“What, that you and Victoria get married?”
He nods. “Vee and me grew up together since we were like two. We were best friends from day one. I think our parents are in love with the idea that we were meant to be, Vee and me. Like, I don’t know, destined or some shit like that.” He offers a look that asks for a denial.
I don’t want to make his decisions for him. I shrug.
He shakes his head in disgust, “She was great until middle school. Me and her really were best friends. You wouldn’t know it, but she used to be huge into sports and she was damn good. We played on the same soccer team as kids. Then she got breasts and that was it.”
I crinkle my nose, “You mean her parents bought them?”
“No,” he snickers. “She grew them. That’s when she changed. She didn’t want to hang out as much and started noticing other guys.”
“Oh.” I know where this is going.
“Long story short, we’ve been off and on ever since. We always fight. Always.”
“That’s not good.”
He smirks, “The makeup sex is. Sometimes I think it’s the only reason she comes back.”
“You can’t build a marriage on that.” I have no idea how to build a marriage, but I know my parents rarely fought. If they did, they did it in private. I never once saw them mad at each other. Frustrated sometimes, but never outright mad. What I did see was them being very loving. Like, constantly. Almost too much, but it was genuine. Looking back, I can imagine it would’ve been embarrassing if I’d seen them doing it when I was a little bit older, like thirteen or whatever, because they were so damn smoochy all the time, but they defs loved each other. I sniff back a tear thinking about it. God, I miss them so much it hurts, even after all these years.
“You can’t, can you?” Duke says.
“Can’t what? Sorry, I was thinking about my—” I stop myself. I never tell anyone about my parents. For whatever reason the truth slips out, “—my parents.” My breath hitches. Why did I say that? Too late to take it back now. I sigh, “I don’t remember them fighting at all.”
“They still married?”
I cringe. “Can we not talk about them? It’s kind of a sore subject.”
“Sure. Sorry.” He examines his hands.
Shifting topics, I say, “Do your parents know? I mean, that you and Victoria are so shaky?”
“Yeah.” He snorts and rolls his eyes, “They’re in denial about it being a real problem. They call it growing pains. They say it’s because we’re still teenagers. They say everything’ll be fine in a few years. They say we’re the original high school sweethearts.” Duke offers me the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen, like he wants it to be true but he knows it’s not. “Total joke, right?”
Sadly, it is.
I can picture Victoria kissing Skill in front of the theater, then her waiting for him to finish kissing Jacqueline so she can kiss him more, then her lying in Duke’s face and saying she wasn’t kissing Skill, then her in the locker room blaming me for her problems and denying she’s a cheater.
There is literally nothing true I can tell Duke about Victoria that can possibly help or make him feel better. Everything about her says she’s a terrible person and will be a curse on whoever she marries.
“I don’t know what to say, Duke.” Honestly, I feel bad for him.
“No one does,” he grunts. “Sometimes I think the only way to get my parents off my back is to find someone to replace her.” His eyes meet mine.
I glance to the side. Immediately sense his eyes land on my lips. I can take a hint. I immediately turn my head away.
No way I’m replacing Victoria. That is a minefield waiting to happen, no matter how hot Duke is, or how bad I feel for him right now. I’m not his solution. He needs less drama in his life, not more. Same goes for me. I just kissed two boys the same night. Kissing Duke would be a huge mistake. Can you imagine how Prince would feel about that? Or Chase? Or Duke if he found out I’d kissed the other two right before kissing him? He’d think I was just another Victoria and he’d pretty much be right. I so don’t want to be her.
I shoot to my feet. “I have to go!”
“Wait!” Duke blurts. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—!”
I don’t hear his last words because I’m running straight for the party as fast as I can.
<(—)>
When I reach the main party, I see topless Elizabeth-Azzie heading my direction with Katniss Everdeen Victoria and Jacqueline, who’s dressed as Black Widow from the Marvel movies.
I don’t think they saw me with Duke because the three of them are giggling about something or other and look way too happy.
