Brutal Prince: A Dark Bully High School Romance

by Fox, Logan

  “Good.” Ms. Parsons claps her hands. “Time for announcements.”

  I glare at the back of her head as she turns to get a clipboard from her desk. I bet bluebirds chirp around her head every morning when she wakes up, and she sings them a goddamn song about what a beautiful day it’s going to be.

  Mentally, I do my darndest — but her hair simply fails to catch on fire.

  “The chess club has had to reschedule this week’s tournament against Mallhaven High. A new date will be set…”

  Briar stands up, and Ms. Parson’s voice fades away as my ears begin to buzz in dread anticipation. He weaves through the desks until he gets to the empty one behind me, and lets his bag fall before dropping his ass in the chair with an audible thump.

  “Morning, my little virgin.”

  I press my eyes closed. But, alas, along with the inability for me to set someone’s hair on fire, I seem to have lost my talent for time travel and teleportation as well.

  “Fuck off,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest and slouching in my chair as Ms. Parsons starts rattling off the names of the students who were accepted into some or other club.

  “Hey, I’m your buddy.” The way Briar drawls the word makes my hair stand on end. “I got nothing but good intentions, Angel.”

  I glance at him over my shoulder, but somehow he fails to see my scowl.

  The cut I gave him last night should have looked horrible, like all puffy and gross and oozing and shit.

  Nope. All it does is give his face a roguish charm it doesn’t need.

  “Admiring your work?” His full lips curve up as he lifts a hand to finger the cut. He winces dramatically and inhales a hiss. “Buddies shouldn’t cut each other.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “I don’t need your help. I have a fucking map.”

  “A map?” Briar lets out a low chuckle. “You don’t need a map. You need me.”

  He sits forward, lacing his fingers and sliding his elbows over his desk.

  “Else how you gonna navigate the valleys and peaks of social class?”

  Valleys and peaks? What a douchebag.

  “Easy,” I say through a grimace. “If they’re friends with you, then they’re losers and I stay away from them.”

  There’s the tiniest tic of a facial muscle near his jaw. He sits back, shaking his head.

  “This lack of respect won’t do, my little virgin.” He shows me his teeth, but it’s far from a smile. “It just won’t do at all.”

  * * *

  I bolt out of homeroom as soon as the bell rings. Briar’s still sitting in his chair, looking smug as the Cheshire Cat, by the time I hit the hall and risk a glance back.

  Letting out a stale breath, I peek at my schedule.

  AP Computer Science.

  AP Psychology.

  Calculus.

  Guess whoever set the schedule must have thought it would be easier to tackle these classes when the brain’s still fresh.

  My first class is on the third floor, but first I make a stop at the restroom in a pathetic attempt to get a fucking grip.

  As soon as I step inside, my legs lock in astonishment.

  Holy crap.

  Despite Lavish Prep looking like a prison, everything I’ve seen up to this point has been sheer luxury. Padded school seats, perfectly varnished wooden desks with electrical outlets for laptops or cellphones. I overheard one of my classmates asking for the school’s wi-fi password.

  The bathrooms? They look like something out of a five-star hotel. Orchids in planters decorate end tables. The fixtures are all black marble and gold, as if to match the school uniform. Spotlights line the outside of the vanity mirrors, as if to fool the girls standing there that they are in fact supermodels, not kids.

  The face above those Hollywood starlet mirrors must belong to someone else though, because I’ve never looked this wretched in my life.

  I splash water on my face, and blot it dry with a fluffy hand towel that smells of fabric softener. But even then, the face in the mirror still looks like shit.

  So I slap it.

  Hard.

  The world goes white. I rock on my heels as I wait for my eyes to start focusing again. There’s a big red handprint on my cheek, and as I wait for it to fade, I summon up every shred of dignity I still have and force my spine straight.

  Fuck you, Lavish Prep.

  Fuck you, Prince Briar.

