7. Helen
CHAPTER SEVEN
My first five years at St. Henry’s existed as some of the worst years of my life. Not always, but anytime I crossed paths with the spoiled brute. Going home to New York during holidays and summer break provided a reprieve from the beastly little boy haunting me at every turn.
Not even my family name protected me in that environment.
And my older brother certainly didn’t care, since what he considered minor teasing didn’t affect him directly.
The entire prestigious school brimmed with the children of crime families, mafias, and syndicates from all over the world.
The name Montgomery was one of many important names.
And it was a shark-eat-shark world.
Though my grades were above all others, Graham had the charisma to hijack the friendship of everyone in our year. From there, it was terribly easy for him to whisper in their ears.
Rumors about me spread from the mouth of the snakes, seeping into the school halls and dorms like venom through veins. None of them were particularly harmful rumors, I’d admit. Merely stupid things said by a little toe rag of a boy. But it kept me from making friends my entire first year.
Going home that summer was a relief. Mother took me to the office with her in between my private lessons.
That summer we went to visit family in France at a breath-taking villa, and I forgot about everything except for the good food in my belly, dozens of books at my fingertips, and sunshine on my skin.
16 YEARS AGO
Our second year at the private school commenced, and the first month went smoothly. None of my classes intersected with the little bastard, and there was some relief in that. However, when my birthday came around and my parents sent me a care package, I opened it in the library that night.
When I walked away from my favorite table in the back to grab a book off the shelves, the entire birthday package had been stolen.
New special edition books from my parents, special French chocolates from cousins, a bracelet from my mother and earrings from my dad.
I spent the night crying in my dorm, alone and miserable.
The next day during lunch, I saw Drake Graham at a table surrounded by his fans, sharing gourmet French chocolates. Our eyes locked across the room, and he winked at me. I gathered my things and fled before anyone could see the tears in my eyes.
That winter break, my family went to the Alps where I lost myself in snowy mountains and skiing in the bitter cold.
I drowned my sorrows in hot chocolate and warm evenings with my parents by the fire.
Mother continued my private lessons, slowly incorporating more tutors that didn’t teach a normal curriculum.
I enjoyed devouring information and basking in the praise of my tutors.
Arthur enjoyed the vacation but complained about upcoming classes at every opportunity.
15 YEARS AGO
My third year at St. Henry’s was Arthur’s last. He was more determined than ever to skive off classes and indulge in frivolity. He never backed me up during the teasing before. I certainly didn’t expect his help that year, either.
I turned fourteen sitting alone in my dorm, knowing Graham and all his friends were together having the time of their lives while I remained isolated. He’d made good on his threats of getting revenge for some childhood grudge. It was immature and volatile.
Drake Graham shot up like a nasty weed that year.
He joined the rugby team, easily the star player even at his age.
He was a natural on the field, or so I heard.
I didn’t attend the games. Not when every chance he passed me in the halls, he knocked my books from my arms or flipped my notes from my hands.
When I’d scramble to the floor, hastily picking up my homework and assignments, he would laugh and so would his beastly friends. So, no games and no friends for me.
But that summer, Mother had a meeting in Spain and things turned in my favor.
14 YEARS AGO
Fourth year started with new students from Spain.
Brooke Rodriguez and her younger brother Thomas.
I’d spent a portion of the summer with the siblings.
Brooke and I had bonded over books, and she taught me ways to manage my curls.
For the first time in my life, I had a friend to gush and gossip with, someone to confide my fears and troubles in, and just enjoy being a young teenager with.
First day of classes, Brooke and Thomas flocked to my side.
With Thomas in a younger year, he quickly acclimated and found his own friends.
The first few weeks went better than any other school year before.
Brooke and I took more classes together than I thought I could handle, but with a friend at my side, the long hours and extra study sessions were worth it.
That year I turned fifteen with a friend, sharing a chocolate cake and a rom-com movie in my dorm. All night I smiled and laughed and felt grateful to have her at my side.
