by Ivy Fox
Title Page
Copyright
Soulless – The Privileged of Pembroke High Copyright © 2019 Ivy Fox
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of all word marks, products, brands, TV shows, movies, music, bands and celebrities mentioned in this work of fiction.
Editing by Heather Clark
Cover image, formatting, and edit courtesy of X-Factory Designs
For more information, visit:
Ivy Fox - Facebook
Ivy Fox - Official Website
ISBN: 9781694999511
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Dedication
Soulless Playlist
Caution
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Ivy Fox Novels
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Dedication
Soulless Playlist
The Privileged of Pembroke High - Part 2
Listen to full list on Spotify Here
“Control” by Halsey
“Goner” by Twenty One Pilots
“Changes” by XXXTentacion
“I’m So Sick of This” by GucciHighWaters
“Hi-Lo (Hollow)” by Bishop Briggs
“Lucid Dreams” by Juice WRLD
“I Hate Me Too” by GucciHighWaters
“Lovely” by Billie Eilish feat. Khalid
“Heavydirtysoul” by Twenty One Pilots
“Little Do You Know” by Alex & Sierra
“I Thought I Died Inside” by GucciHighWaters
“Just Friends” by Keshi
“Lonely Again” by Gnash
“#1 Crush by Garbage
“Broken” by Lund
“Unsteady” by X Ambassadors
“Mercy” by Shawn Mendes
“Hide” by Juice WRLD feat. Seezyn
“When The Party’s Over” by Billie Eilish
Caution
Dear Reader,
Although I don’t usually feel my stories fall under the dark romance category and more dark-gray, with Soulless, however, I’m skeptical to say the same.
If you’ve read Heartless, then you already expect the first chapters of this book to be sensitive in nature as it deals with the aftermath of that jaw-dropping cliffhanger. (Sorry about that.)
To be true to this story and its characters, some scenes may be harder to read than others. Although graphic details of abuse are not included in this book, as I kept most of those scenes off-page, the feelings they provoke are still very raw and profoundly honest. This means that for more sensitive readers, the subject matter of Soulless may be uncomfortable or even triggering.
Therefore, I thought it best to bring to light that the series ‘The Privileged of Pembroke High’ may contain scenes where impressionable audiences may struggle with its content.
Having said that, this book, in its whole, is still very much a love story—however unconventional it may be—so if you’re still on the fence, read reviews and get feedback before giving it a go.
I genuinely hope you enjoy these privileged assholes of mine.
Sincerely,
Ivy
Epigraph
“One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered.”
― Michael J. Fox
Chapter 1
Holland
I pressed play on the recorded melody on my phone and was disappointed to hear I was nowhere close to deciphering its message. For the past half hour, I’ve struggled with the revelation that every harmony I’d been able to produce on the baby grand piano in front of me, is just as conflicted as I am.
The tune hovering around me was melancholic and dark, mimicking wholeheartedly the way I felt inside, but it was the smidge of light trying to smuggle its way in that was too poignant for me to ignore. The tiny lustrous beam offered the song brief glimpses of hope when I should have known that, in reality, there wasn’t any to find. Maybe it, too, embodied my feelings perfectly. Summoning the misery and ache my heart had been burdened with, yet still not wanting to submit to it completely and release the small ribbons of naive optimism embedded inside me. Even the lyrics I aimlessly wrote down in my journal mocked my confused state; every word a tangled mess of contradicting emotions.
Shadow versus light. Love versus hate. Despair versus hope.
Is there still hope for our love, or was it too frail a thing to begin with? It must have been since, upon its first hurdle, it crumpled so easily without even putting up a valiant fight. Is my heart holding onto a love that no longer exists, or is it imprisoned to a feeling that I alone fell victim to?
They think I deceived them, but who in our little trio was the real imposter?
How could their love tread so easily with hate?
My shoulders slumped as I set my phone to record, yet again, so that I could later hear how the two sentiments cancel each other out, yet miraculously blend and bleed flawlessly together. I closed my eyes and let the tips of my fingers dance along the ivory keys, trying to replicate the emotions I was struggling to express and understand.
Maybe it was because I was lost in my trance of unrequited love and unreciprocated hate that I didn’t hear peril waltz in the room. Perhaps it was because I let myself be consumed by heartbreak for just one vulnerable moment, that true evil heard the call of my demolished defenses and thought to pay its villainous visit.
I didn’t hear danger’s footsteps coming closer, nor its threatening intent to snuff out what minuscule fragment of hope that still breathed inside of me. I didn’t hear anything but the shattered pieces of my heart.
