Chapter 6 #2
“Don't go to the party, Mounty.”
I roll my eyes, and he lets me go suddenly.
I slump back into my seat like a rag doll and try not to think about how hard my nipples are underneath my thin blouse.
I straighten up and roll my shoulders. I glance over to see the librarians eyeing us both, but they don't approach.
How easy life must be with Beaumont as your last name.
Ash looks completely unaffected as he opens his textbooks.
He's starting with history because he's a pompous brat who won't do anything I ask him to.
He's pulling out his notes when I finally snap.
“You know he tells people you're fucking Avery. He's told half the school that you four are having some big orgy every night, and someday he’ll be an uncle to a deformed, incestuous child.”
Ash stops and grins. I think it's the first true smile I've ever seen on him. Clearly, he has a twisted sense of humor if he finds that funny.
“And you believe him? Are you asking me if I'm fucking my own sister?” His voice is sultry and seductive and promises dark things. I swear he can see how hard my nipples are, so he's messing with me.
“No. I just thought you should know.”
Ash doesn't look up from his notes. “I'm well aware of the depths of Joey’s depravity. I do have to live with him occasionally.”
It’s hard to choose between the Beaumont boys. Which devil should I trust?
Neither of them is the obvious answer, but I have to make a decision on whether or not to go to the party. What’s the worst that can happen to me there? A lot of things, but how many of those could actually break me? Very little.
I feel like no matter what I choose, I'm going to get burned.
The rest of the week is so blissfully quiet that I should have known something was up.
Harley doesn't speak to me in class, Ash is quiet and studious during our library sessions, I barely see Avery, and I manage to completely avoid Blaise altogether. If I could keep this up, I would have a great year.
I eat dinner by myself, reading the Iliad for Lit while I chew. I can zone out the entire room that way and get a head start on my homework for the weekend. I might even be able to take some time off and sleep for the whole day.
That would be incredible.
I make it to my room with no interruptions, where I grab my pajamas to go and shower before bed.
The communal bathroom is empty, and I feel as though I've won the lottery.
I take my time washing my hair and shaving every inch of unwanted hair off until I'm feeling like a smooth goddess.
When I still lived with my mom, we never had hot water, so showers were rare and quick.
During winter, I'd only really shower at the school after gym class.
It was gross to think about now, but it was all I could do at the time.
Once I got moved to the group home, showers were hot but on timers, so the water would shut off after two minutes.
Still, it felt like a luxury to have those two minutes every day.
Most of the girls in my dorm shower twice a day and can easily spend twenty minutes under the hot spray. I find it shocking and wasteful, but none of them even realize the small luxuries they have.
After the fourth pass over my body with the soap, I know I'm just lingering to enjoy the warmth soaking through my skin into my bones.
I'm as clean as I'm ever going to get. I reach for my towel only to find it's not in the stall.
I frown because I'm pretty sure I brought it in with me, but I open the door anyway.
My bag is gone.
I have no towel, no clothes, absolutely nothing to dry myself with or to cover my naked body.
Fucking Avery, I think, but there's nothing I can do about it. I start to shiver now that I'm out of the heat of the water. This is bad.
I can feel tears prickling in the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to cry. Losing my clothes and having to walk back to my room naked isn't great, but I've survived worse. I can feel the panic rising in my chest, and I count backward from a hundred, in French, just to really keep my mind busy.
This isn't so bad. Foster care meant I was forced to shower around other girls all the time. It's practically the same thing, except the other girls will probably be standing around laughing. Oh god.
Cent, quatre-vingt-dix-neuf, quatre-vingt-dix-huit…
I’m not ashamed nor embarrassed by my body.
I used to be scrawny, too thin and lanky for my frame, but the months here at Hannaford have put some meat on my bones.
I have boobs for the first time in my life too, nice ones, and big enough that they hide the scars on my left side.
I don't need Avery seeing that and digging around in my past. I’m more than a little shy about how many scars I have.
My leg is mottled with red and white raised skin after all the operations to put it back together.
I have a burn on my lower back that I can't think about without triggering my PTSD, and then there are the two perfect circles on either side of my shoulder.
Bullet in, bullet out. Would these girls know what a healed bullet wound looks like? Would they question me about it?
Could I handle them asking without lashing out?
When I'm sure I won't cry or scream at these rich bitches, I open the bathroom door and start walking back to my room. It's maybe thirty steps, but I force myself not to run.
The giggling starts the second the door opens.
I don't look down at myself, I don't look over at the giggling to see which girls are watching, and I don't cross my arms over my boobs.
I hold my head high, looking straight ahead; fuck the lot of them.
The giggles sputter out. I'm not doing what they expect me to. I'm not crying or breaking down. I'm not screaming at them.
I make it to my door and find my bag sitting on the floor. I bend down to pick it up, and then I catch Avery’s eye as I straighten. She's not laughing or smiling. She's just watching me. Her eyes are cold on mine, and I think about how Ash described her.
She doesn't seem very kind to me.
I lock my door behind me and throw my clothes on with trembling hands.
It takes me a minute to realize Avery must have had the opportunity to case my room while I was in the shower if she had my bag and my key, so I rip the loose board up to check that my safe is still there untouched.
Once I’m sure it hasn’t been tampered with, I spend two hours pulling everything else apart in my room until I'm sure there isn't anything missing or a hidden camera planted.
That's all I need, that girl having a video of me drooling in my sleep or dancing around with my headphones in, listening to Blaise’s crooning. I shudder at the thought.
When I finally put my room back together, I climb between my sheets and do something utterly reckless and stupid.
I text Matteo.
I need something, anything, to remind me that I’m not some powerless little orphan from the Bay. That I matter outside of these walls. God, maybe I just need to hear from someone who gives a fuck about me and, in his own twisted way, Matteo does.
Do you remember when I drank for the first time and you told me I was too good for that kind of thing? I think I'm?
If I see Avery while I'm drinking, she may not walk out of it alive.
I told you that school was a bad idea. You could call in a favor. There are many people that would take care of your problems for you.
I could.
But I won't.