by NV Roez
"London, go back to the others," he snaps at her, his eyes never leaving mine.
The tiny girl glances in my direction, confusion and embarrassment clear on her face, and walks away.
Micah and I continue to stare at each other in an awkward silence, but I refuse to speak first. His eyes darken to a deep ocean as emotions war across his face. I move to walk past him, but he moves directly in my path.
"Angel?" he whispers with a frown.
I straighten my spine and lift my chin, displaying a strength I don't feel and stare at the boy who used to be my best friend.
"It's Evelyn. Hello, Micah," I say flatly as my veins fill with devastation and rage.
Just seeing him here, moving on with his life, brings a pain that I haven’t consciously felt in a while. After everything I've been through, his betrayal still physically hurts.
I trusted him. I loved him. And he played me, along with the rest of them.
There's a part of me—the old part of me—that wants to break eye contact, look at the floor, and run away. Or better yet, let the floor open up and swallow me whole because of the way he's looking at me, but none of those things are going to happen. I'm not weak, I'm not that girl anymore, and the universe still hates me, remember?
"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice a mix of pain, rage, and... awe?
"I'm a student at Stratham University," I say smugly, crossing my arms, daring him to challenge me.
He stares at me with questions swimming in his eyes. I hate how deep they are, like he can still touch my soul. The air surrounding us is saturated with cinnamon spice and coconut, and I hold my breath, desperately trying to keep him out.
"When did you get out?" he asks.
But before I can answer, he shakes his head clear and his eyes go cold. The way he stands straighter, radiating a coldness I’ve never known from him, admittedly scares me.
“You know what, I don't really give a shit. You should've stayed locked up. Better yet, you should have died. You sure as hell don't belong here after what you did."
Good. I'm glad he's angry. Angry Micah, I can handle. I'm pissed too. I tilt my head to the side, studying him.
"For what I did? You have no idea what I did or didn't do. But that didn't stop you, did it? You consciously chose to tell my secrets, to make assumptions about things you didn't know a damn thing about, and took part in stealing my life."
"Stealing your life? You BURNED down the group home!" he shouts at me, moving closer and invading my personal space. "Did you ever stop to think about all those other kids who had no place to go? Or the fact that it was Caleb's mom's work that you destroyed? Or did no one else fucking matter to you?"
Now I'm seething. Who the fuck does he think he is? I wasn't selfish or thoughtless. I was surviving, and I didn’t do it on fucking purpose.
He continues to move forward, which makes me step back until my back is against the wall. His chest brushes against mine and I'm disgusted by how my body reacts to his nearness.
"Or was it really because you were trying to hide the fact that you killed Ivy?"
The mention of my sister's name has me seeing red. I lift both of my hands and push with all of my emotion and strength against his chest, but he only stumbles back a fraction of a step.
I make a fist to punch him directly in the face but, he grabs my wrist, spins me around, my back to his front, and slams me against the wall. He presses his entire body against mine to the point that I can feel his lingering erection pushing against my ass.
"You made a mistake coming here, Angel." He breathes softly in my ear, sending delicious tingles down to my core, and I want to throw up at my body's betrayal.
"Micah, I—"
"No," he snaps back, effectively cutting me off. "I don't want to hear your lies. The only truth that matters is that it should have been you that died. Ivy was ten times the person you are." He speaks close to my ear, making sure I hear every word.
With my face still pressed against the jagged wall, I close my eyes, inhaling his familiar coconut and warm cinnamon scent, and hear my soul rip at the seams.
I have no words. He's right. She was.
"Stay the fuck away from us, Angel. In fact, just leave. Permanently."
He shoves me further into the wall before he steps back and walks away towards his friends without so much as a backward glance.
I just stare at his back, feeling sick and emptied out. I take a deep breath and walk in the opposite direction to find Celeste, the need to go to the bathroom gone. It's time to go. I'm clearly not ready to confront my past.
