King of Corium: Dark Enemies to Lovers Bully Romance (Corium University Book 1)

by J. L. Beck

  “Yeah, well, I don’t care. I’m spending the rest of the afternoon in my room.”

  Ren shakes his head and walks away, and I walk into my room and close the door behind me, clicking the lock into place. I feel a little bad about turning Ren down, but I’m not going to hang out with Matteo, no way in hell.

  I flip open my laptop and log in, wanting to check my email and social media a bit. As soon as I open my account, I spot an email from Scarlet. My fingers linger on the keys as I stare at the screen, reading the message.

  Hey! I got the official invitation to the founders’ ball. I’m so excited to see you! You better be ready for me to hug you. Mom and Dad are excited to see you too. Only a short while before we can visit. I miss you so much. Oh, and I can’t wait to meet your date.

  My date? What the hell is she talking about? I can’t get my fingers to type out a response, so I stare at the screen in bemusement. Date? I don’t have a date.

  Hell, I didn’t even want to go to the founders’ ball, but it doesn’t appear I have much of a choice, and it looks like my father is up to no good, as I am certain he is the one who hand-selected my date. The idea of seeing my father again makes me want to stab someone. I can only hope the night doesn’t end in bloodshed.

  20

  ASPEN

  The days blend. Quinton never returns to medical to check on me, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, I’m happy, but on the other, I’m confused. Why would he make the effort to bring me here and ensure I’m okay, only to never return to check on me later?

  I don’t bother trying to make sense of it. What Quinton and I share behind closed doors doesn’t matter, and him bringing me here has nothing to do with him actually caring. It has everything to do with him ensuring his little toy doesn’t get broken to the point where she is no longer useful.

  That’s what I feel like, too, a toy that’s been placed on the shelf and only pulled out when the occasion arises. Not that I want to be anything to him. I’d rather he ignore my existence altogether, but I would never get so lucky.

  “Make sure you’re eating and getting lots of vitamins and minerals. If you end up back in here with the same issue, I’m calling for a psych evaluation. You won’t have a choice on seeking therapy or not because I’ll make you.”

  I try not to roll my eyes at the doctor, who has been a lot kinder to me than most of the other staff here. Still, she believes I’m starving myself, which pisses me off.

  “Got it,” I say.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this good, probably since I arrived. I don’t look back when I leave the medical center and walk back to the dorms slowly. A few students linger in the corridors, but none of them pay me any attention. As soon as I’m inside my room, I sigh, almost happy to be in my own space again.

  I’m surprised to see that the floor has been cleaned, the smell of bleach tickling my nostrils. I notice the mattress on the bed and remember it being delivered, but everything after that is a little fuzzy. On the mattress is a brand new sheet, and a bag is sitting there. I briefly wonder if Quinton had something to do with the room being cleaned. I don’t want to owe him anything else.

  Curious, I walk over to the bed and peer inside the bag. Its contents include a couple of granola bars, small bags of trail mix, and two candy bars. There’s a small note at the bottom, and I really hate that this bag makes me smile.

  A person should not be this excited over something so mundane, but I am. Opening the note, I read it back to myself.

  You owe me another hour.

  I’ll collect at my leisure.

  -Q

  I roll my eyes. Of course, he would expect something in return for cleaning the room and getting me a small bag of food. Almost apprehensively, I open one of the granola bars and sniff it. After eating bad and expired food, I’ve developed a bit of PTSD toward eating. Nothing odd catches in my nostrils, so I take a bite of the bar, chewing it slowly before swallowing.

  I wait for something bad to happen, for my stomach to revolt in some way, but nothing does, so I continue eating it, devouring every morsel like it’s the last thing I’ll get to eat.

  A granola bar won’t sustain me, so I’ll have to make a trip to the cafeteria this morning. The idea of fighting with one of the staff is exhausting, but I’m not going to let myself end up in the hospital again.

