29. Ava
CHAPTER 29
AVA
English Lit has quickly become my favorite class, in large part due to the girl crush I’ve developed on the brilliant and beautiful Professor Turner. For two blissful hours each week, I’m able to get completely lost in her thought-provoking lectures. While I’m pondering the symbolism employed by the greats like Chaucer and Milton, I’m not thinking about the dark shadow lingering in the back corner of the room. Sometimes I forget he’s even there.
No such luck today. From the moment I walk into the lecture hall, I’m all too aware of my stepbrother’s presence. My gaze unwittingly drifts to find him in his usual seat with Chelsea practically in his lap, and I quickly avert my eyes while heading for my typical spot up front. I try to shut out all thoughts about the Kings as I slip off my backpack and get situated, but as soon as I sit down, the sting of their fresh brand on my ass is a cruel reminder of just how bleak my life has become.
There’s no escaping them.
Even if they do eventually get bored and move on, they’ve left a permanent mark– both on my skin and my psyche. I’ll never be free.
Despite knowing it’s an exercise in futility, I fish my phone out of my backpack to check for any communication from my mom, finding none. This is the longest we’ve ever gone without talking to one another. She’s been unreachable while vacationing with Gideon in the past, but at least I had the details of where they’d be and a way to contact her in the event of an emergency. Now, I’ve got nothing– wherever she is, I don’t even know if she’s okay. I’m sure as hell not.
Nausea curls in my gut, the threat of tears burning behind my eyes. Thankfully, class doesn’t start for another ten minutes– plenty of time for me to retreat to the restroom and pull myself together. Shoving up to my feet, I leave my things behind and bolt back up the aisle, prickling under the feeling of being watched with every step. While there’s no shortage of curious stares aimed in my direction, only one tempts me to return it.
Raf .
Most of the time, he pretends I don't even exist, but his fierce, dark-eyed glare is locked onto me as I head for the exit, intense and unyielding. A predator stalking its prey. Chelsea catches on, desperately reaching up and clutching his jaw to wrench his attention back. Raf snaps his head towards her with a jolt while I hastily dart out the door, my heart pounding in my ears.
The sharp clack of my ankle boots echoes off the gleaming marble floor as I hurry down the corridor, my gaze darting around to make sure no one’s following. When I reach the restroom, I yank the door open and practically trip over my own feet in my haste to enter, a wave of relief crashing over me when I find that it’s blissfully vacant.
Crossing the room with purpose, I stop at the line of sinks that run along the wall, pressing my palms firmly onto the cold, smooth surface of the counter. Closing my eyes tightly, I focus on drawing in a few slow, deep breaths, letting the air fill my lungs and calm my racing heart before I gradually open my eyes again.
I can do this.
Gideon has always been extravagant. He probably whisked my mom away to some private island for their long-awaited honeymoon, not even realizing they wouldn’t have phone reception. As soon as they’re back, she’ll call, and this’ll all be over.
I stare at my own reflection, focusing on my breathing as I try to convince myself everything will work out. Then Chelsea walks through the door, and when I lift my gaze in the mirror to meet her harsh glare, I know I’m only deluding myself.
Chelsea storms into the bathroom with a purposeful stride, two girls from our class trailing closely behind. Her eyes burn into me, scanning every inch with an intensity that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Her lips twist into a sneer, dripping with disdain as she dissects my appearance. A sharp warning rings in my mind, but in an effort to avoid confrontation, I drop my head and turn on the faucet, busying myself by washing my hands.
Don’t let them see you react; they’ll take it as a sign of weakness.
Wes’ words from this morning echo in my mind as I scrub my hands together, acutely aware of Chelsea closing the distance between us. Her heels click against the tile as she struts up behind me, pausing there for a moment like she wants me to look up.
I don’t. I just keep washing my hands, refusing to engage her… until she yanks up the back of my skirt, that is. I whip around with a startled yelp, but not before she gets an eyeful of my new ink.
“So it’s true,” she spits, glaring daggers at me. “You’ve been marked by the Kings.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but…”
Chelsea cuts me off before I can finish, backing me in against the counter and stabbing a finger into the center of my chest. “Listen here, new girl ,” she snarls, icy blue eyes brimming with rage. “Whatever game you’re playing here is over . Raf and I are as good as engaged, and I won’t have some trashy little community college reject coming in here and messing everything up. I don’t care what you do with Wes, he’s fucked everyone, and that loser Ford is just gonna wind up dead or in prison, but Raf is mine . If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay far, far away from him.”