When I finally spot Celeste, I see her flirting with Justin and don't have the heart to interrupt her. She's so carefree, oblivious to the pain and horrors of the world while she flirts with him, and I can't help but envy her. I would give anything to be normal.
She turns her head, spots me watching them, and frantically waves me over.
Sigh.
"Hey, Evelyn," she says, all giddy and high-pitched.
If I wasn’t falling apart, I would genuinely smile, but as it stands, raising the corners of my mouth is all I can manage.
She's literally glowing from the inside out as she does the introductions of all the people she's just met with an extra emphasis on Justin. I'm impressed that she can even remember with the amount of alcohol she's consumed. I nod, knowing that I won't remember any of their names other than Justin's.
I lean over to talk in her ear and let her know that I'm going to order an Uber. She pleads for me not to go without her, and since I promised I wouldn't do that to her, I concede to give her another twenty minutes and head outside to order the Uber.
When I start walking out towards the gate, I hear heated voices at my right, so I head in that direction. Obviously, I must be a masochist, or maybe just nosy.
I stay hidden behind some trees and look around the corner, only to find Elijah pinning Caleb up against the wall with his tattooed arm across Caleb's throat, noticeably trying to restrain Caleb.
"Did you know she'd be here? What the fuck is she doing here, Eli?!" Caleb yells despite the position Elijah has him in. Caleb and Elijah are the same height. Caleb is significantly broader than Elijah and could easily take him if he wanted to, but it looks like he wants to be restrained.
"I didn't know," Elijah growls back. "I don't know why she's here or why the fuck they would even let her in. But I'm only a year in as a Knight, Caleb. They don't tell us everything that goes on."
"Get off me, dickhead. I'm fine." He looks directly at Elijah with anger and sadness in his eyes, "She can't be here, Eli. That bitch doesn't deserve to be breathing for what she did. I know she killed Ivy, even if the judge didn't believe it. Honestly, I don't know if Micah can handle it. He barely survived losing Ivy. I mean, we all lost Ivy, and even I can admit that it still fucking hurts, but he's not as strong as we are."
Elijah squares his shoulders so they're both head-to-head, and it’s a sight to behold. My boys.
"Do you still blame me for that, Caleb?"
"No, brother. I don't blame anyone other than her. Honestly, man, we have to get rid of her before she ends up hurting someone else."
What the actual fuck?
"Look, we're not gonna get anywhere tonight. From what I hear, she's already left. We'll regroup and deal with her later. Keep Micah focused on what's important right now, which is initiation next week. You're going to be a Knight and the three of us are going to be kings. We'll need to step into those roles with authority, so for tonight, let's just have fun."
As if summoned on cue, two bottle-blonds walk out and go around the corner to where the guys are.
"Babe, why are you still out here? People are starting to think you left without me," the taller blond says to Caleb. Her voice is high-pitched and airy, like an Ariana Grande impersonator but with zero musical cadency to it. I’m not averse to Ariana Grande, but I’ve never been able to listen to her in an interview.
Genna inches her L
ouboutin stilettos forward, grabbing onto Caleb with her perfectly manicured nails, and snuggles against him with a small pout on her lips.
“You don’t want people to think I’m available, do you?”
Caleb runs a hand down his face like he’s trying to erase his mood from earlier, but he’s clearly still annoyed and frustrated.
"Genna, I'm not in the mood to play celebrity housewife right now. I’m sure me being away from you for a few minutes isn’t catastrophic. And everyone knows better than to think you’re available, whether I’m standing next to you or not.”
Elijah grabs the other blond by the waist, wrapping his tattooed hands around her black Valentino off-the-shoulder mini dress, pulling her with him as he leans his back against the wall. There’s a slow smirk on his face while he not so subtly pushes the blond down to her knees.
"Let's have a private party, Alexis," he teases. "Why don't you show Genna how it's done?"
