Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
RACHELLE
L iliana is singing as we drive to school today, and the windows are cracked open. She seems in high spirits, hyped about the release of the newspaper. It releases every other Thursday, and typically has news stories about what is happening around school.
It’s clear that this is her baby, and she manages everything about it.
The Darkest Nights is playing on her playlist, and Lennon is singing her heart out. These songs get me through the really rough spots in my life, playing when the world is so dark that all I can do is cut until things get quiet and peaceful.
I’ve been marked safe from cutting for four months, I haven’t needed it, but I keep my supplies hidden in my bathroom. There’s gauze, tape, and cohesive bandage tape now hiding in a pocket of my backpack again, something I didn’t think I’d need to have at school.
The noise has been loud in my head, the stares intense, and it’s only my third day of school. My emotional support kit has made it back into my life, which doesn’t bode well for the rest of the year. I refused to pack the razors because that seemed like too much of a temptation.
The knife is in its place around my thigh, my stun gun in its hidden pocket. I’m as ready as I possibly can be today.
As Liliana and I get out of the car once we arrive at school, I bite my lip as I look around.
It’s just another day. It only feels as if they’re all looking at me.
“Ignore them,” Liliana says, grabbing my hand. “If we had more new students, you wouldn’t garner so much attention.”
“Bad luck for me,” I mutter as we cross the parking lot.
People begin walking into the school, and somehow it feels as if they were waiting for us to get here. It’s creepy and uncomfortable, how in unison they act together.
“Tell me about the newspaper,” I suggest, trying to get my mind off of feeling as if I’m moving under a microscope. It’s also clear that this is an important day for Liliana, and I want to be supportive.
I’m enjoying the way she’s almost bouncing with excitement. It’s adorable since she’s so intense otherwise.
“So, one of the big features was last week’s swim meet,” she gushes, grinning as we walk through the doors into the school.
The air feels oppressive inside, but I force myself to take a breath and keep walking. It’s all in my head. I’m fine.
Why is everyone staring at me?
“Mmhm,” I murmur, struggling to pay attention to her as we walk.
“Don’t you all have other things to do?” Liliana calls out, looking around as everyone reads the newspaper in the paper or online format provided by the school. “Read the paper, and stop gawking at her.”
“Oh I am reading the paper,” a junior says with a smirk. I don’t know many people at school, but everyone’s jacket is a different color, depending on what grade you’re in.
It’s a good way to make sure everyone is in the section of school they’re supposed to be in, but uniforms have to be purchased every year, or they won’t match your grade level.
It feels like a scam for the school, since it funnels more money into their pockets. The guys in the school also all have different color ties based on their grade level as well, but then, I’m hyper fixating on the wrong things right now. I’ll just continue if I don’t find a way to focus on what’s currently happening in front of me.
Blinking hard as I watch how he folds the newspaper in half, he turns it to show us the story he’s reading. Colton Baal looks out at me, my mother’s ex-boyfriend. His arrogant gaze makes me shudder, and my foot moves forward as if against my better judgment.
“What?” I whisper, eyes narrowing at the full half page spread.
Colton’s stupid hair, high cheekbones, and cruel smirk are in the Carlysle Prep newspaper. I never saw why my mother was attracted to him, his hair is poofy and he reminds me of a ferret. I don’t understand how his face is staring back at me. The files are sealed because I’m a minor. No one should have access to them.
What the fuck is happening right now?
I haven’t told a soul about that night, my mom only knows because she walked into the apartment while he was hurting me. I don’t even know if Emil knows. My eyes feel hot as I move closer, pulling my hand away from Liliana because I can’t stand to be touched.
Was she nice so she could dig up dirt on me? Did you do this?
“Someone give me a newspaper!” she says, panicked, ripping it away from a student. “Fuck, Rachelle please don’t?—”
I tune her out completely as I pull the newspaper away from the junior smirking at me.
“Didn’t think you’d enjoy them so old, girlie,” he says with a dark chuckle. “Is that what it takes for you to fuck someone? Here I was, hoping to get you on your knees for me.”
“Never,” I rasp, my eyes gazing at the two photos of Colton. One of them is his mug shot, while the other is of him out of prison and smiling. This has to be an old photo, because I checked a few weeks ago to make sure he was still locked up.
I can’t help myself, I look even though I know he’ll be dead or in his eighties by the time he gets out. Bad things still happen, people manage to get out for good behavior all of the time, even pedofiles.
