Chapter 3 #2
“I believe we’ve spoken about the importance of personal space, Kaitlin,” he says kindly.
She bristles when he doesn’t jump to fall at her feet, exhaling sharply. Okay, so not arousal then, but rather calculation dressed as desire—she doesn’t want to bed our teacher, she wants to use her beauty as a weapon to get what she wants.
Manipulation at its finest.
If she wasn’t scowling at me with so much vitriol, as though I’m something disgusting she’s just stepped in, I’d applaud her.
I’m not against women using what God gave them to get what they want, but there is a very good chance this girl will never be my friend, so fuck her and her attempts at stealing the job I’ve wanted for all of sixty seconds.
I give myself a cursory glance, wondering what it is that has this girl feeling all kinds of threatened as she bristles at my mere presence.
‘Well, it certainly isn’t our outfit. Not unless hapless and homeless are in this season.’
Theres a new level of brutality being mocked by your own mind.
“You wouldn’t want me to be sad, would you?
” Kaitlin doesn’t even attempt to hide the honey-sweet lilt to her tone.
Hats off to her ballsy-ness. I contemplate whether the word ballsy-ness is actually a word and get distracted for a moment longer than I should as my brain tries to use it in a sentence.
Her next cutting remark is aimed directly at me.
“Poor and desperate—not the best traits for a teaching aid.”
‘This bitch wants cutting.’ And now all of my personalities are ready to teach little Miss Barbie some manners.
The urge to make her sad and watch her cry is a strong one, but I bite back the voice that likes to wreak havoc with what she considers the popular crowd, the incident from senior year with the jelly and the lawn gnome a grave reminder that not all my ideas are good ones.
Fluttering her store-bought eyelashes, she leans over and sighs theatrically up at our teacher. Even with heels, she isn’t quite as tall as Mr Crane, but out of the three of us, I have certainly pulled the short straw—if she edged two inches to the left, I would disappear completely.
“I believe Miss Winters and I were having a conversation,” Mr Crane adds tersely, and she hits me with a cutting glare that tickles my skin as though she’s just slapped me full pelt in the face.
‘Well done. Three minutes on campus and you’ve already made an enemy.’ My inner monologue chuckles at my expense.
If money and sexual suggestiveness are what are going to get me ahead here, I am shit out of luck.
My skills are limited to making ramen noodles stretch to two meals, mixing a tequila sunrise cocktail, and knowing everything there is to know about this twisted town that would be more at home in a Stephen King novel.
When your parents are tied to one of the worst mass cullings since the eighteenth-century witch trials, you realise knowing everything there is to know about the town is probably just considered a family history deep dive.
We don’t do holiday cards, we don’t celebrate Easter, but give us a mass religious reckoning—fuck yeah, that seems like our speed.
It helps to know what other secrets a town like this is trying to hide; it’s demoralising when you realise most of the secrets originate with some fucked up distant cousin who didn’t understand that murder wasn’t cool.
Gearing up for a fight, Kaitlin finds her second wind before I have a chance to delve into the craziness of my ancestors.
“My father donated the new stage in the auditorium this summer break; I bet he’d love to see me excelling here.
I deserve to be considered,” the faux Regina George snaps tersely, her voice grating against my ears like the monotonous sharp chiming of a piano key being fingered relentlessly.
She’s right about one thing: she deserves to be considered.
‘Yeah, for a strait jacket and some etiquette training.’
“It should go to a deserving pupil, not someone who has just rolled in from the streets. We should be upholding standards.” If side glances and mean girl words could kill, I’d be bleeding out on the kerb right now.
“I get it, you feel threatened; how about we dial back the needy little girl routine?” It takes a moment for me to register that the comment came from my lips.
Clearly trying to stifle a smile, Mr Crane says, “Names will be drawn in due time. Kaitlin.”
The award for most tenacious should go to this bitch as she opens her mouth to answer him back again. “But, you know…”
He doesn’t let her finish, and I for one am grateful for the reprise.
Clapping his hands together, decidedly done with the exchange as he steps to one side and glances across at me, Mr Crane has clearly had enough of all this.
My ghoulish curiosity wants to stoke the flames and see how much juice Kaitlin has left in her tank.
“Ebony. It was a pleasure.” He smiles warmly, shaking my hand.