Alexis just giggles. Her glazed eyes look a little wild as she takes to the task of undoing Elijah’s belt with trembling fingers.
"You don’t seriously expect that, do you, Caleb?” Genna gasps in shock then straightens her shoulders and whispers, “What if someone catches us? What would people think of the woman at your side? Men are allowed to be risque, but I, as your equal, am not.”
"Then don't.” Elijah shrugs on Caleb’s behalf. “There are plenty of girls here that would be glad to kneel for Caleb. In fact, they’d beg for the chance. Come to think of it, weren’t you begging last year?"
There's an evil gleam in Elijah's silver eyes, turning them a slate gray as he challenges her to leave, and I shiver. “No one ever said you were his equal.”
Pigs.
The word creeps into my mind as I watch Genna battle with her decision. Caleb just leans against the wall expectantly.
Arrogant prick.
The silent war lasts for all of a minute before she lifts her fitted Victoria Beckham dress, and I watch as her knees meet the ground.
You've got to be kidding me!
There's an envious rage growing in the pit of my stomach.
WTF?
Soon, the guys have their pants down just below their knees, hands wrapped up in blond hair, and each girl has a mouth full of cock.
I should say that I don't watch their muscular thighs pulse, that there isn't an ache between my thighs throbbing with its own heartbeat while soaking my panties; that I don't wish that they were doing that with me instead. But I can't say any of those things, and I'm sickened at that thought.
Once upon a time, I dreamt of what it would be like to be with them like that. I even gave myself to Caleb once, but I was just a kid who got sold a pipe dream that turned into a nightmare.
A nightmare that still haunts me.
I start walking back towards the front gate to sneak away before I witness the happy ending to their little private party. But as soon as I go to turn, Elijah's steel eyes lock onto mine. I was pretty confident that they couldn't see me—I don't think they can—but my gut is telling me that I might be wrong about that.
He keeps his eyes locked in my direction and the corner of his mouth tilts up into a cruel smile. He pumps faster into Alexis's mouth, pulling harder on her hair, making the wet sounds grow louder. It looks like he mouths the words 'fuck you' while he releases into her mouth.
Heat rises to my face and I can't decide whether I'm angry, turned on, or hurt as I watch him empty himself.
What the hell is wrong with me? As soon as he finishes, I'm released from whatever imaginary prison I was in. I turn around and nearly run towards my truck, praying that the Uber and Celeste are already there so that I don't have to go back to that party.
My mind is whirling, my soul a storm of emotions, and my eyes burn with unshed tears.
By the time I get into the Uber, my blood is boiling and I'm fighting to keep from throwing up. The cool night air is helping to keep the alcohol down, at least.
Thank fuck Celeste is drunk and halfway to passing out, so I don't actually have to talk to her. I never claimed to be a good friend.
Truth is, I know I'm not, but honestly, she'll be fine and I’m not capable of talking right now.
On our way back to Stratham University, I replay all that went down tonight, even the fucking image of Elijah coming into Alexis's mouth. I can't seem to control my arms from shaking.
I wasn't prepared for them. I shouldn't give a rat's ass what they think I've done. They don't know half of what actually happened that night, or every other night in that hellhole.
Those assholes made an assumption that cost me two fucking years of my life.
"Breathe, Evelyn. You're better than this," I say to myself as I make it back up to my room, holding onto a drunk Celeste in tow.
Using my breathing exercises to calm my nerves, there are two things I know for certain.
One, I will not break my promise to my sister because of those assholes.
Two, if they think for a second that I will go quietly into the night, they have another thing coming.
I’m not giving up my sister’s dreams just to make them happy.
I lay down on my bed with one single thought... “No, Elijah, FUCK YOU!”... and fall asleep.
8
Classes started a few days ago, and with my careful planning, I've managed to avoid the Knights. Mostly by staying in my room and doing my runs off campus, but still, I haven't had to deal with the shit show I know is coming like a category four hurricane.