  Dusting the crumbs from my lap, I stand and gather my wits. I have to get back into a routine. As I walk to the cafeteria for breakfast, I wonder if the school had called my mother when I was sick. She never tried to call me, but I suspect if she knew, she would’ve called. The cafeteria is mostly empty when I arrive, and I walk up to the buffet, my mouth watering and my stomach rumbling.

  “I don’t know who is in charge back there, but…”

  “We have your breakfast ready.” The guy ignores what I was about to say and disappears into the back for a moment. When he returns, there’s a foam cup in his hand, and I look at him, puzzled how my entire breakfast could be in that single cup.

  “What is this?” I ask, taking the cup.

  “Breakfast. It’s got a bunch of different vegetables and fruit, as well as some vitamins and minerals. Not sure how it’s going to taste, but it’s super healthy and will give you all the nutrients you need.”

  Based upon everything he’s just said, someone must’ve already talked to the cafeteria, which I didn’t want or need. I doubt it was Brittney; if she had talked to them, I’m sure I would have an actual meal in my hands right now, not a liquid version. All fingers point to Quinton or maybe even the doctor.

  “This is all I get to eat?”

  “You don’t need anything else. The items in that should get you through to lunch.”

  I clench my teeth together to stop myself from lashing out. I’m so tired of people telling me what I do and don’t need here.

  “Fine,” I grumble, instead of arguing with the man, and take my foam cup. It’s easy to find an empty table this early in the morning. Pulling the cap off the foam cup, I peer inside of it. A bright green liquid peers back at me, and I gag.

  They can’t really expect me to eat this, can they? I look away from the contents of the cup, cringing at the thought of drinking it. What other option do I have? None. I have to eat, or I’ll end up back in medical, and who knows what will happen next time.

  Swallowing back my gag reflex, I lift the cup to my lips and tip it back. The green liquid splashes forward and into my mouth. I try my best not to focus on its taste but instead forcing it down my throat, but that doesn’t work all that well.

  The bitter taste of the greens is the first thing I notice as well as the thickness of the smoothie, if you could even call it that. Personally, I would love to toss it in the nearest trash can, but I don’t, nor will I. I need every drop of nutrients in this cup.

  I have a new goal to add to my list, and that includes not returning to medical again. If eating this horrible, not delicious at all, smoothie makes it so I don’t, then I’ll drink it.

  Somehow, I stomach the entire cup without throwing up. I remind myself that it has to be this way and toss my cup into the trash and give the man who handed me the cup a smile before I walk out. I guess I’ll kill them with kindness, though they did try to technically kill me.

  I return to my room, and as soon as I close the door, my phone starts to go off. Sitting on the edge of the brand new mattress, I pull my phone from my pocket and find my mother’s number lighting up the screen. She’s calling on Skype, so I hit the answer key and wait for her face to fill the screen.

  “Aspen?” she says, like she can’t believe she got ahold of me when I’ve been waiting for her to call every day since I was hospitalized.

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “Oh, thank god, you’re okay. I just heard from Lucas about your hospitalization. I’m so sorry, honey. I had no idea that you had an eating disorder.”

  I have to stop myself from lashing out and expelling all my anger at h
er. Especially since, for the first time in forever, she seems genuinely concerned about me.

  “I don’t have an eating disorder. I tried telling them that, but no one would listen to me. I got sick because of the food the cafeteria was giving me. It was expired most days, and on others, they gave me nothing to eat, so I’m not that shocked that I got sick.”

  My mother’s facial expression doesn’t change. Does she really think I’m trying to hide having an eating disorder from her?

  “No matter what the problem is, your father and I talked and decided that it’s still best if you stay there. You’re safer, regardless of the circumstances you’re going through.” Her words are a kick to the gut. I hate this place, but I hate it more that I don’t even have a choice. “Lucas has assured us that you will be provided with plenty of healthy, fresh food now.”