It was only when he sat beside me on the bench that I was startled from my pensive reverie, creating an ominous note on the piano and giving my song and the air around me a thick, menacing sound, cruelly indicating how real, pain-stricken anguish was on the horizon.
I should have paid attention. I should have never let my walls lower so carelessly. But most of all, I should have never stepped foot inside this wretched house, to begin with.
The pain of a broken heart can’t compare to the destruction of one’s soul.
And by the look in his golden eyes, he was about to devour mine.
“Holland.”
“Holland.”
“Snow.” A tortured whisper calls out to
me, slicing through the horrified, panicked haze that I’m being shackled with.
I pry open my eyes, pulling my trembling hands away from my face, but not yet able to stop the intense shivering of my traumatized body. I brave a look up only to encounter incensed, amber eyes set on me, and I immediately skid frantically away from him, afraid the monster has returned to finish me once and for all.
“Shh. Shh, Snow. I’m not going to hurt you.” The soft voice promises, and it takes me a minute to register that it’s not my hideous attacker kneeling beside me, but Roman Grayson who seems determined to wake me up to face my newfound hell.
It’s only then that the petrified fog in my tear-filled eyes starts to clear, and I hear the caterwauling cries and sobs leaving my trembling lips. Unsure of Rome’s intentions, my inner fight-or-flight reaction is to, once again, hurriedly slide back away from him, desperate to gain some distance.
I should get up.
I should run away from this dreadful room, but my body seems to be in a catatonic state, even if my mind is fully awake to the horrors it just experienced.
“I won’t hurt you. I promise. I’d never hurt you.” I hear him lie again, and every cell in my body cringes at his dishonesty.
It’s not only my crawling skin that calls him a liar—my slashed-up heart doesn’t believe a word he utters either. It knows well-placed lies are easily manipulated to sound like truths. And right now, trust is something that I’m unwilling to give out to anyone—especially Roman Grayson.
“I won’t hurt you. Not like this. Never like this,” he lets out with another pained huff and places his hands flat on the floor beside him, respecting my boundary. “I swear on my mother’s soul, Snow. I will not hurt you. Not like he wanted to,” he professes again, and the zeal in his tone forces me to take another long look at him, even when all I want to do is curl into a ball and cry this night away.
The gold in his eyes doesn’t hold the same evil I witnessed moments before. Instead, it holds suffering. So much suffering it makes me choke out another strangled wail. There is pure venom swimming in his honey flecks, but right beneath the surface of his poisoned, auric well, there is also stifled grief—raw, ugly, and crippling—as if it’s holding a mirror to my torn-up insides.
Did Rome know his father was this type of monster all along? Did he know he was capable of such atrocious actions? So vile, deviant, and hateful? Did he know? Or am I the confirmation of his worst fears?
“Can I come closer? I promise I won’t touch you, but I need to see if you’re alright.” He interrupts my wayward thoughts.
I’m not alright.
I don’t think I’ll ever be again.
But I nod just the same, or at least I think I do, because Rome begins to crawl, ever so slowly, on hands and knees, inching himself nearer to me. It takes everything in my power to stay frozen still and not balk when I feel his closeness. Not wanting to see my disheveled reflection in his eyes, I close my own, wishing I could as easily shut this moment away in the coffers of my mind, never to think or relive it ever again.
This is just a nightmare.
You’ll wake up tomorrow in your bed, next to Elle, and realize it’s just a bad dream.
This is not real.
This can’t be real.
Please, God, let this not be real.
“Shh, Snow. You’re okay. You’re okay,” Rome repeats fretfully in a loop, and I realize I must have said my foolish words out loud.
Rome’s uncharacteristically soothing voice should raise my hackles since he has never been the caring type around me. But right now I cling to each word like a lifeline, hoping they can help me rise from the destitute depths I’m currently drowning in.
My lids remain clamped shut, but I can still feel his eyes travel along my body, examining each inch of me, searching for any marks left by my attacker. For a brief second, I’m almost thankful Rome’s inspection is only skin-deep; that he can’t see the gruesome cuts and bruises this night has inflicted onto my soul. But even if he can’t see it, I know the black handprint has scorched its way through, leaving its ugly mark and changing me forever.
“I’m going to dress you now, Snow. You might feel my touch, but I promise that I won’t hurt you,” he reiterates, and it’s only now that I recognize that he’s never before called me by my nickname. Not once. Yet, he must have calculated it was the only word that could reach me, sliding its way into my frenetic state and gently coaxing me out of my chaotic mind.
