Ruthless: Black Mountain Academy

by Mila Crawford

  I looked the little mouse in the eyes, letting the silence around us take the lead.

  In my life, I’ve learned one thing: people don’t like silence. Most of them would talk about anything just to avoid it. Yet this little mouse seemed to welcome it, she looked at me, eyes startled but still gazing into mine, holding her ground. That show of strength never happened to me. There she sat, calm as fuck, and it made me angry that she was being defiant. I wasn’t used to defiance; I lived for compliance.

  Now her pouty lips looked like pink cotton candy.

  Pink cotton candy? What the fuck?

  Her pretty mouth trembled and I knew I was winning this staring contest, I usually did. She finally broke contact, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

  “Excuse me,” she uttered as she tried to push past my arms barricading her. I should have let it go. I should have let her run out of the room like the scared little mouse that she was, but I wanted her to suffer. I wanted to punish her for being so damn sunny, so innocent.

  I leaned even closer, my lips just barely touching hers. I could see the barrier of liquid forming in her eyes. She was trying hard to hold them back, but her emotions betrayed her and a single tear danced elegantly down her sweet round face.

  “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other again, little mouse. Now get the fuck out,” I spat, going for the kill.

  She scurried up, and for a moment hesitated, before she pushed past my arm, I allowed her to break the barrier, still managing to brush my hand against hers, and for just a second she lifted her eyes and looked at me, daggers sharpening behind her tear-soaked eyes.

  But that strength only lasted a second. She dropped her head in defeat then, running out of the library as if she was on fire.

  I walked back to the chair to pick up the book, cradling it gently in my hands. I laughed at my own insanity. I didn’t want her to go, but I had no problems making her cry. I was a sick, twisted fuck. She’d done nothing to me; all she’d done was have the nerve to touch a book. A book that I’d read a million times.

  I’d read most of the books in the library. It was my escape from the hell that was my life. This place was a fucking prison--my whole damn life was--I knew there was no escaping it. As much as that little mouse looked like she could be defiant, I would break her into a million tiny pieces.

  I placed the book back in its place and walked down the row until I found what I was looking for. Pulling the leather bound first edition out, I looked it over, the rough deckled edges like silk against my fingertips. I never understood why it consumed me. God knows the man who gave it to me was a monster, but maybe that was the point. He was just as corrupt as the characters he loved so much. I opened the first page and read the inscription.

  “The books that the world calls immoral are the books that

  show the world its own shame.”

  Then I threw it across the room.

  3

  Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care;

  But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”

  - William Blake, The Clod And The Pebble

  Madison

  I rushed out of the library and headed downstairs; I didn’t even stop when Mom called my name at the front door. The only thing I knew in that moment was that I wanted to be as far as possible from this museum and the boy with the hard-as-steel blue eyes.

  I wasn’t sure why he upset me so much. I grew up in a rough neighborhood, I knew martial arts, I was tough, but still, I was sobbing like an idiot. I took the stairs two at a time and headed for my mother’s beat up Honda Civic, pulling on the handle but realizing it was locked, and I didn’t have the key.

  My body deflated then, my back to the passenger side door, my head dropped down in my hands. I tried to push the tears back, but the anger now bubbling inside me wasn’t helping hold them at bay. I was furious with myself that something so small could make me break like this.

  Fuck him.

  I wasn’t going to let him or anyone else define me. I was in control of my emotions. It was on me to make sure that these people saw my best game face, and this crying, helpless girl wasn’t me. My mother taught me better than that. She’d made me strong and capable and always set the best example.

  This girl crying by the car wasn’t her.

  “Maddy, you ok, honey?” Mom came storming out of the front door, Monica trailing behind her. Before I could even say anything, she was by my side, holding me in her arms. “What happened, Maddy?”

  I stood silently, just looking at her, tears streaking down my pitiful face. The only thought in my mind was that Deborah Evans would never have let a stupid guy get the better of her. All of my life she was an active feminist, teaching girls to become strong and empowering women. To be anything and handle anyone. If she knew the truth, that the boy upstairs had shaken me so, she would probably lose her mind. Not only would her disappointment in me be apparent, but also she would track down that guy and beat the shit out of him.

  The plain fact was, we needed the money and I really didn’t want my mother to look like the head case she was on the first day.

  “Maddy.” Mom said my name again.

  “It’s nothing, Mom, I just saw a book that reminded me of Daddy,” I lied. “I just miss him.” I told the truth.

  “Oh, honey,” she said, pulling me to her, “I miss him too. I know that moving to a new place can be hard, but I think that this is a completely new start. Like a new chapter. You start at the academy on Monday, and you’ll see that things will eventually not seem so bleak.”

  I buried my face in her shoulder and cried. I didn’t cry for the father that I loved more than anything else in the world. I cried to let all the anger, embarrassment, and hurt pour out. Mom held me and didn’t say anything. Telling her this was about my father was a good choice; I couldn’t handle another stern lecture.

  As my tears dried, my eyes drifted up to the window and the figure looked down at me.