I certainly don’t want them seeing Duke coming out of the same tunnel as me. They already have the wrong idea about me and him, which would’ve been the right idea if I hadn’t averted disaster by running out of that tunnel.
Assuming Duke is right behind me and about to make my behavior glaringly suspicious if I’m seen with him, I hurry across the foggy party floor, pushing through people in costume, which pisses them off. I keep going until I find a side corridor and cut down that.
A few turns later, I emerge in a huge dank room. It’s practically pitch black, but I can feel the air is bigger and my boots scraping off the floor echo bigger too. I can also feel something ominous, something oppressive.
I’m not big on ghosts, but have you ever walked into a place that you maybe thought was haunted? Places like that feel a certain way. There’s the chill of sorrow in the air. It’s unmistakable. This place has been here since the Civil War. I’m sure at least someone died a tragic death in here. Haunting is not out of the question. Since hunky Zak Bagans isn’t here to help me fight off any ghosts, maybe I better turn around.
“Gutter slut.”
I nearly gasp my heart out my nose when I see the three of them.
In the near dark, they’re like three female demons, big hair, black eyes, long claws.
“I thought I saw you go down to the torture chamber,” says Azielbeth, or whatever her name is. She and the other two Silicones lift their phones under their faces. The flashlights shine upward, making their faces even creepier than usual.
“This is her lair,” Vicious sneers.
“Where she eats babies to stay young,” Jackess says.
That’s ridiculous. I push past them.
“Not so fast, gutter slut,” Azielbeth grabs me with the help of the other two. “We’ve had enough trouble from you.”
“Always trying to steal our men,” Vicious sneers.
“Who haven’t you fucked at this point, gutter slut?” Azielbeth smirks.
“I haven’t fucked anybody!” I protest. Good thing they didn’t ask who I’ve kissed. I yank on my arm, trying to break free. It doesn’t work. “Let go!”
“Or what?” Azielbeth snickers. “You’ll fight us?”
“If that’s what you want,” I growl. “I can handle you thr—!”
Lightning fast, Jackess kicks the side of my leg with her Black Widow boot.
My knee explodes with pain and I crumple to the cold stone floor, clutching it in both hands.
“Daddy made me take Krav Maga,” Jackess smirks. “I always wanted to see if it works.”
Azielbeth stands over me saying, “They used to torture traitors down here. Did you know that, gutter slut?”
All I can do is groan as shards of glass stab my knee from every direction. Whatever Jackess did was right on the money. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand up let alone walk after this. How am I going to keep cleaning if I can’t walk? Will I get kicked out of school if I don’t? Will Ms. Skelter make an allowance for my injuries? Or is this it? Is this the moment when everything comes crumbling down and I end up in prison?
“Who wants to get hit in the face?” Azielbeth asks.
“Not me,” Victoria snorts.
“I’m not doing it,” Jackess says.
“Someone has to get hit in the face,” Azielbeth
insists. “It’s the only way we’ll get her kicked out for sure. We say she attacked us, we defended ourselves after, and Ms. Skelter boots her back to jail. One of you has to get hit.”
“No!” Victoria and Jackess say in unison.
Azielbeth sighs in annoyance.
Victoria says, “Why can’t we just say she attacked us?”
“Because Prince will defend her,” Azielbeth says like I’m the enemy. “We need proof.”
“You’re not hitting me in the face,” Victoria snorts. “Duke would kill me if I got a black eye or whatever.”
I’m just aware enough to wonder how that makes any possible sense.
“I’m not paying for another nose job,” Jackess groans.
“Fine,” Azielbeth sighs. “One of you prissy bitches hit me. But not too hard.”
“You know what?” Jacqueline says. “I have a better idea. Why don’t we lock cancer cunt in here?” Metal squeaks but I’m in too much pain to look at whatever Jackess is referring to. She continues, “They’ll never find her in here. No one can hear you scream down this far anyway.”
“How would you know?” Victoria asks.