She convinced me to take fencing classes and every martial arts class available at school. That year on holidays I stayed behind in London with her, and we went shopping and explored the city, barely aware of the guards accompanying us.
Graham and his cronies didn’t go any easier on me, but having Brooke at my side helped more than words could express.
Even when his band of snakes spread more rumors through the school, she remained firmly by my side.
My first and only friend, my best friend.
She was fiery and bold, and an anchor to reality.
“You must stand up to him,” she’d tell me when he pushed my books from my hands in the corridors. “He’s an arrogant bully. Don’t let a boy like him bring you down. You are a Montgomery. One day, you will be more powerful than a queen.”
That summer Brooke joined me in the States. Our guards took us on a tour through New York, and I didn’t think about Drake Graham or his stupid biceps in his stupid rugby uniform. Not once. I focused on being a girl just living her life on the weekends.
But that summer, Mother and Father took me into their closed-door meetings. I heard things, and by the end of it, I saw things. Things that added up over the years until there was no denying the truth of my family. No denying the violence.
A memory resurfaced of my father beating a man when he accidentally walked into me. Kicked him half to death on the sidewalk and left him bleeding in the street. Unphased by the red pooling on the concrete, I took my father’s hand and continued walking.
And I couldn’t admit it then, not when I was young and still so na?ve, but there was a thrill in witnessing that power. Something sick and twisted grew in me, a bud at first, waiting for blood to spill on its roots to blossom into a crimson rose.
My tutors gushed to my parents about my success. I continued with fencing and martial arts. I trained when I wasn’t studying, sweating and muscles aching when I didn’t have my nose buried in books. And all the while, Brooke bolstered my confidence.
But when the fifth year at St. Henry’s started, I knew immediately that something was different with Drake Graham. I hated that I saw it, and I hated even more that I still had the heart to feel the barest hint of concern for the haunted dark circles around his eyes.
13 YEARS AGO
Red. Red. There was so much red. Why was there so much? When I looked at my hands, I still saw all of it. Under my nails, in the grooves of my palms, inked into the patterns of my fingerprints. At nights I scrubbed my hands, washing them over and over when dreams throttled me awake.
“Toughen up, son. This is our life. This is what we’ve trained you for,” Father said, patting my back as I spilled the contents of my stomach on the ground.
So much red. Why did people bleed so much when they died?
“It’ll be alright, Graham,” Julian said, pouring a generous amount from one of my dad’s stolen whiskey bottles into a plastic cup.
First party of the year back at St. Henry’s and my hands hadn’t stopped shaking since the summer.
Even during practices, the Coach wasn’t happy to see it.
Drinking from the bottles we nicked from Dad’s stash before the trip back to London helped.
Drinking eased the tremor in my hand when I remembered the blood.
“Just shut the fuck up, and keep pouring,” I barked back. He rolled his eyes, glancing around the packed dormitory. Acidic smoke clouded the air, alcohol tainted breaths between laughing fools, thumping music vibrated through the furniture and floors.
“Where’s Dougie?” he asked.
I shrugged, sinking deeper into an old, well-worn leather armchair. From the corner of the room, I had the vantage point over all exits, entrances, and all windows.
“Probably poorly groping some younger year in the hall closet.”
“I feel bad for the poor girl, then,” Julian joked, dutifully refilling my glass. “What about you? Any girl on your arm yet this year? A few of those blondes in the corner keep looking your way.”
“Nah, they’re looking at you.” My smirk faltered as my fingers painfully gripped the drink in my hand. “I haven’t had time yet. Coach is riding us too hard at practice, and my workload for classes has given me a full plate this term.”
Julian noticed my tense shoulders, clenched jaw, and the cup near bursting in my grasp. He might have reached out if we were any other young teenage boys trying to find comfort at a simple school party.
“Hey, Drake, I promise it’ll be alright.
” His voice stayed low, and I barely heard him over the music.
“What you had to do was no different from what half the dumb thugs here have to do or will have to do for their families.” He gestured at the other burly students, most of them older, already sporting and failing to hide that haunted look in their eyes.
A look that now stared back at me in the mirror.