  It was him standing there looking at his handy work.

  There was something about the way he looked at me, so completely hard and ruthless, and there was something else lingering...a feeling I hadn’t quite been able to place until now in the library.

  Pain.

  I brushed away the thought because it absolutely made no sense. What would upset a guy that grew up in this kind of affluence?

  4

  “Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends;

  they wound those who resort to them

  worse than their enemies.”

  ― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

  Kyler

  “Why are you such a buzzkill?” Garth McMillian asked, taking another hit of his joint. His eyes were glassy as he leaned back on the disgusting couch. That thing must have every bodily fluid imaginable permanently embedded in it.

  “Not wanting to be fucked out of my mind does not make me a buzzkill.” I took in the mindless flock parading around the room, one last summer hurrah before classes started. The guys looking to score some pussy and the girls looking to score a boyfriend.

  “Hey, Kyler.” A sickeningly sweet voice came hurling at me. I glanced in her direction, another fucking lemming.

  “Not interested, Katie,” I said, moving away before she could put her hands anywhere near me. This girl was fucking relentless. The odd part was that the meaner I was to her, the more she begged me to fuck her. I’m sure I could fuck her right here, in front of everyone. Hell, if I really wanted her to she’d probably suck off every guy in the room for me. She was just like all the other girls at the Academy; they only wanted me because I was unattainable. In three years, I’d never even been seen talking to a girl for more than the length of a sentence, yet they kept coming in droves.

  Maybe that’s why Garth hit on me during my last summer home before boarding school started. I was fucked out of my mind and he had the bad luck of grabbing my thigh. I punched the shit out of him, quic
kly earning myself a reputation as a homophobe.

  The sad part was that I didn’t give a fuck if Garth was gay. I actually liked hanging out with him, he was a cool guy--it wasn’t his fault he thought I liked dudes. I understood it; I brushed aside all the girls and seemed to hang out only with him. The truth was, it was easy being around Garth, we liked the same music, we both read a lot and he was chill, I could actually relax around him.

  Many times we sat in silence and could just be, unlike most people looking to fill the gaps. I should have apologized, but after that, people really started staying away from me, and I liked it. Last summer, I saw a bunch of punk kids beating on Garth and I lost my shit and smashed their faces in. As I patched up Garth, I found myself telling him the truth about everything. I also gave him a warning that if he ever opened his mouth about my shit, I would kill him. Guess he believed me because he never talked about that night.

  I guess you could say I bullied him into being my best friend. My only friend, really.

  “Oh, come on, Kyler,” Katie cooed, her breath reeking of beer and nacho cheese.

  “You know, Katie, next time you try to get with a guy, pop a breath mint. That stench couldn’t get anyone hard.” I winked and took a swig of my beer. I didn’t take my eyes off her. I knew one thing, eye contact made people feel uncomfortable and I really wanted Katie to feel like complete shit so she learned to stay the fuck away from me.

  “Why do you have to be such an asshole?” She asked while digging in her purse and pulling out a pack of Tic Tacs. I laughed at how self-conscious I made her, but to be fair, I only told her the truth. Girls like Katie were the worst; I’d seen how mean and cruel she was to others. She wasn’t someone redeemable. In middle school she’d bullied a girl so badly that she actually killed herself. So let’s say that I felt the way I treated Katie was justified--one might even say noble.

  I stepped closer to her, smiling, summoning as much charm as I could. I leaned over, loving the way she swallowed in nervous response to me.

  “Why do you have to be such a slut?” I asked, before I backed off almost immediately, staring her boldly in the eyes. Shock and disgust twisted her face, but I knew deep down I’d turned her on, the way she squirmed and leaned into me told me as much. Too bad for her I would never touch her.

  Her hand came up to slap me then, but I moved quicker and grabbed her wrist.

  “Tsk Tsk Tsk. I don’t think Daddy would like picking up his little girl in a holding cell,” I mocked. I could just see her big-shot lawyer dad picking his little girl up at the police station. I was pretty sure she didn’t walk around her father wearing shorts that showed half her ass sticking out, or braless with her shirt so short that it just barely hid her nipples. That was the thing about most of these rich girls; they were so bored with their lives that they’d do anything to feel alive.

  “I fucking hate you, Kyler,” she spat, her lips now shaking as embarrassment sobered her up.

  “If only that was true,” I snarled.

  “It is true! You’re a fucking asshole!” She straightened her back, trying to appear taller to match my six-foot-three frame.

  “Good. Then stay the fuck away from me.” I dropped the hand I was holding.

  Katie turned and walked away, and the next thing I knew she was joined by her group of mean girls, all of them throwing daggers my way.

  “You can’t just say ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ like a normal person?” Garth shook his head. “I know she’s a piece of shit, but damn dude, you really tore into her.”

  “The only way to deal with bullies is to bully them,” I said as I chugged back my beer.

  “I know she’s a complete asshole, but dude, calling her a slut was a little harsh.”