“ I feel as if it’s important to shine some light and facts about the new girl. Rachelle seems to enjoy stealing men from other people, especially her mother,” the article begins.
I can vaguely hear my name being screamed, but it feels as if there is cotton in my ears, and everything around me is a dull roar. I can hear the sounds, but the words are fuzzy. Checking the name of the person who wrote this article, I’m somehow unsurprised to see that it says Anonymous.
Is this the error Liliana had to fix in the paper? Did she do this?
Gasping in a breath, I continue to read, the vague word coming through the chaos happening in my mind.
“Boyfriend stealer!” a girl yells.
“ Very recently, Rachelle’s mother found her fucking her boyfriend when she got home from work, but the poor little slut is claiming it was nonconsentual,” the article continues.
I didn’t want it. I swear I didn’t. No!
I’m almost ninety percent sure the words are trapped inside of my mind, my lips pressed tightly together to keep any noise from escaping. This is bad. Really fucking bad.
I can’t escape this, I’ll never have a normal school experience here. Not ever.
I was a fool to think that it was possible, and so was Emil.
My eyes trail down the article, freezing when I see my stepfather's name.
“ If I was Rachelle’s mother, I’d be nervous to have her living in the same house as her hot new husband, Emil Reyes,” the article says. “ Maybe one night the new girl will creep into his office or bedroom to play into a whole different fantasy with her new daddy.”
My fingers go numb as I drop the newspaper, shaking with rage. I would still be a fucking virgin if it hadn’t been for Colton. Sex isn’t something I think about much, because then I start to think about how heavy he was, the way he held me down…
Fuck, I can’t do this.
“Slut!” Marci yells from down the hall. “Are you going to be a Daddy fucker too?”
“Let me go!” Liliana screams, and all the sound feels too much as it all rushes over me.
It’s as if my head was under water, and now I’ve crested over the surface. I can hear every word yelled, the slamming of lockers, and the way the paper crinkles and snaps as people read the twisted words of my past.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Ignacio smirking next to Theo, who is holding back a very pissed off Liliana. Whatever it is that they’re doing, whatever game, I want no part in it. She’s on her own.
Turning away, I push my way through the hallways of people, struggling to get through. It’s as if they all decided to get in my way today. Hands grab for me, pinching my ass as I squeal in surprise, and tears begin to slide down my cheeks unbidden. I need to get the fuck out of here.
Finally slipping into a side hallway, I run until I can yank the doorway open to one of the more hidden passageways, moving until I can find an alcove where I can collapse and cry. Students will be heading to their homerooms, maybe I can simply stay here until I can get it together.
I doubt the school will do anything about this. If it was published, a little underage rape must not mean much here. I want to crawl into a dark hole, disappear completely.
My fingers clench with the need to cut, whispers of everything people called me sliding through my mind over and over. Maybe I do deserve this, I don’t belong here.
So why am I bothering to try.
“Have you seen Rachelle Thomas?” a voice booms through the passageway, heels clipping across the stone floors. I’ve been disassociating in this little corner, and didn’t realize there were people here.
Apparently more than one.
“No, I haven’t,” a deep male voice says. “We’re all looking for her. How did this get so out of control? Who the hell published that article?”
“I have no idea,” the woman says, passing by my little hole of sorrow. It’s the assistant principal of the school, Mrs. Hartwell. “I’m going to find out, though. Her stepfather is going to lose his mind. This isn’t going to be pretty. I need to find out what I can, starting with her.”
“Students are halfway through their homerooms, which means they’ll all be in the hallways soon. Doesn’t leave much time to look in this size of a school,” the man mutters.
“No,” Mrs. Hartwell says. “I really don’t want to call her mom and stepfather to explain that we somehow lost her. Keep looking, please.”
My heart pounds as I listen to them leave, my head dropping back as I struggle to regulate my breathing. Except I can’t, and I’m gasping for oxygen that won’t pass through to my lungs. My fingers grasp at the knife at my thigh.
I can’t move until I cut. This is a terrible place for it, but fuck it. I need to get control. Remind myself I’m a good fucking person, I’m not a whore, I didn’t do anything to catch Colton’s eye.
My chest heaves with exertion as I pull the knife from its holster. It would be so easy to cut too deeply, bleed out onto the stone floor of a place that breeds cruel and powerful people to take their positions in society. Only the strong rise, but I don’t feel very strong right now.