  I survived the death of my mother.

  This?

  This is a fucking cakewalk.

  Bring it on, bitch.

  Chapter Seven

  Indi

  My Computer Science class goes off without a hitch. Lavish is on the same timetable as my old school, so I’m only a week behind. But even so, after the teacher introduces me to the class, I barely register that I’m learning concepts a week into the future.

  I get computers. I understand those basic programs everyone else swears at on a daily basis. Back before everything went to shit, I was the resident IT Girl on the block. Fellow students — even their damn parents — would send me sheepish text messages at all hours of the day asking for help with their issues.

  Emails.

  Internet browsers.

  Blue screens.

  I had no training beyond the basics that my school’s computer programming classes gave, but it would never take me longer than a few minutes to figure out what the issue was.

  Usually, it was the user.

  At first, I was all nice about it. I’d suggest they tried things differently. Perhaps looked up new shit in Google before attempting anything.

  But after a few years of being everyone’s favorite IT Girl, that shit got me real jaded.

  I went from being ‘Indi the Genius’ to ‘That girl that fixes computers.’

  The texts for me to help put a stop to email spam stopped. I was no longer the go-to person for clearing suspicious browser histories.

  Instead, I only got called in on the level 3 shit: blue screens, failed updates, and porn pop-ups.

  Now, for the first time in a week I’m finally starting to feel like myself again.

  For the period of one class, I manage to forget Mom’s dead.

  * * *

  I stride into AP Psychology with a smile on my face and a swagger in my step. There’d been a pop quiz for the last ten minutes of my computer programming class.

  I aced it.

  Afterward, the teacher called me aside to introduce himself formally. And then told me I had two days to catch up the last week of theory.

  Well, damn. Guess I’d better cancel my plans for this evening.

  I laugh to myself as I sink into my seat. Around me, the classroom’s filled with a very familiar drone of friends chatting and the sound of chairs scraping back.

  For a few, idyllic moments, I lose myself in that noise.

  You know what? I got this. Whatever the world has to throw my way, I can handle it. This is a new chapter in my life. The fresh start I was looking for in syringes and rubber hoses. All I need is—

  “What up, virgin?”

  My thoughts collapse in on themselves like a poorly constructed house of cards.

  Briar.

  I don’t turn, mostly because I’m frozen but also because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the shock on my face.

  AP Psych.

  Really?

  The fuck does a jock like him need to know about Freud or Jung?

  I ignore Briar, but he refuses to ignore me. The teacher starts taking us through the weekend’s homework — of which I, obviously, did nothing.

  Something brushes my hair. I jerk, and spin to glare at him over my shoulder. He sits back in his seat, a smug, crooked smile splayed over his mouth. “Jumpy,” he comments.

  “That’s what happens when you almost get raped,” I throw back, but in a whisper so as not to draw attention to myself.

  Briar’s smile inches up as he sits forward in his desk. He leans his chin on his palm, study
ing me intently. “I never heard you say no.”

  My eyes and mouth both go wide at the same time. I splutter a weak, “What?” before the teacher realizes I’m not paying attention.

  “Ms. Virgo, is it?”

  My body goes cold, but I spare a heated glare for Briar before I face the front of the class.

  The Psych teacher, Mr. Veroza according to my timetable, is a balding eighty-something-year-old with liver spots.

  He moves closer to my table and folds his hands at his waist, tipping his head to the side as if he’s studying something pinned to a goddamn corkboard.

  “Yes,” I manage, trying to ignore the feel of Briar’s eyes drilling a hole through the back of my skull.

  “I’m not sure how things worked at your previous institution, but we don’t talk during class, Ms. Virgo.”

  Institution? He makes it sound like I came straight from the fucking loony bin.

  Veroza’s gaze skates over my entire body, pausing for an uncomfortable length of time on my chest, before returning to my face.

  “If you’re uncomfortable sitting so close to Mr. Briar, I can arrange for a different seat.”

