Ruin

1. Trixie

ONE

TRIXIE

14 years old

The pain is overwhelming—it’s burning. Tears escape. He didn’t care i screamed ‘no’’ or that i screamed when it hurt. He just didn’t care.

He walks to my side of the bed as he puts his clothes back on, leans in closer to kiss my forehead. I hate when he does that. He’s been doing it for weeks now. Every time he touches me; he kisses me there. I hate it.

“it was good, until tomorrow.” I close my eyes at his words, wiping the tears away from my cheeks. Then i hear him leaving my bedroom.

My body hurts. Everything hurts. But most of all, it hurts down there. I push the covers off me, needing the bathroom, but i can’t move—my legs are too heavy. That’s when i see the red stain on the sheets.

Present day

First day of school—my new school. I was there for a week before summer break, and after just one day, I knew the place was full of rich assholes. I didn’t think I’d find anyone I could talk to, but then I saw them: the group in the cafeteria corner, my type of people.

To everyone else, they are known as the goths. To me, they live in a world of their own—a world I want to be in. They don’t really talk much. They don’t like to be seen. And that’s exactly how I prefer it.

Well, that was true until the last day of school.

They had been planning something all year. I never knew who they were talking about, or what that person had done to them, but my group hated them.

I didn’t know who the group of four guys were. I didn’t ask questions. They called them the Crawford boys. The name meant nothing to me—until I found out they’d hurt someone. That was all I needed to know to go along with the plan.

Today, I go back to school, still not knowing who they are.

I finish applying my eyeliner, and hope my dad and evil stepmom have already left, but I doubt I’m that lucky. I want to slip out of the house without talking to them, so I grab my bag and keys then stare at my bedroom door for a moment.

Do I want to risk running into them?

Fuck no.

Turning, I walk to my window and toss my bag onto the grass. I climb out onto the roof, taking a few steps toward the edge. It’s something I’ve done so many times now I don’t even worry about falling. The tree outside my bedroom is huge, its branches stretching closest to the window, but they’re too weak to climb on.

I have to get to the edge of the roof to get down without breaking anything. Standing steady on the thicker branch, I grip onto the one above me, then I walk toward the middle so it’s easier to climb down. I mean I could swing from the branch I’m standing on and drop, but I’m not in the mood to do that today.

Finally, getting to the ground I walk over to my car—something my dad got me for my sixteenth birthday. I never wanted it back then because he only bought it to shut me up, but now I’m happy he made me keep it. When it gets too much at home, I can leave and drive all night if I want to.

I hate this house, and I hate everyone who lives under its fucking roof. My dad is a man I’d happily get rid of. God took the wrong parent from me. I wish it was him, and not Mom.

“Not even going to say ‘morning!’” my dad yells from behind me. I don’t stop or answer him as I get to my car. Fucking asshole.

“Patricia!” he shouts as I slam the car door shut. No one calls me that anymore—not since Mom gave me the nickname Trixie. My dad started calling me Patricia again because of her. Since he remarried his fake boobed, fake teeth, fake everything wife has her claws in him so tight, I’ve lost him. No matter what I said, he never believed me. No matter how much I begged him to listen, she always got to him first.

When the day comes—when he wants my forgiveness—he will never get it. Never.

My hands grip around the steering wheel as I speed out of the driveway. He’ll only moan about the same thing he moans about every day: the way I look. Telling me I look like a freak. How I’m too pretty to hide myself from the world. There is a reason I’m hiding. Well, I hoped it would hide me, but it didn’t.

* * *

Walking into school, I make my way to my locker to put a few things away. I stop in front of it when I see the same thing I’ve been seeing all summer: a single dark blue periwinkle delphinium flower. How do I know its name? After the first week of getting the single flower, I went to the flower shop and asked them what this flower was? Before then, I’d never seen it, didn’t even know a dark blue flower existed. I got one every single day of the summer in my car, and it looks like I’ll get one at school, too.

Taking the flower off my locker, I put it into my bag. I glance over toward the door and see a group of the hockey team walking in, a few cheerleaders are trailing behind them. There’s a girl I’ve never seen in the one week I was here before summer. She’s stunning: tanned legs which seem to go on forever, a figure I would describe as hot, and she’s not afraid to show it off, either. I know I have a decent figure under these clothes, but nothing compares to her face—it’s the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. I don’t think I’ve ever seen another woman look this good.

I quickly throw my stuff into my locker and leave before they get too close. I’m not in the mood to hear them call me a freak on the first day.

Walking into class, I look around to see who’s in there, and inside I’m happy when I see Ash sitting in the back row. I’m even happier when I spot the table in the corner is empty.

The morning has been quick, it’s always a good day when it passes fast. In the cafeteria, like in all my classes, I sit in the back, away from everyone, hoping to hide in the corner where no one sees me.

Ash is talking about going out to get high tonight with the rest of the group, while I just watch everyone around me. Getting high doesn’t sound like the worst thing to be doing tonight. When I’m high, the things that happen at night in my home don’t hurt as much because I can close off.

I’ve learned to hold in my anger and pain—no point shouting for help. No one will. I try, and it never goes well for me, so smoking some weed at night is a good way to end my day.

I look over at the hockey table two tables away from us, and there she is again—the beautiful woman I saw this morning. I’ve not bothered learning names because I have no reason to talk to anyone.

“Lileah Crawford. Beautiful, isn’t she?” Ash asks, noticing me staring at her. How can you not? “No boy is going to try crossing her. Never. She has four brothers, and I wouldn’t mess with them. I still can’t believe you girls did.” He’s talking about setting the car on fire, but I never touched it. I stood there, watching in case someone was coming. I didn’t even know they were going to do it. They told me it was harmless fun. I turn to Ash, wondering what he means about no one touching Lileah. “The Crawford brothers have ruled this school since the oldest, Hayden started, and it’s been theirs ever since.”