Maybe I can become better if I cut, though. It could happen…
My hand slides up to my scarred hip, but it’ll be too difficult to get to the skin there. Biting my lip, I pull my skirt up to where the suspender tights show off the still tanned skin of my thighs. Soon, I’ll be losing the warm tone due to the overcast days in Portland, my Florida tan leaving me like everything else.
My thumb runs over my soft skin, and I take the blade and press gently over it, hissing as the blood beads to the surface. It’s so vibrant and pretty, hurting just enough to begin to clean my mind.
Cut after cut, I sigh as I close my eyes, finally achieving silence.
The blade lays flat against my skin so it can’t cut me, a familiar cool feeling of what it’s capable of. My heart is still beating fast, but I feel good. Almost floaty. The blood is going to need to be taken care of, but it’s just on my skin. Pulling out my wet wipes, gauze, and different types of tapes, I clean myself up, ignoring the passage of time.
By the time I’m finished and the adherent beige bandage is wrapped tightly around my thigh, I clean off the knife and put it away. I need to find a restroom to wash up.
Hauling myself up, I close my eyes against the lightheadedness I feel. Leaning against the wall, I pull out my phone to see what time it is. There are messages that I ignore, humming under my breath as I see that it’s almost lunch time. The entire morning has passed by.
It’s amazing how trauma can affect the way the minutes and hours speed by. Sometimes they can crawl by, like when Colton was on top of me, pinning me to the bed, and others half the day is gone.
Blowing out a breath, I begin clearing messages on my phone, only to find that they’re all from Liliana. I ignore all of the pathetic lies, my finger idling on a voice message. Shaking my head, I put the phone away in search of a restroom, taking turn after turn and getting completely lost.
While I feel better, I also have so many questions, my body responding to the sluggish loss of blood that I can only hope is being stopped by the tight bandage. It’s very different to cut with a knife than a razor blade. Finding a bathroom as I move into a hallway, I’m grateful that no one is around as I scurry into the single stall.
It appears to be a restroom used for younger children, which means I’m really lost. Shit. Pumping soap into my hands, I scrub them until all the blood beginning to dry washes off under the warm water. Then, I take a deep breath and gaze at my face, taking in the puffy, red rimmed gaze staring back at me. I didn’t even notice the buckets of tears that fell, leaving me looking wrecked.
Turning the water to cold, I splash some on my face before drying off. I have to move if I’m going to find my way back to the high school side of the school. If there was ever a reason to walk home, today would be that day, but I keep hearing Mr. Richardson’s admonishment not to miss too many days of class.
It figures the class also has Jared inside of it, one of the last people I want to see or listen to. Pulling my phone out, I torture myself with the voice memo that Liliana texted to me:
“ I can see why you think this is me, it makes perfect sense, right? I swear, that article wasn’t in the newspaper when I looked it over again with Miss Hailey, Rachelle. This newspaper is my baby, though. My responsibility— Ah, you fuck heads.”
My head shakes as I listen to the message, confused until I hear my stepbrother, yet Liliana doesn’t end the message.
“ Hello, Liliana. What do you think my dad is going to think when he hears about how badly you fucked up today? You want to be an editor at a big, swanky newspaper when you grow up, don’t you?” Ignacio asks cruelly. “ I bet Dad insists you get kicked out. Have you tasted my stepsister’s pussy yet? Is it sweet enough to hold tight to the memories after she wants nothing to do with you?”
Something tells me there’s more to this, but I can’t explain what it is. If Liliana didn’t do this, was it Ignacio? He and his friends probably hate me enough to do it, but how?
Swallowing hard, I focus on the way my cuts begin to throb, reminding me of how deep some of them were. I didn’t cut anything important, I’ll probably be fine. If I’m not, then at least I’ll never have to come to school again.
I don’t really have anything going for me, any reason to push myself to get up another day. I’ve been doing it more because I don’t think my mom should have to bury another family member, but she has Emil now, right?
The words Mom said about me coming first trickle through my mind, but I push them away to listen to the rest of the voice memo.
“ My relationship with your sister is none of your business,” Liliana snarls.
“ Stepsister, it’s a nuance I need you to remember, Lili, dear ,” Ignacio coos. “ I have a very strong feeling you’ll be called out of class to be interrogated. It’s a real shame, you’re one of the only people who is any fun around here. You’re always right behind us on the grade charts.”