“Because I’ve fucked enough times down here to know. You know what else I know?”
The agony in my knee has subsided just enough I can sense her hovering over me.
“Cancer cunt is afraid of the dark, aren’t you, you sniveling little bitch?”
((((pitch black))))
(((pitch black)))
((pitch black))
(pitch black)
The horrid memories push their way to the surface, but I fight them back. If I don’t, they’ll paralyze me. My busted knee is doing a pretty good job, but if those memories take hold, I’ll go full blown panic attack.
Victoria titters, “What kind of baby bitch is afraid of the fucking dark?”
((((pain))))
(((pain)))
((pain))
(pain)
No! Not now! Please not now!
“This one,” Jacqueline says. “I read it in her case file.”
((((it hurts!))))
(((it hurts!)))
((it hurts!))
(it hurts!)
I fight the memories back as hard as I can.
“What case file?” Azielbeth asks.
((((please not again!))))
(((please not again!)))
((please not again!))
(please not again!)
“The one I hacked out of Child Protective Services.”
“And?”
“And, her first foster mom was some creepy crank who locked her in a closet whenever she was bad.”
Gladys.
She looked like a kindly grandma on the outside.
On the inside, Gladys was a monster.
Nothing about her was glad.
(You stupid retard no good for nothing lousy sack of pig shit! Look what you did to my table! You roont it! Roont!)
(It’s just milk! I spilled! I’m sorry!)
(WHACK! It wouldn’t be the last time with the wooden spoon.)
(Please don’t hit me! Ow! I didn’t do anything!)
(Did too, dummy! Did! WHACK! Too! WHACK!)
(Leave me alone! Somebody help me! Help! Please!)
(You get back here, pig shit! WHACK! Stand still and take it like a lady! WHACK!)
(Please don’t! OW! Puh-puh-puh-please!)
(Stop crying and clean that up now, you clumsy little pig shit! Clean it up! Clean it! Clean it clean it CLEAN IT!)
“She’d leave her there for days—”
(pitch black)
“—with her wrists tied behind her back,”
(pain)
“not feeding her, not even giving her water.”
(it hurts!)
(my stomach hurts so bad! please feed me! please!)
(Not till you learnt your lesson, pig shit!)
(i’m dying of thirst! please!)
(Shut up, pig shit! Just you shut up!)
“When CPS found her crying and dirty after like the tenth time,”
(please not again!)
“—she had shit and pissed herself and was sitting in it like a fucking sewer,” Jacqueline laughs.
It’s all true. I’m lying here paralyzed by the painful memories.
“Sounds like a dirty little gutter slut to me,” Azielbeth says. “We should do it again.”
“Put her in the iron maiden,” Jacqueline says.
“The what?”
“This thing.” More squeaking metal. “It’s an old torture thing. They used to use them for killing witches. I don’t know why they have one here, but I know I fucked in it once.”
“Put her in it,” Victoria sneers.
“Does it have a lock on it?” Azielbeth asks.
“I think so.”
No, no, no. They’re not locking me inside anything! I push myself up on my hands and one good knee, ready to crawl out of here.
A hammer slams into my ribs when one of the Silicones kicks me. I drop to the stone, my breath stabbed out of my lungs. Next thing I know, they’re dragging me across the floor.
I hear a rusty squeal.
I know what an iron maiden is. I learned about them in world history. A standing metal coffin with spikes inside. When they slam the door, you bleed out the gutters in the bottom. You die standing up, held up by spikes.
I’m thrown forward with the expectation that my hands will be pierced by the spikes. They hit flat metal. The iron door slams behind me with a rusty high-pitched scream, followed by a dreadful clanking and grinding sound. No spikes slice into me, but I’m locked inside.
Evil girlish laughter cackles from the Silicones outside.
“Have fun, gutter slut!” Azielbeth taunts.
“You can’t steal our men from in there, can you, Chemo?” Vicious adds.
“Stupid bitch,” Jackess titters.