  Does he have every teacher in his pocket? How about moving Briar, who’s obviously the one making me uncomfortable? But no, somehow even this is my fault.

  I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

  “I’m good, thanks,” I manage, despite the fact that my heart’s attempting to jackhammer through my chest.

  Veroza nods as if this was far from the answer he expected. “No talking in my class, Ms. Virgo. Not unless I ask you a direct question.”

  “Hey, little virgin.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I start counting to ten.

  But Briar interrupts me with a tap to my shoulder. “Can I let you in on a secret?”

  “Shh!” I whisper furiously, without turning. The last thing I want is to draw Veroza’s attention.

  “You shouldn’t have run last night,” Briar murmurs.

  I know I shouldn’t turn around, but something about the tone in Briar’s voice makes me so curious to see his face that I don’t have a choice.

  Briar’s eyes light up when our gazes lock. His smile grows, and for some reason it makes me squirm in my chair.

  “Why?” I mutter, casting a quick look to Veroza. But Teach is caught up in one of the student’s questions on the far side of the class; we’re safe for now, Briar and I.

  “When you feed an animal, it isn’t hungry anymore.”

  It takes me longer than it should have to process those words. I guess Addy’s blunt has something to do with it. I’m not high anymore, but my brain isn’t exactly sparking neutrons at its usual rate.

  “Mr. Briar,” Veroza snaps out with surprising harshness for such an old man.

  Briar’s smile fades as he faces the teacher. I sit back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest and allowing myself a smug smile.

  Guess you’re not this teacher’s pet after all, Briar.

  Veroza adjusts his spectacles. “Since you’re already an expert in this subject matter, tell me what kind of psychologist would describe depression as the result of an unconscious process where anger is turned inward as a result of repression?”

  My eyes go wide. Holy crap. This must have been some of the stuff covered when I was inabsentia. My smile inches up. Yeah, Briar, what kind of—?

  “Psychoanalytic,” Briar replies woodenly.

  Mr. Veroza seems momentarily at a loss for words but as he opens his mouth, Briar cuts him off.

  “Psychoanalytics consider depression a result of the unconscious activity of the mind.”

  “Yes, well, very good.” Veroza shifts on his feet before lifting his chin in defiance of Briar’s intellect. “Now, please pay attention.”

  As soon as Veroza turns his attention away, Briar lets out a low chuckle.

  I don’t know why, but despite how ominous that sound is, it kinda makes my insides go all gooey. Maybe it’s just because he’s proven he can actually read and regurgitate a textbook, I dunno.

  And I don’t care.

  Briar isn’t smart, he’s cunning. Like a wolf. Which means he’s set his eyes on me as prey.

  For some insane reason I can’t begin to fathom, the thought sends an illicit thrill through me.

  * * *

  I’m still scribbling down a few pithy notes from the blackboard when the bell rings to signal the end of the period.

  Briar’s been surprisingly quiet for the rest of the lesson, even when Veroza went into the hall for a few minutes to take a phone call. I haven’t dared look around once — even when I saw movement behind me — because I don’t want to catch feels again.

  Briar walks past my table, but pauses right by the door.

  “What? I snap, when Briar just keeps looking down at me.

  “I was just imagining something.”

  When I look up and see the suggestive smile playing on his mouth, I grimace. “You’re disgusting,” I say, gathering my things so I can stand and get the hell out of here.

  “Because I can’t wait to see what you’re wearing under that skirt?”

  My eyes go wide. I snarl and stand in a rush, lunging around my desk. Briar’s hands go up in mock surrender, a deep laugh bursting from him.

  I don’t get very far. Where I was picturing my hands around his throat, throttling him until he begged for mercy, I instead trip up and fall face-first to the ground.

  I’d been moving so fast, my lungs are knocked clean out of air. Gasping like a beached fish, I twist onto my side and stare down at my feet, which for some reason forgot how to move.