  “Would it have been better if I’d lied? She is a slut, just like I am an asshole. I thought we were all telling the truth in that moment.”

  Garth just shook his head. I was pretty sure some days he woke up and had no idea why he was my friend.

  “I am getting out of here.”

  “I don’t even know why you come to these things,” Garth said, standing up. “Wanna go get a bite to eat?” He asked, probably worried that I was headed for some sort of destructive shit. I was on a roll tonight.

  “Nah, man, I’m just going to go home. Monica and Edward actually set me up in one of the guesthouses. Eddie gave me some shit about how I was going to be a man soon and needed to have my own space. I think he was just sick of seeing me in his perfect fucking house.” I laughed darkly, thinking about what people might say to him after meeting me. The real reason dear old Dad wanted me out of the way was so he didn’t have to look at me--a reminder of the one thing that he’d failed at.

  I placed my beer bottle, on the graffiti-laden, beige coffee table, gave Garth a salute and headed through the crammed crowd of drunks and out the door.

  Once outside, I zipped up my black leather jacket and climbed onto my Harley, the familiar hum when I started the engine vibrating my tense muscles into submission. I remembered back to the first time I’d gotten my bike. Sixteen and spiraling, and my dad’s way of making things better was to buy me anything that I wanted...and I wanted a Harley V-ROD. It was the only time in my life I was glad that my father liked to throw money at things in the hope they’d go away.

  “Hi, Kyler!” A group of girls said as they stumbled drunkenly towards me. I pretended I didn’t see them, revving my bike and watching as they jumped out of the way as I drove by, leaving the lemmings in the dust.

  5

  “There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome."

  "And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody."

  "And yours," he replied with a smile, "is wilfully to misunderstand them.” ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

  Madison

  “Thanks for doing the dishes, kiddo.” Mom hung up her cell phone. From the moment we’d gotten here, it felt like all Mom was doing was answering that phone.

  “For a housewife, she seems to have a lot of things to do. We’ve been here for three weeks and all you’ve done is work,” I said, drying the last of the plates and putting them away in the cupboard.

  “Come on, Maddy, this is a really good job. It’s also nice working for someone that knows me and that I’m comfortable around. You didn’t really want to stay, did you? Delaying school, working three jobs, killing myself to afford the rent in a two-bedroom apartment with lead in the water. Still it wasn’t enough to afford university tuition. This job is too good to be true, honey. We wouldn’t have been able to get out if it weren't for the generosity of this family. I’m grateful for it and you should be too.” A familiar stern look that I’d seen a million times before crossed my mother’s features.

  I knew she was right, I should be happy that the burden of university expenses was lifted off my shoulders, but I also missed home. I missed the neighborhood, no matter how broken it’d been when we’d left.

  “School starts soon, you’ll make new friends,” Mom rubbed my back, reading my mind.

  “I know, Mom,” I said, trying to placate her or avoid the subject. It wasn’t just my friends. It was this house, these grounds, the people here--everything felt foreign and unfamiliar. It was all heavy and I was crumbling under the weight.

  I needed to be alone. Just me and my thoughts, peace and quiet. My gaze trailed out the window and I noticed the pretty pool, outdoor lights reflecting off the water. I wasn’t much of a swimmer but it looked tranquil and inviting and the perfect spot to clear my head.

  “Monica said we could use the pool, right?”

  “Yes, she said to make ourselves at home.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. Rich people don’t necessarily mean what they say.” I thought back on my mother’s previous employers, how they’d treated her like vermin. It all started so nicely in the beginning, but after a while it became evident that my mother was nothing mor
e than a punching bag, to be used and discarded at their whim. It always made me so mad; I would literally shake when they snapped their fingers, or called her girl. I never understood how she took it in stride and without feeling completely humiliated.

  “Monica and I have been friends for a very long time. She’s kind. We can really be happy here, just give it a chance.” My mom placed her arm around my shoulder. “I’ve known her for practically my whole life. She didn’t grow up with money. She was my neighbor growing up. Our mothers were best friends. Monica isn’t like the others, I promise.”

  I took in my mother’s story, the realization that my mother and Monica’s story ran so long and deep was a sobering one. I guess we’d all been so busy surviving back home that there wasn’t time for things like childhood stories.

  “I had no idea you were so close. You’ve never mentioned her before now. Why haven’t I heard about her?”

  My mother gazed long and hard at me, something lingering in her eyes. I wasn’t sure what that something was because she turned away from me then, hiding herself as if scared she was being too open about her past.

  “When I left...I really just wanted to start over. There are things in my life that I just wanted gone.” Her fingers gently brushed the countertop. This topic was making her uneasy, I could tell by the fidgeting and her need to keep busy and avoid any other questions.

  I placed my hand on hers, wanting her to know that it didn’t really matter. I never wanted to push her to tell me things she wasn’t ready for. My whole life, I always knew there was something my mother wanted to keep buried in her past. I never knew what it was, but in that moment, I knew that it was something she’d left behind for a reason.