“Kaitlin. Don’t follow me,” he snaps, his grin souring as he backs away with a hand raised, eyeing her warily as she gulps at the air to protest. Another teacher dragging a hand-painted sign in through the foyer calls his name, and Mr Crane turns and hurries to catch up to them, taking the steps two at a time.
Kaitlin turns to face me, her head whipping around exorcist-style and making me jump. Her soured expression and curled upper lip enough to make me take a step back. “Do you know who I am? I’m a Bravencourt, bitch. I run things around here.”
“Bravencourt bitch, I like it—suits you.” That earns me a glare and a huff from the girl practically frothing at the mouth.
Nice to know she’s easily wound up. That should come in handy.
“Don’t think you ain’t got shit coming for trying to upstage me.
That job is mine. I’ve worked too damn hard for too damn long to get to where I am.
” Her manicured finger stabs at my chest, and the world around us shrinks to nonexistence as I question her level of audacity.
I take a moment of clarity to decide whether she needs to be put in her place or not.
I had planned to wait at least a week before resorting to physical violence, but something about this girl has me ready to explode.
“If I wanted to upstage you, I would have lifted my shirt and shoved my tits in his face—that would have been more subtle than whatever the fuck that little show of yours was.”
“What the hell did you just say to me?” she bellows, lowering her voice mid-explosion and glancing around to see who can hear us.
“Oh, I’m sorry, let me paraphrase.” I smile, closing the space between us. Clearing my throat in preparation as her brows raise expectantly. “Go fuck yourself,” I titter jovially as though I’m complimenting her dress.
She gulps at the air in shock, eyes wide. The silence is blissful. Whatever drama Kaitlin is dragging around in that oversized Prada purse slung over her shoulder, I don’t want any part of it.
‘Behave.’ Caroline’s caution rings on a loop in my head, and that works to settle the rage building inside me.
The cold steel of my blade at my ankle begging to come out and play.
Growing up in the homes I had, it was necessary to state your claim sooner rather than later so as not to be taken advantage of.
The kill or be killed mentality was part and parcel in the group homes, and while I profess to be a lover at heart, I won’t hesitate to do what I need to do.
Inhaling a steadying breath, I tuck a curl of my long brown hair behind my ear and stand tall. My wary gaze meeting hers as we silently battle in a bid for dominance.
She looms over me in her stiletto heels, but I’ve fought men twice her size; at five-foot-four, I’ve had to find other ways to surprise an opponent. On this occasion, I wish I had kept my mouth shut.
“Full name,” she hisses, tapping the end of a pen against her pearly white teeth. It’s only now I’m noticing the clipboard with Student Council branded across it in her folded arms.
Fuck—she’s the welcoming committee. I’ve just pissed off the one person who will be telling me where I’m going to be living for this semester.
‘I hope you like the janitor’s closet. Really screwed the pooch on this one—couldn’t just let Daddy’s little princess have the win.’ That little voice mocks, and it takes everything in me not to groan.
Hardworking, rambunctious, and resilient are all well and good, but I much prefer the people here—especially those like my new friend Kaitlin here—think I’m unpredictable. I can work with that.
“Ebony Winters,” I repeat dryly, knowing full well she heard Mr Crane say my name just moments ago.
She trails the finger she poked me with down her clipboard list as I wonder how easily it would be to snap it at the knuckle.
“Ahhh. Okay, that makes sense.” She snorts with glee.
“Room twenty-four,” she states, I don’t know why it’s a funny number but her slick smile suggests it is as she holds up a wrought iron key with the corresponding number engraved into the attached bronze fob.
I wonder when the Hells Haven alumni will get with the times and opt for a card entry system like the rest of the world.
“The whores’ floor,” Kaitlin jibes as an afterthought as she drops the key into my hand and saunters off, hurrying when she gets closer to the entrance as she glares back at me over her shoulder.
I could chase after her, demand she repeat what she just said, and ram the key down her throat, but I don’t. Getting kicked out on my first day does nothing but prove to people like her that I shouldn’t be here.
‘Ten minutes ago, YOU didn’t think you should be here.’
I snort at the reminder, fighting the urge to run after Kaitlin and let out some of this pent-up frustration on her pretty face.
“Well, now I do,” I argue back as though having a conversation with myself isn’t a serious sign of mental illness or some leftover remnants of severe PTSD.
I wonder if the whore’s floor has an ensuite.