Azielbeth says, “Let’s go, girls. It’ll be a few weeks until she rots.”
Chapter 28
Pitch black.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in here. Hours? Days? Weeks? Forever?
Pain.
My overwhelming panic attack stings me repeatedly like a swarm of hornets. The glass shards in my knee add insult to injury.
It hurts.
You have no idea how much it hurts. The pain, both emotional and physical, is humiliating, debilitating. My frantic clawing at the rusty metal has left my fingernails bleeding but done nothing to get me out of my iron prison.
Please not again.
I scream for help until my voice becomes tattered scratches, barely a whisper. My mind unwinds faster than I would’ve thought possible. The iron maiden is an oven. Simple drips of sweat down my brow make me think carnivorous cockroaches are crawling all over me. Or my flesh is dribbling off in bloody runners. That doesn’t last because I cry my eyes out and sweat my last drop of sweat in no time, until I’m dried out and dehydrated.
I can’t last like this.
I can’t.
Someone let me out.
Someone!
Anybody!
Let!
Me!
“Get her out of there!” someone shouts outside.
Rusty squeals, bangs, and screams as the door rips open.
Light blinds me.
A literal knight in shining armor pulls me out of my cast-iron casket.
“Mary! Are you okay?!” Rob, bless his heart, is looking at me from inside a metal knight’s helmet, the visor propped open.
“You’re him,” I gasp.
“Huh?”
“The knight in shimmering armor. How long have you been here?” I can’t decide if I’m hallucinating or not.
“We need to get you out of here,” he grunts, swooping me off my feet and cradling me in his arms. Behind him are a handful of Fundies in their fancy costumes gawking at me and gossiping. Rob barks at them, “Move the fuck out my way!”
I’m barely conscious of anything as we m
ake our way out of the dark dungeon. I’m pretty sure I fade in and out of consciousness as we pass through the party and the crowds and the electronic fog of music and merriment. That fades back until I think we’re in the very same tunnel Prince and I took to get in here. Once again, it’s quiet.
“WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?!” Prince roars not far behind Rob.
We jolt to a stop in a dark tunnel.
“PUT HER DOWN NOW!” Prince commands.
Rob seethes, “Get your fucking hand off me or I will break every bone in your body.” He doesn’t even turn around. His voice is low, guttural and cutting.
It’s so damn scary even I’m afraid.
I’m just conscious enough to peer over Rob’s armored shoulder.
Prince stands there, eyes wild with hate, his hand clamped on Rob’s shoulder plate. In this moment, Prince’s beast costume no longer enhances his animalistic appeal. It’s corny, a pathetic joke. A cartoon of a real beast compared to Rob.
Prince’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard.
Rob cuts, “You never should’ve brought her to your party, you dumb fucking trust fund piece of shit.”
Even I understand the significance of this moment, of Rob’s open and hateful defiance of Prince’s orders, Rob’s willingness to risk everything he has for me with no concern for the consequences.
Prince’s hand slips off Rob’s shoulder plate.
Rob adds, “What did you think would happen when your friends got a hold of her?” He says the word “friends” like he means demons.
Prince doesn’t answer.
Rob starts marching.
Minutes later, we’re outside by Prince’s Bugatti. Tucker and Jonah are there and both rush over.
“What the fuck happened?” Tucker demands.
“Is she okay?” Jonah asks, clearly concerned.
“She’s fine,” Rob grunts.
“What happened, man?” Tucker says, pulling on Rob to slow him down.
“BACK! THE FUCK! OFF!” Rob roars.
Tucker lets go.
Rob is a machine as he marches me back to a familiar building. The Monastery. I’ve never been inside. Work-study girls are forbidden from entering the monastery for obvious reasons. Aka, the work-study boys live there.
Rob opens the old oak door clumsily, holding me with one hand. Kicks it open with a bang. Marches inside and carries me down the corridor. Instead of stucco like the Convent, it’s carefully stacked stone, but still old.
Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103 Page 24