This helps explain a bit about why Liliana is untouchable in some ways, even outside of her family name. Emil said she wouldn’t bend easily, which makes me doubt that she’s working with the Kings. God, I’m so confused. I don’t understand what’s real or paranoia, but the latter has always helped me stay a step ahead of things.
“ I think I’ll be right here this afternoon and the next day, being my usual pain in your ass,” Liliana says. “ I’m completely innocent, pinning this shit on me will never stick. I think you know that.”
“Maybe it will, maybe it won’t,” Jared adds, coming into the conversation.
“ The important thing is that the little mouse won’t have any more friends,” Elijah says. I only know it’s him because it makes the most sense. They wouldn’t be speaking about this outside of their circle. “ It’ll be easier to have our fun with her, even if she does decide to come back to school.”
“ I doubt it, though,” my stepbrother grunts. “ She’s got my dad wrapped around her finger with her supposed innocence. Maybe this will cause Dad and Julia to fight. That would be fun to watch, they’re so in love it’s disgusting.”
“ You’re disgusting,” Liliana says. “ People aren’t pawns to move around the chess board. At some point, you need to decide how far is too far.”
“No one is exempt,” Ignacio says. “ My father knows the only people I have any allegiance to are the Kings. Now scurry away, Lili.”
“Fuck you,” Liliana says, and the voice memo ends.
My mind is spinning, trying to understand what I heard. I’m even more confused, but it’s clear to me that Liliana got caught up in one of their webs. I’ll need to decide if I want to talk to her later about it.
Checking my leg, I unwrap it, seeing that the cuts have clotted. I throw the mess away making sure to wrap it in paper towels so it won’t be found. I don’t need to be the reason why elementary students wonder about bloodstained gauze.
Unlocking the door, I poke my head out to see a little girl standing outside.
“Are you lost?” she asks.
“I am, but I’ll find my way,” I promise her, moving away to slip into the tunnels.
As I walk slower, I see that there are little signs to help direct me, making it easier for me to find Professor Richardson’s class. It’s a couple minutes before the next period starts, so I walk quickly across the hallway and through his door. It’s too much to expect for me to simply sit down without speaking to him.
I have shit luck today.
“Miss Thomas," he breathes, half standing as I flinch at the sound of my name. “I didn’t expect to see you today. Are you aware the administration is looking for you?”
“I may be hiding,” I rasp, my throat sore as I speak. I haven’t spoken in hours, the tears making me dehydrated, and I haven’t bothered to drink water either.
Self care took a back seat to preservation.
Professor Richardson looks at my rough appearance, nodding. I saw in the mirror how awful I look, but add to it the knowledge in his eyes, I feel shame that he knows about the article.
Does everyone think I wanted Colton, that I’m a homewrecker? It couldn’t be farther from the truth.
“For the record,” he says softly, “anyone with half a brain can see that the article is a manufactured narrative.”
Nodding wildly, I bite my tongue as my eyesight blurs with the threat of tears. I don’t want to cry anymore, not here where it’s viewed as weak, a representation of how I failed to protect myself.
“I know,” I whisper. It’s the only thing I can think of saying, because until this moment, I thought everyone would believe the article. It’s easier than questioning things.
“The administration is worried about you, and they want to find out who printed that article,” the professor continues. “The newspaper gets circulated to the entire school, not simply the high school.”
“Oh my god,” I mutter, remembering the little girl I saw earlier. “That’s just perfect.”
“It may mean that the newspaper gets canceled if we can’t find out who did this,” Professor Richardson explains. “Do you have any idea who could have done this?”
“A lot of people don’t like me,” I say softly. Talking is helping me to push myself through my tears of shame and frustration. “There’s a very long list that could be responsible.”
I refuse to point a finger at someone without proof, because it’s clear that the school is taking this seriously.
“Alright, I’ll harbor you until they find you, Miss Thomas,” Professor Richardson sighs. “Go grab a seat.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, finding a desk in the corner.
Students flood in, making sure they don’t piss off the professor because they spent too long talking outside of the room. He will close and lock the door on a whim if he can see you’re still yapping. The only reason I know this is because I overheard someone talking about it yesterday.
I haven’t been here to know the tea about all of the teachers, or all the important ins and outs of this school. While Liliana did help, there are some things I just have to learn for myself.