Unfortunately, it doesn't look like I'll be able to avoid the storm much longer since Caleb is currently burning a hole in the back of my head in my advanced Latin class.
"... That's all I've prepared for you today. First assignments are due at the end of next week. You're dismissed," Professor Wessex says, all too eager to let us go, and I'm more than grateful.
I've spent the entire class feeling Caleb's hazel eyes on my back, but have successfully avoided turning around.
Fuck him.
I knew he'd be in this class, a tidbit I learned when I hacked the school's system—one of the talents I picked up during my stay at Ventura.
I purposefully got to class a few minutes late, praying that I would be able to avoid running into Caleb. When I got here, he was already sitting at the back of the class, like I knew he would be, and the only available seats were in the front row.
Maybe the universe doesn't hate me after all, or maybe for him, old habits die hard.
I grab my backpack and head towards the door when Professor Wessex blocks me.
"Miss Hawton, Dr. Weaver would like a word with you." The disdain in his voice is hard to miss.
What the hell did I do now?
He presses closer, invading my personal space, which makes me instinctively step back.
"I want to let it be known that I did not agree with Dr. Weaver's opinion to let you attend this school. I’m sure your talents would be better suited elsewhere. And please make note that I do not care how smart you think you are or how pathetic your life's story is, it will not give you an excuse to coast through my class." His sharp beady eyes sweep down my body appreciatively, lingering a little too long on my chest.
This man is pushing a hundred years old with tanned, wrinkled skin and smells like foot and muscle cream. Not sure about the age part, but close enough.
I shuffle back a few more steps, trying to get some of my personal space back, but he keeps moving forward like he's stalking prey. His eyes go from cold and bitter to burning with heat.
Gross, old man.
I grab the strap of my backpack, preparing to swing it as a weapon, and straighten my spine.
"Got it, professor."
He continues his rant, but I don't give a damn what he has to say. Whatever it is, I don't need to hear it, so I move around him to make my escape from the now empty classroom.
I don't know what the hell that was about, but I have a feeling that while Dr. Weaver expressed his desire to have my
past withheld from the student body, he took it upon himself to fill in the university's faculty.
Asshole.
When I get to Dr. Weaver's office, he welcomes me in like I'm a long-lost friend.
"How are your classes going?" he asks, and I can't help the feeling that something's off.
Every time I've been in his presence, I get these tingling sensations, like there's something I should know but I'm not seeing.
Dr. Weaver has made it known that he isn't thrilled that I'm here, though he wants to benefit from my IQ. I have to see a therapist for fuck’s sake, so it begs the question... Why am I here?
"Being that it's only the first week of classes, Dr. Weaver, I'd say they're just fine. Was there something you needed?"
He sits behind his desk and opens a file that's sitting on top. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeds to wipe his glasses.
Jesus, by all means, take your time.
"You're a smart girl, Ms. Hawton. Some would say exceptionally smart. The kind of pedigree that belongs here at Stratham University," he says while leafing through the file. "So I'll make this brief. Since you've decided to not accept additional sessions with Dr. Lewis, I'm afraid you're going to have to meet with me once a month."
"Come again?" I say in utter shock. "I wasn't aware that her offer was an ultimatum, and I thought we were done with the stipulations of my attendance here. I was also under the impression that my discussions with Dr. Lewis were confidential."
This is why I didn't want therapy in the first place. People don't know how to keep their fucking mouths shut. It appears even Dr. Lewis can't be trusted with the basics of doctor/patient confidentiality, so she's certainly not going to be getting any of my secrets—ever.
"Of course, my dear. Your conversations are completely confidential. I had simply asked her to see you more often, and she indicated that you had declined the suggestion. I apologize if I gave you the impression that she would ever breach your confidences. I assure you, that is not what happened," he says sheepishly, cleaning his glasses with his handkerchief again, and continues, "Think of it as extra credit. I'll give you assignments that you will complete and you will be graded on the quality of your work."