  My thoughts shift to the foam cup with the thick green liquid in it. It tasted like mulched-up leaves and where dreams go to die.

  “I’m sure they will,” I mutter under my breath.

  It sounds cliché, but she really doesn’t understand what it’s like here. The danger, the hate, and the fear creeping up my spine. It’s like everyone is out to get me for something I had nothing to do with—for a choice that my father made.

  “Don’t be so ungrateful. Things will get better. I promise you’re much safer there than out here.” I don’t believe that for a second, but it’s not like I have a way to leave.

  “Well, I’m alive, so you don’t have to worry anymore.”

  “Please, Aspen, don’t be like that. Your father has a lot on his plate right now, and I’m stuck in hiding. The rest of us aren’t living some grand life.”

  I want to tell her that maybe she isn’t living some grand life, waking up to breakfast served and a maid at her beck and call, but at least she didn’t have to wake up every day afraid of what may happen next. There wasn’t a permanent fear choking her, making it hard for her to sleep at night. There was no point in arguing with her because no matter what, she would make it seem like her situation was so much worse than mine.

  “Look, Mom. I’ve got to go. Homework and stuff.”

  Her brows pinch together, and her mouth pops open like she is going to say something else, but I hit the end key before she gets the chance. I can’t handle another argument. As I shut off the phone, a tinge of guilt zings through me. I hate shutting her out like that, but for my own mental health, I have to.

  Eyeing my desk, I look at the stack of books. Being sick really set me back with homework. I guess I’ll spend the rest of the day finishing it and hope that Quinton doesn’t pop in uninvited. That would just be my luck.

  21

  QUINTON

  It’s been a week since Aspen was released from medical, and I still haven’t gone to see her. I keep telling myself it’s because I need her to be healthy for what I have planned for her. I can’t fuck her if she’s passed out, but deep down, I know that’s not the reason. I don’t care if she is half-dead; I’d still enjoy fucking her… maybe even more so.

  No, the real reason I’ve stayed away is that Ren is right. I’m getting too close. I shouldn’t care if her room is clean or if she is hungry or cold. I shouldn’t care about anything, and the fact that I do has a deep sense of guilt settling in my bones. She is supposed to be the enemy, and caring for her in any form is like betraying my family.

  I should cut all ties, forget our deal, and let her fend for herself, but my body is winning over my mind. Because my body craves her, craves the control and the sense of peace it gives me.

  “What group are you in?” Ren’s voice drags me from my thoughts.

  “Huh?” What group?

  “The range. I’m in group six, going to the range this week.”

  “Oh, yeah. Me too. That’s this week?”

  “Jesus, dude. Where is your mind? Yes, weapons training starts today. Not like we need it. Want to skip?”

  “Nah, I wouldn’t mind firing off some rounds. Plus, depending on what kind of training they’ll do, it will be kind of fun. It’s not like we have anything better to do.”

  “True. Well, let’s go then.” Ren gets to his feet.

  “It starts now?”

  Ren gives me a look like he is questioning my sanity. “If I hadn’t said something, would you just have gone to class in an hour?”

  “Pretty much, yes.” I’m a little surprised myself. I normally like to have a plan and be prepared, but weapons training simply slipped my mind, which only solidifies my thoughts on staying away from Aspen.

  We leave the room and take the elevator up to D level. I’ve only been on this level once to get familiar with my surroundings. To my surprise, it looks like Ren has been here as well. We walk down the white corridor to the gun range. When we walk inside, three people are already there; the instructor, Matteo, and one student I don’t know.

  Matteo nods at us, and acid churns in my stomach. Every time I see him, I dislike him a little bit more. Instead of nodding back, I ignore him, pretending he isn’t there at all.

  Shoving my hands in my pockets, I imagine them wrapping around his throat while we watch students slowly pile into the room. Matteo is talking to the guy I don’t know. But his eyes glance over at me sporadically, as if to make sure I won’t attack him.