Jared walks into the classroom with a grin, his footsteps slowing as he sees me. Lowering my face to busy myself with organizing my iPad and keyboard, I ignore the fact that I don’t have my textbook with me and him. I just want to hide in my bubble for now.
Unfortunately, he can’t read the room, forcing the girl sitting next to me to switch seats with him.
“It’s a shame you prefer older men, little mouse,” he says, not knowing that Professor Richardson is glaring at him. “Did you beg for his cock, cry when he fucked you?”
God, he’s so damn cruel. My hands shake with anger, bile rising as I listen to him. My vision threatens to blacken as I listen to him, forcing me to ground myself the only way I know how. Digging my fingers into the cuts in my thigh, I savor the feeling of pain, forcing me to breathe. As long as I can keep the flow of oxygen moving in and out, I won’t pass out.
Even as panic and anxiety rides me hard, making me want to run and never stop.
“I bet you really like old men’s cock, don’t you?—”
“That will be enough of that!” Professor Richardson screams, picking up a book and slamming it onto his large desk.
Eyes wide, Jared turns to stare in surprise at him. “We were just having a friendly conversation, Professor,” he says. “The newspaper has to do its due diligence before it prints anything. Why wouldn’t I have questions after what they ran in this week’s paper?”
The innocence in his voice belies his words, and I’m slowly seeing a piece of the puzzle. I thought it was possible before, but I thought that Liliana was possibly working with the Kings. Her voice memo shows that not only is she not, but they definitely have it out for me.
Is my very existence that distasteful to them?
Jerking my fingers away from my thigh, I realize that I’ve opened a cut or two on my skin. The slow trickle of blood is sliding into the tops of my tights, which means I’m not yet making a mess.
“I understand your friend, Mr. Reyes, is on the Debate Club, but I don’t think he’s rubbed off his logic skills on you,” Professor Richardson growls. “No matter what time period this happened, Miss Thomas is sixteen, which means Colton Baal raped her.”
“Rape,” Jared says slowly, shaking his head. “That’s not what the article said.”
“Now I know you’re an idiot,” my statistics professor grunts.
Someone pokes her head into the room, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Miss Thomas, you’re here,” Mrs. Hartwell says, her shoes announcing her even if she chose not to speak. “We’ve all been looking for you.”
Wincing as I shift in my seat, I nod. “I’m right here,” I remind her as if I attended all of my classes today.
Professor Richardson hides a smile, his thumb rubbing his lips. “Indeed, she is. Do you need her, Mrs. Hartwell? I need to get my class started,” he says.
We are gaslighting people left and right apparently. It’s almost amusing to see the way Mrs. Hartwell startles.
“Oh, of course,” she says. “Miss Thomas, I’m sure Professor Richardson won’t mind you missing his class, considering what happened this morning. Am I correct in that assumption?”
Oh look, she’s learning. Putting my things away, I raise my brow at him, awaiting his answer. I know exactly who’s in charge in this classroom, and it isn’t Mrs. Hartwell.
“You are in this one,” Professor Richardson says with a smirk.
Standing, I take a breath to make sure my steps are steady. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink since breakfast, and I think it’s just one of many things hitting me hard. Walking across the room to the assistant principal, I attempt to ignore everyone else. Except, Jared is like a dog with a bone.
“Rachelle, is that true? Was it rape?” he asks with a growl, reaching out to grab my wrist.
Professor Richardson’s attention is pulled to Mrs. Hartwell, so he doesn’t notice what’s happening.
“Why does it matter now?” I ask dully. “I’m just the slut who looks for any cock she can bounce on, right?”
“If only that were true,” he mutters, releasing my wrist.
Twisting away, I walk to the assistant principal, following her to the administrative office.
“Mr. Lee is waiting for you in his office,” she says. “He’s aware of what happened today, and wants to get to the bottom of things.”
The last thing I currently want to do is sit in an office with a man, but I nod anyway. Everything has been decided without me, my words don’t matter in this space.
Mr. Lee is a tall, heavy set Irish man who waits as I enter his office. Mrs. Hartwell closes the door, which makes me twitch uncomfortably.
“I don’t bite, Miss Thomas,” he grumbles. “Please sit.”
I’ll be the judge of that.
Keeping my snarky inner monologue is starting to get difficult, simply because I’m grumpy and not feeling so hot. Sitting sounds like a good idea, actually.
