I hate that dress. I hate this place. If my parents hadn't died, I wouldn't be in this godforsaken group home.
As we walk in, I can distinctly hear two other male voices and my back stiffens. This is new. My fear grows palpable and soul-deep, cementing my feet. My body refuses to move forward.
"Oh, Little Flower, are you afraid?" The devil chuckles as he closes the door behind us and the other men snicker.
At least it's me and not Ivy, I say to myself as a mantra and start separating my mind from the rest of me. I will survive this... She wouldn't. But I say nothing out loud and just stand there. I keep my back straight and do my best to swallow my fear.
My living nightmares started five months and six days ago. Three days after my parents were buried in the ground. In the begin
ning, I showed fear—much to their enjoyment—and it just made everything worse.
I can't let them see it.
One of the men moves forward, but I refuse to look up at him. With his sleeves rolled up, I can see a piece of a tattoo on his forearm in my peripheral. I can't quite make out what it is, but it looks like the tip of a sword? He leans down and glares at me with bottomless black eyes. His acidic breath crawls on my skin, but I don't waver as I stare right back.
"Hello, Evelyn. You can call me Hades," he says with pure evil sparkling in his eyes. "I've been told that you caused some trouble for us and we can't have you making trouble, now can we? Don't you love your sister?"
Fear coats every fiber of my being.
Do I talk? Do I stay silent?
Fuck. What do I do? I don’t know this man.
God, please, please help me.
"No one cares what happens to you, my little blue rose. So please, feel free to test me," he says with a smile so chilling, my limbs start to go numb. "We are everywhere and see everything. Tell me, how are those boys you're so fond of? I know you were drinking with them today. I don’t like my girls drinking.”
He stands back to his full height, emanating power. “What would they think seeing you like this, I wonder? Should we show them what a dirty little girl you are? Show them how well you take a grown man's cock in your mouth after five months of practice?"
Rage seeps in as I fight to hold back the angry tears that threaten to fall. I cannot cry in front of them.
Internally, I'm screaming, begging to a voiceless god for my friends to never find out about what happens in this room, but outwardly, I just stare straight ahead.
"Well done, Little Flower. No tears, no words back. You are trainable," Hades says, giving the other men in the room a congratulatory head nod. He brushes my hair back behind my ear, and his fingers leave icy burns running down my skin. "I think there's hope for you yet. Now, it's time to reward Beast for all of his hard work, don't you think?"
