Chapter 12
Twelve
Astrid
That night I had the dream... the awful recurring dream that had plagued me for years. I hadn't had it in a while, though, so long that I thought it had finally been banished from my subconscious.
To my horror, it came roaring back, never truly gone, just hidden beneath the surface.
It always started the same way, with the smell, the smell of wealth and snobbery—expensive perfumes and colognes mixed with freshly waxed floors.
And then, the wrought-iron gates of St. Lucius Prep, otherwise known as hell, would appear, stark and ominous looking against the backdrop of Manhattan's skyline.
I entered the gates and climbed the few steps into the imposing gray building, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach as I remembered all the times my classmates had insulted me over the years for being fat.
It'd started at a young age, kids pointing when I'd tried the monkey bars and my shirt had ridden up to expose my stomach. And then during PE when I couldn't keep up during tag and other games, always getting picked last.
And it'd only gotten worse, puberty being absolute torture as my breasts grew and grew and grew. The snickers of laughter became mixed with sly looks of lust as boys began to notice my chest. As just a girl, I hadn't known how to reconcile the two—the hatred along with the desire.
Heck, even as a grown woman, I still didn't know how to navigate the shitty minds that men tried so hard to hide.
But this particular day of my senior year, the looks were less guarded as I opened the doors and stepped through into the marble foyer, the whispers starting immediately, some kids outright pointing at me and laughing.
God, what fresh hell was this? Did I have cream cheese on my chin? Was toilet paper stuck on my shoe?
Stealthily, I wiped at my face and glanced down, all uniform buttons closed, shirt tucked properly, nothing being dragged by my boots.
There was another ripple of laughter as I looked back up, noticing boys nudging each other by the lockers and girls clasping their hands over their mouths, cheeks pink with suppressed mirth.
And that's when I saw it. An image that would never be erased from my brain.
A poster was plastered on the bulletin board next to the library. And it was me. Blown up. Closing in on my face as I was about to bite into a huge sandwich.
Everything about it was horrible, the angle totally unflattering and emphasizing my double chin, my cheeks full, my mouth wide open, making me look like an animal stuffing itself full of food.
But it wasn't just my face.
Someone had drawn my face onto the body of a big old cow, with the words "Got Milk?" scrawled underneath.
I tore my horrified eyes away from the nightmare-ish poster, only to find another one nearby. And another. And another.
They were everywhere, so many I couldn't fathom how this was even possible.
My stomach churned. My chest twisted. I thought I would die right there on the spot. I hoped I would die actually. That would be the only way to end this misery.
One foot moved, everyone still staring at me as I slowly managed to walk toward the poster and tear it down with shaky hands. But it was useless. Because there was another only two feet away. And then another inches beyond that one.
My God. How could anyone hate me this much? What had I ever done to them?
And that's when I heard it. The first moo.
The boys' rowing team stood in a cluster by the grand staircase, some of them cupping their hands around their mouths as they let loose with the cow noises, exaggerating the sound and drawing it out as I passed by.
"Mooooooo."
Tears burned at my eyes, and I tried with all that was left of my shattered heart, body, and soul to keep them at bay. The last thing I needed to do was exacerbate the situation and let them all see me cry.
I spotted him by his locker, which was right near mine. He was standing there alone, and for some unknown reason, my eyes drifted to his, hoping to see what, I didn't know. Sympathy. Horror. Some kind of reaction.
Part of me had always hoped he'd be like the popular guy in a movie who suddenly grows a conscience and tells everyone off for bullying the fat girl. No one could be this cruel.
But I was wrong. Because he didn't have a sudden change of heart. He didn't go around in a rage and tear down posters, yelling at all of his cronies for being assholes. He didn't come to my defense, not even a little.
All he did was look at me. His eyes—cold, emotionless, like I wasn't even there—locked onto mine. There was nothing in them. No apology. No remorse. Just... nothing. And in that moment, I knew. He had to be the one behind all of this.
Who else at St. Lucius would dare do something this big, this in-your-face, this much of a fuck you to me and the entire system? It had to be the most popular guy in school. Only he would attempt this.