Sitting on the edge of the chair, I squeeze my thighs together, hoping the blood will clot again. I can’t just patch myself up in front of the headmaster’s watchful gaze, so I hold my hands in my lap, all the while feeling the blood slide down my skin.
“I wanted to apologize on behalf of the school about this little stunt, however, I think it’s clear that this may not be the right place for you,” he begins, making my blood freeze in my veins.
“Excuse me?” I breathe.
“We have very strict moral clauses, and you broke every one of them,” he continues, beginning to pace as he glares down at me as if I did something wrong.
If they have these moral clauses, then I don’t believe they’re well enforced since I watched Jared get sucked off at lunch yesterday. There’s very little morality at this school, if at all. However, let’s please throw out the new girl when she’s the one who’s being victimized.
“I’ve done no such thing,” I interject. “The last time I checked, I did not participate in the sexual assault that Colton Baal is still in prison for.”
“Uh-uh,” the prick says, shaking his head. “Blaming the victim isn’t fair.”
I think my head is going to pop off and spin the fuck around. Is he serious right now?
“Your father has been called, but I didn’t explain everything that happened,” Mr. Lee says. “I figured I’d be a facilitator while you tell him the truth about how you’re a dirty little slut.”
I can’t fucking believe this. I’m panting for breaths that won’t come, so angry I can’t see straight, being pulled into a panic attack.
The door crashes open, making me gasp in fear, but it also interrupts my spiral. Emil stands at the door he just kicked open, almost appearing purple, a copy of the newspaper fisted in his head.
Oh fuck.
“I don’t believe that Colton Baal is the victim in this equation,” he growls. “Calling my stepdaughter a slut puts you into direct violation of your own fucking morality clause. Are you seriously going to expel a rape victim that’s been doxxed?”
“What?” Mr. Lee asks, struggling to follow the conversation.
“Catch up, come mierda ,” Emil says. All I understand there is ‘eat shit’, but the context is over my head. I may need to take Spanish lessons, at whatever school I end up at after this. “Rape, the act in which someone forced sexual intercourse on an unwilling participant. I looked up the case on my phone while I read this fabricated article, and she was fifteen when it happened.”
Ah, Mom definitely didn’t tell him about Colton, or at least not that part.
“It doesn’t state rape in the article,” Mr. Lee blusters as I sigh.
“Legally, I can’t consent in the state of Florida with that large of an age gap either way, but I definitely didn’t want anything to do with Colton,” I say softly, hammering another nail in Mr. Lee’s argument.
“This also isn’t the type of article that we, as parents, expect to see at Carlysle Prep,” my stepfather states, appearing apoplectic.
I wonder if it’s possible to be so angry that you have a heart attack…
“No, of course not, but we don’t know who approved it,” Mr. Lee says. “I had Miss Liliana in here earlier, and she explained that it wasn’t there when she approved the final version yesterday after lunch.”
“Miss Hailey is the teacher who is responsible for the newspaper, isn’t she?” I ask without thinking.
“Hold your tongue,” Mr. Lee growls at me, only for Emil to slam the door closed as he steps into the office.
“She absolutely will not,” Emil says. “Rachelle brings up a very good point. I want her fully investigated and then fired if she’s responsible.”
“We can’t just fire someone without proof,” Mr. Lee protests, making me roll my eyes.
This could be my out, I could take the expulsion and walk away, except I don’t think I want to. All I’ve been thinking about all day is leaving this godforsaken school.
But if I do, the Kings win.
“The way you are willing to toss me out of the school?” I ask the headmaster, raising my brow. “Is it because you have some kind of loyalty to your teachers and everyone else except me, the new girl?”
“That’s funny, considering the fact that you accepted my check for fifty thousand dollars to ensure her spot,” Emil says wryly.
Holy shit. Gaping at him probably isn’t a smart move when that amount of money is child’s play to him. Instead, I keep my lips tightly pressed together, not showing any emotion at all. Instead, I’m riding a roller coaster of feelings with high highs and very low lows.
It vaguely reminds me of when Mom had to put me in a mental health hold for seventy two hours, and I desperately don’t want to go back there.
“I think that fifty thousand dollars could be put to better use,” I say softly, waiting to see what Emil says.
“Wait, see here,” Mr. Lee says before my stepfather sharply nods.
“Rachelle and I need to talk and decide if your school is good enough for her,” he says haughtily. “At this time, it’s unsafe for her to remain here until you get to the bottom of this atrocity.”