  The instructor is someone I also don’t know yet. He is tall and bulky with short dirty blond hair and an unkempt beard that looks like he just spent six months being homeless.

  Ren is leaning against the wall casually, but I know he can tell I’m irritated. Forcing my eyes away from Matteo, I do a quick count of the people in the room. We’re at fourteen now, which means we’re missing one student. Each group should be fifteen. The thought has barely left my mind when the door opens, and the last person walks in.

  Aspen.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologizes quietly for being late, her eyes trained on the ground. She hasn’t seen me yet, and when she does look up, her gaze is trained on Matteo, who gawks at her like a hungry dog looks at a bone.

  “Now that we’re all here, let’s begin.” The instructor raises his voice, silencing all the chatter in the room. “I’m Michael Brooks. You can call me Mike. Just kidding, if you call me Mike, I will shoot you in the leg. You will call me Brooks. If you call me Mr. Brooks, I will also shoot you in the leg…”

  Brooks continues talking, but my attention is focused on the blond girl with her back pressed against the door she just came through. When I left medical, she was so pale. Color has returned to her face, but she is still too skinny to look healthy. Her sweater hangs off one of her shoulders, showing off her pronounced collarbone and thin neck. Her jeans are baggy, looking like they are about to fall off her hips.

  “You are about to walk into the only room in this school where weapons are allowed.” Brooks’s voice breaks through again. “You each will find a stand with three weapons. They are not loaded yet, but the ammunition for each is on the bottom shelf on your stand. Only load one gun at a time, stay in your booth, and don’t shoot at each other. Got it?”

  A low murmur fills the room, and everyone nods their heads in agreement, except Matteo, who is staring at Aspen like he’s taking off her clothes in his mind. Brooks opens the door to the range, and everyone starts heading toward the door, Aspen included. Matteo follows her, and I follow him.

  Aspen takes the booth all the way to the left, farthest away from everyone to the left. Matteo tries to take the booth next to hers, and all my conviction about staying away from her goes up in thin air.

  “Where are you going?” Ren asks, placing his hand on my shoulder.

  Fuck, I forgot he was here for a moment.

  “I can’t make Aspen’s life miserable from over there.” Shrugging his hand off my shoulder, I walk over to Matteo. “Move, this is my booth.”

  Matteo turns quickly, looking me straight in the eyes. “Of course.” He nods, forcing a smile. “Catch you later, rat.” He winks at Aspen and slithers away like th
e snake he is.

  Ren takes the booth three down from me, and the blond Russian girl from PE takes the one to my right side. I’m pretty sure her name is Hannah, or Anna, or something like that.

  I glance to my left and catch Aspen looking away quickly, like she doesn’t want me to notice her staring at me. A smirk tugs at my lips as I take in the gun selection before me.

  “We’ll start with the two handguns. Put your ear protection on, pick a gun, load it, fire, repeat,” Brooks instructs, and the room fills with the sound of guns being loaded and racked.

  One by one, I push the soundproof earplugs into my ear canal and load my gun on autopilot. The motion is already integrated into my brain enough to where I don’t have to think about what I’m doing.

  Raising my gun, I aim at the target and fire off all ten rounds. Every single one hits within the smallest ring of the target, and two are dead center. I release the clip and reload before racking the gun and taking aim once more.

  I’m about to take my first shot when I hear an almost inaudible curse beside me. I tilt my head and look down through the glass separating me from Aspen. She is fumbling with the gun, trying to load it with the wrong magazine.

  Shaking my head, I put my own gun down. Pulling out one of the earplugs, I walk around the small separation between booths. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I’m loading the gun. What does it look like?”

  “It looks like you are trying to shove a 1911 magazine into a Glock 19.”

  “Oh, so this is not the right one?” She looks down at the gun like it’s a foreign object.

  “Are you shitting me right now?”

  “I don’t know these things. I’ve never even held a gun before.”