And then, the confirmation came. My eyes drifted to his open locker behind him.
A huge stack of the horrific posters sat there, so many they spilled out onto the floor, one zigzagging back and forth in slow motion as it floated down.
His eyes followed mine, but there was no reaction. Nothing but indifference. He didn't care.
He didn't care that my entire world had just been torn completely apart and he was the one responsible for it all.
A hand on my wrist startled me into turning away from him, nails digging into my skin. I whirled around to find my friend Kayla standing there, her face stricken.
"Oh, my God," she whispered in horror. "He's the mastermind behind all this?"
I couldn't speak, the lump in my throat strangling me.
Her other hand on my back tried to steer me away, but I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't anything. Ripping my wrist from her grasp, I ran away, ignoring the looks, the laughter, the posters streaming past me, even the teachers who had started to tear them down.
And I didn't stop until I burst through the side exit into the cold winter air, my hands gripping the fence like a prisoner begging to escape.
I woke up gasping for air, my pillow damp with sweat, my heart still racing. I gulped in lungfuls of oxygen, my fingers curled into my sheets like I was trying to rip down posters.
It took minutes for me to return to present day Manhattan.
I'm safe. I'm home. And I'm not that seventeen-year-old girl anymore.
And yet, I could still hear their laughter ringing in my ears. I could still see Tristan Hawthorne standing in front of his locker, his eyes looking right through me, burning me even though I was already on fire.
It'd been years since I'd had that dream, years since I'd even thought about that day that had changed everything for me and ruined my senior year of high school, not to mention how it'd left me raw for years after.
My parents had offered to let me finish out the school year with a private tutor at home, but something inside me had declined that kind gesture, with only half a year left at St. Lucius. I'd miraculously stuck it out, leaning hard on my tiny group of friends, most especially Kayla.
A nanny I'd had years ago had told me that in times of despair to always look for the good people, the helpers, the ones who tried to make the world a better place.
And that had been the best advice to cling onto because there were a few who had stuck by me, including a sympathetic teacher who had tried her hardest to stop the constant whispers and laughter and bullying that followed.
She'd been the one who'd marched Tristan to the principal's office. She'd been the one to insist that he be expelled.
And he had been.
Miraculously, the school had taken my side. It didn't hurt to have a billionaire for a father, or a mother who'd donated a ridiculous amount of money to St. Lucius over the years my sisters and I had been there.
But the biggest shocker was... Tristan Hawthorne had actually confessed to everything.
I would have thought he'd fight it, never admit anything, and bring in the power of his family to keep from being expelled. But he'd done none of those things.
He hadn't been exactly apologetic to me. He'd simply disappeared without a word to anyone. Which I'd been secretly glad about.
Well, not exactly glad. It took a long time for any words associated with happiness to even enter my realm of existence. For months after that beyond humiliating experience, I'd traveled through the daily grind of my life as a hollow shell of myself.
And two of Tristan's cronies, a couple named Preston and Sloane, had taken up the mantle of his bullying, slyly and under the radar of course, in subtle whispers and quiet moos whenever I had the misfortune to pass them in the hallway or cafeteria, making my life a living hell.
I never went to the authorities about them or any of the multitude of others who joined in, and I made Kayla promise not to say anything either. There was no point.
What would I do? Have the entire rest of the school expelled?
Sure, I was fortunate to have parents that would stand up for me, but let's be honest here. The only reason the school had come down on my side was money. And that was it.
If my family hadn't been the Stratton family? Well, Tristan would have received a simple slap on his wrist and finished out his senior year, celebrating his graduation along with the rest of our class.
Although he hadn't been there physically, the spirit of his horrendous bullying lived on, and his friends made sure I never forgot it.
Everyone hated me even more because I'd been responsible for getting St. Lucius' most popular senior, the one the whole school idolized, expelled.
Even though he'd done it to himself, damn it.
With a heavy sigh, I tried to let it all go. That had been the past, and it was all behind me.
And now? Game on, Tristan Hawthorne. It's time to pay.