I turn back to the table when I hear her telling one of the players, who just joined the table, to fuck off. The guy continues to talk to her, and that’s when I hear Ash.

“There he is—Declan Crawford.”

I turn to the door leading into the cafeteria, and there he is. The man who locked eyes with me through the flames on the car. Now I know who he is. When he was trying to kill me with his eyes that day, I had no idea who he was. Well, I didn’t know who anyone was. I still don’t.

I watch him walking, taking him all in. He has the kind of face which would make anyone stop in their tracks. The way Ash talks about them, I bet they’re used to it. The more I watch, the more I’m pulled into him.

He looks different from the other boys at the school. He’s handsome, with an appearance and presence that makes him stand out from the crowd. His golden-brown eyes—I still remember them trying to kill me. Well, at the time I couldn’t see the color of them because I thought they were black and ready to kill someone.

He laughs at something one of the guys says, and his eyes wrinkle at the sides. This is what happens when you people watch all the time—you pick up on all the small things. From the way his t-shirt fits him, I’d say he has a muscular body underneath, but my sight moves to the tattoos he has on his arms. From here I can’t make out what they are.

“He looks like he’s been in the gym this summer.” I hear Ash say next to me, and then the others call him a dickhead or something else just as rude.

One of the cheerleaders walks over to Declan just before he reaches the table, but he pushes her away. You can see he’s the type all the girls in school—or anywhere, swoon over. And without even talking to him, you can tell he likes the attention, and the benefits of it, too.

He grabs the back of the guy’s head—the one who was talking to his sister—and slams it into the table. The boy gets up quickly.

“My sister said fuck off. So, fuck off. Next time you piss her off, I’ll make sure you don’t fucking walk, never mind play hockey.”

Declan shoves him, and before the boy can do anything, one of his friends holds him back.

Declan leans down to his sister and whispers something. She nods, then he straightens up, turning to face my table.

Oh shit. His eyes lock with mine, and an arrogant smirk spreads across his lips as he strides over to my table. He pulls out a chair, sits down and leans back, his right leg stretched out in front of him.

“Declan Crawford.” He puts his hand out for me to shake, but I don’t.

What is this a fucking job interview?

He looks around at everyone at the table and smiles at Kat. “How is your sister?” he asks. She tells him to fuck off, which just makes him laugh.

Declan turns back to face me. Now he’s closer, I can make out a few of the tattoos on him. He has a scorpion on his hand, and I’d love a closer look because from here it looks damn good.

My eyes move up his right hand to a tattoo of a powerful, roaring bear with bared teeth, exuding raw strength and ferocity. The bear’s face is the focal point, its fur detailed with fine strokes that enhance the intensity and realism of the animal. Behind the bear, trees rise in the background, shrouded in misty shadows, symbolizing a connection to the wilderness or an untamed force. Smoke-like wisps surround the bear, giving it a mystical aura, as if it’s emerging from, or surrounded by darkness.

“Trixie.”

My eyes dart to him. Hearing my name from his lips sounds weird. How does he know who I am? “You start this school, and the first thing you do is mess with my baby.”

I narrow my brows at him. Baby? He slides a piece of paper toward me. “That’s how much my car cost me to fix up.” I don’t look at the piece of paper, but Ash picks it up, and then hear him say.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking?”

“No. It took me two years to build my baby, and in two seconds, you burned it.” He looks at everyone at the table one by one, then turns his attention back to me. “So, how are you paying me back? They’ll get what’s coming too, don’t worry.”

How can you be so handsome and a fucking asshole at the same time? I sign, and the corner of his lip curls up. Fuck. No one in this school knows how to sign, and I never thought, out of all the people, he would.

“I’ve never been called handsome and an asshole in one sentence before.” He stands up, grabs his chair, and places it right next to me. I turn to face him. Don’t show fear—he’ll eat you alive.

He licks his bottom lip, his thumb brushing from the corner of my lip to the ring in the middle. “Open,” he whispers.

I don’t. Who the fuck does he think he is? “Open, or I’ll make you open it.”

His whisper comes out sharp this time, more of a command. The edge in his voice makes me open my mouth for him, and he smirks.

“Show me.”

His face inches closer. I know what he’s talking about. Slowly, I stick out my tongue out so he can see the piercing. Declan smiles as he softly tugs on my lip ring, making my mouth open wider for him. Before I can react, he spits in my mouth, then slides his finger inside, brushing it over my tongue.

“Suck and swallow, Trixie.”

He lets go of my lip, and I snap my mouth shut. The taste of peppermint lingers. I don’t want to, but I swallow.

“I can’t wait to feel your tongue on my dick.”

My eyes widen, and his smirk turns into a satisfied grin. He pushes back from the chair, tossing a card on the table. “Be there.” Then he walks away, grabbing the books from his sister before leaving the cafeteria.

“Fuck, he’s made you his target.”

I hear Ash as I pick up the card. What the fuck is this? I look at Ash and show him the card.

“The first month after summer break, they have a pool party almost every day since their parents are away. And you have been invited. If I were you, and I know the Crawford brothers, I’d go.”

I’m not going. I’m not playing his fucked-up game either. I have enough shit happening at home—I don’t need it at school, too.

Shaking my head, I put the card and the piece of paper into my backpack without looking at how much the car cost.

Why the hell is he not making them pay for it?

They’re the ones who lit the fucking match.

Senior year is going to be a fucking nightmare.