I nod again, my vocal cords unable to put a single sentence together.
With deft, careful fingers, he pulls my shorts up from my ankles. My tears begin to fall even harder, witnessing how close the devil was to getting his way. True to his word, I never feel Rome’s skin on mine, and I silently thank him for the strenuous effort. He then takes off his leather jacket and places it around my shoulders, covering my torn top as best he can, bringing to light how my modesty is in such shambles, with one breast almost bare for any eye to behold.
For his eye to look at and fondle.
The rancid bile clogging my throat seems to have set its flag there permanently, telling me to get used to this feeling of perpetual disgust and burning revulsion. It makes it hard to breathe, let alone talk.
I can’t stand it any longer. I can’t stand looking at the testimony my disarrayed state confesses to. I push my arms into his jacket, zipping it up entirely, and then begin to cover my face with my hands, intent in being swallowed up by the darkness as a reprieve to this madness.
But my crimson tainted hands tell a story, too.
I’m confronted with one more piece of my new reality—the tremor in my hands can’t hide the blood that stains them. A new slew of hot tears fall from my swollen eyes, and I bite my inner cheek with all my might to stop another sob from leaving me. The metallic taste spreads all over my mouth, but it’s still not enough to push down the burning lump in my throat.
Rome takes off his button-up shirt, leaving him only with the white T-shirt he had underneath. He damps a corner of it with my tears and begins to meticulously clean the streaks off my face. I flinch back at the sudden, unwanted caress, but as my eyes lower to the maroon tinge that his shirt now holds, a new wave of nausea hits me as I realize my face is covered with his monstrous blood.
I want it off.
I need it off!
Get it off!!!
Frantically, I grab the shirt from Rome’s fingers and begin to violently scrub every bloody vestige that remains on me. He doesn’t try to stop me or give me empty soothing words. He just lets me dive into my hysteria, knowing that while his father’s blood taints my skin, I will have no peace—if that’s even a possibility for me ever again. Only when the blood streaks on my face are replaced by blotchy, red skin from my aggressive cleanse, does he hush for me to stop, placing his hands on mine, and tearing them away from my flaming, abraded cheeks.
“Breathe, Snow. Breathe,” he orders calmly, breathing in and out himself, so I can follow his lead.
His eyes lock with mine, ordering me to slow my heartbeat with each intake of air. It takes a few seconds to stop my erratic, winded panting, but soon I feel my chest begin to rise and fall, mimicking his steady breathing.
I fiercely clutch his hands, hoping they can anchor me and keep me from falling into another manic episode. If I’m hurting him, he never complains. Instead, he just keeps breathing slowly. So slowly and purposefully that my mind becomes fixated on this simple action, rather than being bombarded with every shameful and angry emotion that’s threatening to bury me alive.
“Snow?” I hear another choked-up voice call out to me.
A voice that, at one time in my life, used to shower me with adoration, friendship, and praise. A voice that made me believe I could be anyone I wanted to be, overcoming every obstacle in my path. It used to whisper in my ear all the dreams shared while promising a future filled with laughter, joy, and love.
But that’s not
my Ollie’s voice right now.
Not tonight.
Tonight, it’s filled with horror and fear.
It takes everything in me to crane my neck back to look behind Rome’s stock-still form. I grasp onto his hands harder, so they can help keep the demons away, as I face the boys I had given my heart to, only for them to witness it no longer beats.
Under the music room’s threshold stands Ollie and Ash, looking like their world just ended.
But it wasn’t their life that fell apart tonight—it was mine.
Chapter 2
Asher
“You alright?” Ollie questions, concerned, and passes me another glass of ice water.
“What do you think?” I bite back sarcastically, chugging the cool liquid down my parched throat.
It’s amazing how I can still be thirsty after all the shit I had to drink tonight. Usually, the only reason I’d rush to the kitchen after a party would be to look for anything and everything I could get my hands on to stuff my face with. I didn’t expect tonight to be an exception, considering the amount of weed I smoked, but my appetite is nowhere to be seen. I want to blame the half pill of molly I popped as the culprit of my nonexistent munchies, but I know in my gut that isn’t it.
It’s the way everyone treated Snow tonight that has my stomach in knots.
Aside from my baby sister, we were all a bunch of assholes to her. I watched Ollie break her heart by dancing with the skank I hooked him up with. And then to add insult to injury, Trevor—the douche—had to go and put his hands on her like she was just another vapid climber looking to hook up with the first Pembroke jock that showed her any attention.