“Trust me, I’ve tried,” I mutter wryly.
She makes a scoffing sound in her throat, rocking back on a heel and folding her arms across her chest. “What’s so special about you, anyways?” she sneers, eyes narrowing as she scrutinizes me with disdain. “I don’t see it.”
“Maybe she’s got great tits,” one of Chelsea’s friends suggests with a shrug. Aimee Stevens. She sits behind me in class, two rows up. “Ford’s a boob guy, isn’t he?”
“He is,” Chelsea muses, snapping a hand out to grab a fistful of my blouse. “Let’s see them.”
I stagger back, wide-eyed and panicked, but Chelsea is quick and vicious. Her fingers sink into the fabric and she gives it a wild yank, the sudden force almost knocking me off my feet.
“Get off me!” I shriek, trying to bat her hands away as I feel the delicate chiffon tear at the seams like tissue paper. I twist and turn, trying to get away, but Aimee and her accomplice– Sierra or Sarah, something like that – are now flanking me on either side, blocking my escape. Chelsea wrenches the shirt form my body, flinging it to the floor with a triumphant sneer.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I demand, seething with frustration and disbelief as the cool air washes over my bare skin.
Chelsea doesn’t respond, but from the malice in her eyes, I know she’s not done with me yet.
My fight or flight instincts kick in and I try to dart away again, but her friends crowd in closer on either side, ensuring my captivity as Chelsea grabs for my bra. The front clasp snaps, the straps digging into my skin as she ruthlessly rips it down my arms. I choke on a shocked yelp, slapping my hands over my bare breasts.
“Nah, can’t be her tits,” Aimee quips, mortification burning through me as I slowly turn my gaze on her. She smiles back at me, clearly deriving some sick sense of superiority from my humiliation. “We did you a favor, that top was hideous,” she adds with a cruel chuckle, eyes flickering down my nude upper body, then traveling lower. “Honestly, the skirt’s not much better. Tartan hasn’t been cool since the 90’s.”
“Well, since we’re doing favors,” Chelsea snickers, grabbing for my skirt.
“No!” I gasp, shoving her back as hard as I can.
A little piece of me cracks when I hear the distinctive sound of ripping fabric as she stumbles backwards. My eyes widen in shock, mind struggling to process the sudden rush of cold air against my now-bare lower half. I blink in disbelief at the tattered remains of my ruined plaid skirt, still clutched in her grasp.
“ No ,” I whisper feebly, tears springing to my eyes.
That was my favorite skirt. It made me feel sexy and powerful whenever I wore it, but now, standing here in only my underwear and ankle boots while these girls laugh and demean me, I’m not sure anything will ever make me feel that way again.
Piece by piece, Chelsea’s stripped me of my dignity. She’s torn away more than just my clothes.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, rage and indignation taking hold as I stare into her mirthless blue eyes.
How fucking dare she?
The smugness in her expression pushes me over the edge, and I just… snap . I lunge in Chelsea’s direction, a flash of surprise crossing her face moments before my fist connects with her nose. Blood explodes from her nostrils on impact, spraying the floor and my bare chest. She lets out an animalistic howl, clutching for her face while I stumble back, horrified at what I’ve done.
I’m a monster. They’ve turned me into a monster.
“You fucking bitch !” Chelsea shrieks, launching herself at me. She shoves me back against the counter, her perfectly manicured fingernails clawing at my skin as I try to fight her off. “Help me hold her!” she barks out to her friends.
“Get off me!” I scream, kicking and punching wildly as the three girls grab at me from all sides, maneuvering my body around until I’m facing the sink. Someone kicks the back of my knee and it buckles, sending me collapsing forward onto the counter. My chin smacks against the hard surface, teeth clacking together, eyes darting to the mirror just in time to see Chelsea reach for the back of my head. Pinpricks of pain break out over my scalp as she grabs hold of my hair, forcing my face into the sink. The faucet’s still running from my stupid hand-washing distraction tactic, and I choke on the frigid water as it pours over my mouth and nose, fighting like hell while the three of them hold me down.
Oh my god, they’re trying to drown me.
Panic takes hold and my brain short-circuits. I can’t breathe, I’m just sucking in water, aspirating it into my lungs. Just as my vision goes fuzzy around the edges, the hand holding my head suddenly lets go. I shove upright, coughing and sputtering as I suck in greedy lungfuls of air. Chelsea grabs onto my arm, pulling it to turn me toward her.