  My shoelaces are knotted together.

  Everyone still inside the class bursts into laughter. I push onto my knees, glaring up at Briar. He steps closer, grabs my chin, and tilts my head back so far my neck clicks.

  “See? Everyone bows to the prince,” he murmurs, those words meant for my ears alone. He rakes ice-blue eyes over me. Where he touches me, my skin tingles.

  I tear my chin free and fall back. Moving awkwardly, I get my feet in front of me and start undoing my laces.

  It had to be him of course. And someone must have seen him do it — we were sitting right in front — but no one said a word.

  The laughter fades as students leave. Briar stays to watch me working furiously at the knots, as if proud that he did such a good job.

  Mr. Veroza appears, brow wrinkled. “Ms. Virgo? Everything all right?”

  “Yeah,” I mutter, dropping my eyes. “Tripped on my shoelaces.”

  Briar reaches out a hand and grabs my arm, hauling me up. “You make sure they’re real tight this time, Indigo.”

  My snarl transforms into a tight smile which I turn to Mr. Veroza.

  Yeah, I can tell him. And suffer the wrath Briar will no doubt shovel on my head. Instead, I’ll just turn the other cheek. Because, guess what?

  If an animal goes long enough without eating, it fucking starves.

  * * *

  Briar

  When I get into the hall, Indigo’s nowhere in sight. She must have sprinted down the hall for me not to see her.

  I smile to myself and head for my locker to put my books away before lunch. And here I thought my week was going to be same as usual. I’m kinda glad I stumbled into Indigo in the woods last night.

  But I guess she isn’t. I close my locker. Marcus is beside it, leaning with his back against the locker next to mine and tugging discreetly on his vape as he watches everyone move past us.

  “Dylan said Cindy got it all on her phone,” he says, before I can even open my mouth. “They’re busy circulating it already.”

  “Good,” I murmur, allowing myself a small smile.

  “So I got my stuff in the car,” Marcus says. “Still cool if I come over.”

  “Course.” I wave at him, frowning slightly. “You know it is.”

  I take a second to scan my friend. His mood’s improved a little with this whole Indi thing, but he�
�s still standing stiff and proper.

  “You see your dad this morning?” I ask casually, my eyes on my locker as I hunt around for one of my textbooks.

  “Nah,” he says through a sigh. “He’s got some big project he’s working on that’ll keep him busy for a while.”

  “In Lavish?”

  “Un-fucking-fortunately,” Marcus says, shaking his head. “Should only be for a day or two though. That okay?”

  I slam my locker closed, turn, and grab the side of Marcus’s neck. “Dude, I said it’s fine. For fuck’s sake.”

  Marcus drops his eyes and gives me a small nod. “Thanks, man.”

  “No need to thank me. But you’re buying the pizza tonight.”

  He laughs, and waves at me as he heads away. Then he turns, walking backward. “What’s next for her?”

  There are a few kids around us, but they all know by now not to pay attention to me or even attempt to eavesdrop. Then again, I couldn’t give a shit if the whole school knew I have Indi in my crosshairs. Maybe then she’ll realize she’s better off being somewhere else, far away from me, and too far away to do any damage.

  “I’ll text you,” I say, lifting my chin. Marcus gives me a thumbs-up and disappears up the stairs.

  I let out a low chuckle as I run my hands through my hair and head for class. Around me, students part like water around a ship.

  I’m used to the fear in their eyes by now. That uncertain look they get when they see me. They make me out to be a monster, larger than life, a deviant. But they have no proof, just gossip and rumors. Let them whisper. Let them play detective.

  That shit didn’t rattle me back then, it won’t rattle me now.

  Anyway, I have better things on my mind. Like the new toy I have to play with.

  Chapter Eight

  Indi

  It starts when I hear the first giggle. I glance over my shoulder and stare at the pair of girls walking behind me. They make brief eye contact before staring down at their phones again.