Emil throws the newspaper in the headmaster’s face, who catches it while sputtering in exasperation.
“As for a better place for the donation to the school to the egregious breach of trust, I agree,” my stepfather continues. “I think it should be donated to sexual assault resource centers in Portland. I expect to see the receipt for the donation in my email by tomorrow afternoon, Archie. This is not a suggestion.”
“But sir,” Mr. Lee says, to no avail.
“Rachelle, I think it’s time to go home,” Emil interrupts him. “Let’s go.”
Thank God. Getting up this time is a little more difficult, my head swimming as I see several men in front of me instead of just two. Emil takes my backpack from me, glancing at me strangely as I force myself completely upright.
“I’m good,” I rasp, walking forward. “Definitely ready to go.”
“Miss Thomas, you have to understand the difficult position we’re in with the other parents if we allow you to stay,” Mr. Lee attempts yet again.
“Emil, you know most of the parents at the high school, right?” I ask, my hand fisted in my skirt, my nails digging into my palm.
As long as I make it out of the school without fainting, I’ll be good. Come on, Rachelle. Keep it together.
“I do, maybe I should make it a very specific point to make some calls,” Emil says, opening the door and walking me out of the office.
“This is absurd!” Mr. Lee yells, while we studiously ignore him, continuing into the hallway.
“He’s the absurd one,” Emil fumes. “How dare he speak to you like that. The secretary said they lost you for most of the day. Where did you go?”
“The tunnels,” I reply sluggishly. Fuck, this hallway feels so long.
“Smart,” he mutters. “Do you think that Liliana did this?”
“Initially? I did, because she kept telling me the newspaper was her domain and nothing passed without her say so,” I explain.
“Is Liliana flirting with you?” he asks incredulously.
Cheeks burning with blood flow I’m not sure I can spare, I shrug.
“Interesting, but you don’t think she did this anymore?” Emil asks.
Opening my mouth to respond, my legs fail me, buckling as my eyes roll back. I hear Emil roar as he catches me, my head falling over his arm as everything goes black.
Well, I tried to leave on my own two feet.
* * *
LILIANA
I’m in the hallway under the guise of going to the restroom when I watch Rachelle faint into Mr. Emil’s arms.
“Rachelle?” I ask, rushing forward. “Is that blood?”
Trying to juggle both the backpack and his stepdaughter’s body, he finally chooses to toss the bag to me once I’m close enough. Moving closer, I push her skirt up, showing him the blood.
“Why is she bleeding? Did she get her um…” Mr. Emil struggles to explain what it could be before I finally catch on.
“I don’t think this is her period,” I tell him. “She wouldn’t have passed out from it. Are those cuts?”
“This fucking school,” Mr. Emil growls, bursting into motion. “What is she cutting with? What’s in her bag?”
“They look like knife cuts,” I say guiltily. “I gave her one of my knives yesterday because it felt like she would need them for protection. I didn’t think she’d do this to herself. Some of these cuts are deep.”
“That was a nice thought,” Mr. Emil says, continuing to walk. “I’m not completely sure what her mental health background is like, because her mother and Rachelle don’t discuss it with me. I have a feeling my stepdaughter may be holding onto a lot of secrets.”
“Liliana, where are you going? I don’t believe you have permission to leave early,” Mrs. Hartwell calls out to us. “Nor do I believe that Mr. Emil can check you out.”
Turning while he walks, he allows the nosy assistant principal to see the way he’s carrying Rachelle.
“I will have Liliana’s father call to confirm that I do have permission, and there is also a note in her file that I’m her emergency contact,” Emil says. “I am currently having an emergency and I’m taking her with me. Have a wonderful day, Mrs. Hartwell. Thank you for policing the hallways oh so well.”
The words are sarcastic as he turns back to leave and I push open the heavy wooden door to the parking lot.
“I don’t have any medical shit in my SUV,” Mr. Emil growls. “Does she have anything in her bag?”
Opening it, I go through it, making a sound when I find gauze, wet wipes, and tape.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “You could say that.”
“I’ll have one of my men check her cuts when we get home, I think some liquid stitches will reseal her wounds. Fuck this place,” Mr. Emil grunts, pissed off.
“I swear I didn’t run that article,” I tell him softly as I follow him to his electric vehicle.
