Savage Vicious Heir: Part Two: A dark high school bully romance

7. Elliot

ELLIOT

Despite my resistance, after our little heart-to-heart, Reese drags my arse up and insists I hit the gym harder than I ever have in my life in an attempt to banish the demons.

I’m not sure any kind of workout has the power to eradicate my father and Scott from my life, but I was willing to give it a good go.

I can’t lie. It feels good—the pain, the exertion, the trembling muscles. Focusing on something other than the pain in my chest and the colossal mistakes I’ve made is what I need.

By the time we walk out of the gym, I can barely hold myself up. But for the first time since Wednesday night, I can think about something other than Abigail.

At least for a few minutes.

“You need to go and talk to her,” Reese says as we make our way across campus, officially ending my ‘do not think about Abigail’ mantra.

“She’s not here,” I reason.

He laughs, although there is no humour behind it. “Like you don’t know where she is,” he mutters. “There are only a handful of places she’d go. And even if there weren’t, you’re Elliot Eaton, you’ll find her.”

“Maybe you overestimate my skills,” I mutter, not entirely sure I like the picture he just painted of me. It sounds a little like two other men I’d rather have nothing in common with.

“Okay, so where have you been every night then?” He smirks. “And do try and bullshit me into saying you came back late. I know you didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say under my breath, wishing he’d change the topic of conversation.

“Of course it fucking matters. You’re gone for her, bro. You need to man up and do something about it. You fucked up. Newsflash, we all fucking do that. It’s the grovelling and how you apologise that counts now.”

“It won’t be enough.” I shake my head, not wanting to believe. Not wanting to hope.

“Says who? You?” he scoffs. “Not being funny, mate, but your dark aurora right now isn’t going to let you believe anything positive.”

“My dark aurora?” I repeat. “Fucking hell, you need to spend more time out on the rugby pitch and less time on a yoga mat. It’s aura, smart-arse.”

“Whatever it is. Laugh all you like. I’m right and you fucking know it.”

I fall silent, unable to argue with him.

The Chapel is quiet as we let ourselves inside. “Where are the others?” I ask, marching towards the fridge to grab a fresh bottle of water.

“Fuck knows. I’m going for a shower. You want to hit the books after?” he offers.

Combing my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair, I tug it back until it burns. Pain shoots down my neck, giving me a hit of what I really need.

“Sure,” I finally concede.

It’s the right thing to do.Focus on my future.A future that’s been mapped out for me since I was a twinkle in my father’s cold cruel eyes.

Sure, Saints Cross is a great university. It doesn’t have a choice to be anything but based on the donations it receives from the elite families who expect it to be the best.

I’ll do well there, assuming I survive Scott and the Scions. But do I want it?

I shake my head as I trudge up the stairs.

No, is the simple answer.

I don’t want it.

Being an Heir was one thing. I wanted this. I wanted to step up with my boys and rule All Hallows’ as we saw fit.

But being a Scion is a whole other ballgame.

The expectations, the games, the depravity of searching out the weak and pushing the strong… I don’t have the time or the energy for it.

But just like defying my father with Lauren, refusing Saints Cross would be akin to suicide.

He’d never accept it.

Instead, he’d wear me down, break me in any way he could until I had no choice but to agree. And then, only then, would the real pain start.

Wrapping my hand around the back of my neck, I pull down. I don’t fucking need this shit.

My skin is itching by the time I crash into my room. Shedding my damp clothes as I move, I’m naked before I step into the bathroom and turn the shower on as hot as it’ll go, just as I need it.

But at the last minute, I pause.

It isn’t going to be enough.

I can already feel the burn and it won’t be e-fucking-nough.

Doubling back, I pull my wardrobe open and reach for the box I keep on the top shelf.

Out of sight, out of mind…

Well, right now, it’s front and fucking centre; the only thing I can think about.

Knocking the lid off, I stare down at the contents.Scissors, razor blades, a flip-knife.All the things I promised myself years ago that I’d get rid of.

I knew that if I kept them that one day temptation would become too much.

I’ve held strong. Not once have I even considered reaching for it since moving in here.But that’s all gone to shit, and it’s all my fucking fault.

Searching through the contents, I find what I need.

It’s not what I want. That’s the flip knife. That would sate the desire I have coursing through my veins right now.

But I can’t.

With a sigh, I pull a scalpel blade free. The steel glints under the bright lights from above and my mouth waters.

I should be trying to talk myself out of it, I know I should. But I’m too far gone.

With it pinched between my forefinger and thumb, I march back into the bathroom. I place it on the small shelf in my shower before finally stepping inside.My skin prickles as the burning water rushes over me, and I grit my teeth when the need to lower the temperature becomes unignorable.

But I don’t.

Stepping away won’t help.

I need this.

I need it so fucking badly.

As the seconds tick on, my muscles begin to relax, my need for pain sated for a few minutes.

But I know it’s only a short reprieve.I’ve played this game many, many times over the years.

A few things help stave off the need. Rugby. Going hard in the gym. Fighting. Sex. Sometimes, it’s enough to distract me. But often, it’s not.

Sometimes nothing comes anywhere close to touching it.