“This is your last warning, bitch,” she snarls, blood from her nose coating her upper lip and staining her teeth. With a fierce shove, she sends me hurtling toward the nearby wall.
My bare back slaps against the cold tile as I crash into it, sliding down the wall and crumpling to the floor.
The click of Chelsea’s heels echoes through the room as she strides over to the paper towel dispenser, pulling a few out and pressing them to her nose. Crimson blooms on the white paper and she cuts me a final glare, then continues toward the exit, motioning for her friends to follow.
I flinch at the soft thud of the door closing behind them, a shiver racking my body as I pull my knees to my chest and curl in on myself. Water drips from my hair, my clothes lying in tatters on the floor. Still, I don’t cry. As the adrenaline ebbs, I’m strangely numb. Perhaps I’m in shock.
Or maybe I’ve died and gone to hell, because that’s exactly what this place is.
I hate it here. I hate the musty smell of the old buildings, hate the stupid double C’s brandished on everything. I hate the vile people on this campus. The only decent human being I’ve come across is Bryce, but I can’t even see him without risking the Kings’ wrath. I hate the Kings with a burning passion, and I hate my mom for abandoning me here, then dropping off the face of the earth when I need her most.
She said Raf would take care of me, but he’s the worst of them all. He’s the reason I’m in this position right now, half-naked and shivering on the bathroom floor.
He was so different when we were kids. I looked forward to Gideon bringing Raf along when he visited; the two of us would laugh and play for hours. He actually had a heart back then. I remember mentioning that I liked licorice ropes, and every time he came over after, he brought me one. He was thoughtful like that. Kind. A far cry from the devil he is today.
The bathroom door bursts open with a sudden force, and there he is , as if I conjured his presence by simply recalling those old memories. Raf storms into the bathroom like a dark cloud, his features drawn and his jaw clenched tightly. I drop my head in defeat as he stomps in my direction, those tears that wouldn’t come before suddenly welling in my eyes, threatening to spill over as his presence fills the space.
The toes of his boots appear in my field of vision as he abruptly halts front of me, descending into a deliberate crouch.
“Who did this?” he demands in a low, menacing tone.
I raise my head, locking onto his piercing dark eyes. A tear slips from the corner of my own as I open my mouth to respond, but the words get caught somewhere in my throat, my chin quivering in silent agony.
Raf lunges forward, grabbing me underneath the armpits with a grip so fierce that it steals my breath. He yanks me up off the floor like I’m nothing more than a ragdoll, planting me on my feet. As if the weight of his stare isn’t enough to pin me in place, he closes in further, pressing in on me and crowding me against the wall.
“Who did this?” he asks again, the vein in his neck bulging, chest heaving.
“Your girlfriend,” I bite out, finally finding my voice. I shift my weight to stand a little taller, and that’s when I realize Raf’s still holding onto me. He seems to realize it simultaneously, quickly releasing me and yanking his hands back as if I burned him, furrowing his brow.
“Chelsea and her friends,” I clarify, folding my arms to cover my chest. “They didn’t like my new tattoo.”
The muscle in Raf’s jaw ticks, but his expression remains impassive. Nothing in his reaction gives me any clue as to what he’s thinking, and the tense silence that follows only ramps up my anxiety.
He suddenly takes a step backwards, leaving me feeling even more naked and exposed without the shield of his body. Goosebumps pebble up on my skin and I hug my arms tighter around my chest, watching him nervously as he reaches for the hem of his black hoodie and pulls it off over his head. The t-shirt he’s wearing underneath rides up, my gaze unwittingly dropping to drink in his lower abs and cut v-lines.
Raf’s biceps bunch as he lowers the hoodie in front of him, my eyes tracing the bulging veins on his forearms down to his hands as he extends the garment in my direction.
I blink down at it in confusion, then up at him.
“Go back to the dorms, you can skip class today,” he grumbles, tossing his sweatshirt toward me when I don’t take it on my own. “I’ll tell Turner you’re excused.”
I snatch the hoodie from mid-air before it can drop to the floor, the fabric radiating warmth from his lingering body heat as I clutch it tightly against my chest. Raf pivots sharply and stomps away, his shoulders coiled with tension as he storms out of the bathroom, leaving a palpable trail of anger in his wake.