He bought it within weeks of getting married, my father told me. He wanted a safe vehicle for his new wife and her child. Apparently, Ignacio has never been fond of the idea of becoming part of a blended family. As an only child, he’s used to having all of the attention.
Too damn bad. As Mr. Emil clicks the button to raise the trunk door and lays her down on a blanket, I get to work with the items in her bag. I have no idea what I’m doing, yet even I can tell it needs to be cleaned, taped with gauze, and then pressure put on it with the special bandage that compressed around her leg.
“Not bad,” her stepfather mutters, picking her back up. “Get in the back seat with her, protect her head. No funny stuff.”
Just as I open my mouth to ask him what the hell he’s talking about because she’s unconscious , I see the smirk on his face.
“Very funny,” I tell him, watching the truck door close before getting into the back seat.
Helping Mr. Emil get Rachelle comfortable, her head rests in my lap while I run my fingers through her hair.
“You had a really bad fucking day, love,” I sigh.
“So you do like her,” Mr. Emil reiterates from the front seat, pulling his seat belt on before turning on the car.
“I think I liked her the second I saw her,” I admit. “Is she really going to go back to Carlysle Prep after all of this?”
“As soon as I know who is responsible for the article,” he says. “This can’t happen again. I’m going to stir up some outrage with parents too. It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to create chaos at that school. Otherwise, the rest is up to her.”
Nodding, I sigh as Mr. Emil drives to his house. A part of me wants Rachelle to show everyone that she’s fully capable of making a stand and shining at the school. I want to walk hand in hand with her, go to dances, show her the good parts of attending Carlysle Prep.
The other part of me has a feeling that the Kings are out for more blood than what’s already been spilled.
“Miss Hailey is the only one who could have amended the copies,” I say finally. She doesn’t deserve my respect or loyalty if this is what she’s capable of. “Someone must have forced her hand, but yesterday after lunch I checked on an error in the copy. That was the last update to my knowledge.”
“She’s young, hasn’t been teaching as long at the school. I think maybe three years if that,” he says softly. “If no one else is playing by the rules, then I suppose the gloves are off, aren’t they?”
My father works at a very high level in Mr. Emil’s organized crime organization as his right hand man. While they have a lot of legitimate business dealings, they are still very scary men.
“I think you’re right,” I say, looking down at Rachelle.
If her stepfather is willing to get his hands dirty, or send someone no one else knows, then I’m completely on board.
“Do you think your father would be willing to put a mask on and see what secrets she’s willing to spill?” Mr. Emil teases me.
I haven’t ever seen this side of my father’s boss. Most of the time, he’s very stern and scary.
“Being that the stunt could have gotten me also thrown out of school, I think he’d be all for it,” I say.
“Then we’ll consider it done,” he says.
As soon as we arrive back at the house, things blow up a little bit. Rachelle’s mother is panicked by the sight of her daughter’s pale, listless face, and Mr. Emil attempts to explain what happened as he carries her in. Julia’s eyes narrow on me as I walk into the house, and then dismisses me as he calls out for one of his men.
“I need you to get the liquid stitches and antiseptic, please,” he tells Tomas.
“Emil, what’s wrong?” Julia growls.
Damn, she’s one tough woman, but her husband simply sighs.
“How long has Rachelle been cutting, Julia? There was an incident at school that triggered it,” he explains as he lays his stepdaughter down on the couch.
Julia sinks down onto a love seat, eyes on her daughter.
“I don’t even know when it started,” she breathes. “Rachelle is very quiet, hardly tells me anything, Emil. Half the time, it’s hard to pull anything out of her.”
Tomas comes in to carefully clean up Rachelle’s legs, disinfecting the cuts and applying the liquid stitches. Mr. Emil covered her with a blanket before he started so she’d be properly concealed from Tomas’ gaze. I can only imagine how upset I would be at him seeing anymore than he should of Rachelle, Mr. Emil’s protective instincts may end up with his man in a body bag.
The beautiful girl on the couch is complicated, tortured, and I’ll be damned if the Kings break her. There’s so much spirit inside of her, too.
I know she doesn’t trust me, but I want to earn that and so much more.
Come on, baby. Show me those pretty blue-green eyes. Rachelle whimpers on the couch, blinking slowly before opening her eyes.
“What happened?” she whispers.
That’s so much more than I expected, and I whisper a few words of prayer up to the big guy. I don’t go to church anymore, but I’ll take all the help I can get right now.
Something tells me I’m going to need it.