Squeezing my eyes closed, the image of Abigail curled up on her bathroom floor from a few weeks ago appears in my mind.The sight of her with those scissors in her hand and blood trickling down her thigh hit me so fucking hard.

It took every ounce of my strength to focus on her and not crumble to my own dark vices.

The sight of her doing the exact same thing that I’ve done to myself more times than I want to count cut me deeper than any blade could.

It was like watching my own worst nightmare come to life. Only it wasn’t me bleeding. It was the girl I couldn’t get out of my head hurting herself.

The roar that rips from my throat doesn’t sound anything like me as I bounce around the room, echoing, tormenting me.

My palms slam against the tiles, sending pain shooting up my arms. But it’s not enough.

It should be but it’s not.

Resting my head against the cool wall, I focus on my breathing.

In. Out.

In. Out.

In— “FUUUCK,” I bellow.

In a rush, I turn the shower off and grab the blade.

My hand trembles as I rest my back against the wall and expose my inner thigh.

Scarred, damaged skin stares back up at me.

It’s better than it used to be.

There came a point—when girls started paying attention to me—that I realised I needed to get a better handle on things.

That opened up a whole new level of distraction, as long as they didn’t get too close, of course.

That’s where my need for control came in.

If their hands were bound behind their backs and I had their hair in my fist, the only inches of my body they’d be exploring was the appendage in their mouths.

It worked.

It was fucking great.

Until her…

She’s the reason I’m standing here now about to fall back into toxic habits I thought I’d banished.

With gritted teeth, I bring the sharp point of the blade to an unscarred patch of skin.

I’m not going to do it.

I’m not. I just?—

I twitch with it almost touching my skin and it cuts through me like butter.

The rush is like nothing I’ve ever experienced as blood pools at the surface.

I stare at it for a beat before reality seeps back in and I throw the blade across the room in a fit of anger and frustration.

I should have been better than that.

Dropping my foot back to the floor, I snatch a towel from the rack before storming back into my room, self-hatred poisoning every ounce of my blood.

I quickly dry off and I’m about to find a clean pair of boxers to hide the evidence of what I’ve just done when my bedroom door flies open and an angry little blonde flies into the room.

“Tally, what the fuck?” I bark quickly cupping my junk.

One look at the fury on her face and I know what’s coming.

She’s seen Abigail.

She knows…

She knows what I did.

“What have you done?” she shrieks. Her voice is so high-pitched, I’m pretty sure that only dogs can hear it.

“You need to stay out of my business, Darlington,” I snarl, my nostrils flaring in frustration. “Get the fuck out.”

“No chance,” she snarls right back. “We are talking. Right here, right now. Wait… you’re bleeding,” she says, cutting off her rant and staring down at my thigh.

My stomach knots, acid burning up my throat as I consider the chances of her figuring out what I’ve done.

“It’s nothing. All of this is fucking nothing.”

Turning my back on her, I finally pull my draw open and drag a pair of boxers out before pulling them on.

“Nothing? Nothing?” she shrieks. “Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt her?”

I’m pretty sure a knife through my chest couldn’t hurt worse than hearing those words.

Turning back around, I stare Tally dead in the eyes. I need her to see how serious I am with my next words.“It’s for the best,” I lie. “Abigail doesn’t belong in my world. I did her a favour.”

Crack.

I really should have seen it coming. But this is Tally, not Raine, or even Olivia. The second her palm connects with my cheek, my head whips to the side and pain shoots down my neck.

A growl of fury rips from my throat and I take a warning step towards her.

Most girls—hell, most guys—would immediately step back and cower. But, oh no, not prim and proper Tallulah Darlington. I have no fucking idea what Oak has done to her, but she’s not scared of anything these days.

“The fuck, Tallulah?” I snarl.

“She loves you,” Tally cries.

I stumble back as her words hit me like a truck.

“She loves you and all you do is hurt her. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“Finally, something we agree on.” I lock down every emotion swirling inside of me. “She deserves more than this. More than me.”

Tally’s eyes widen at my confession, my moment of vulnerability.

“She needs to forget about me and move on. It’s better for everyone.”

“Everyone?” she asks, lifting a brow. “Better for you, you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter about me. None of this is about me.”

“Exactly, it’s about her. So what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. I’m giving her time and space to figure out what we already know.”

“And what is that exactly?” Her eyes narrow in suspicion.

“That Abigail Bancroft is too good for the likes of me.”

A bitter laugh spills from Tally’s lips. “Wow. The high and mighty Elliot Eaton has finally figured out that he’s not all that.”

My chest heaves, my breaths coming hard and fast as I glare at her.

“While I might agree,” she adds, letting her eyes drop down my practically naked body with her top lip curled in disgust. “Abigail sees something in you. And”—she moves towards me, poking me hard in the chest—“you are going to make this right. You are going to fix it in whatever way you can. Get her out of hiding. Convince her to come back to school. To life. I’d do it myself if I could, but I don’t have the power. Only you have that.”

I snatch her finger, stopping her from poking me before gently shoving her away from me.

She goes easily enough, although her angry stare never leaves me.

“Do we have a deal?”

I shake my head before raking my hair back.“I… I can’t, Tally.”

“Tough. You have to. You did this, Elliot. It’s on you to fix it.”