Chapter 13
thirteen
“Another rash of incidents on campus has left one senior student in NU Hospital’s ICU with severe burns. Omega Nu Epsilon member, Sutton Marris, is in critical condition. Beta Kappa Eta sophomore, Julien Ellery, has died due to severe intoxication at a fraternity party.”
Outside my textiles class, I overhear the Northview University news report on the hall television and balk. Trailing a sharp gaze over passing students, I wonder if any of them even listened to what was said. No one’s paying attention.
Julien didn’t drink. He told me that. More than once.
And they didn’t even mention the little wound in his chest. I don’t know what bullet holes look like, but I don’t think that’s what it was… I could be wrong.
Hands on my hips, I huff in outrage that no one’s looking into this.
This is the very reason I didn’t have friends. Not that I necessarily chose not to.
Get close enough to someone to share something personal…
And then they leave you forever.
Right there in the hallway, I slump to the tiled floor and cry. Not dramatic. Gutted. Like a toddler denied her favorite snack, but lonelier.
People skirt around me. No one stops. A few eye me uncomfortably before hustling away, shoving their backpacks up higher on their shoulders like shields from the emotions I’m emitting.
Who knew losing a friend could hurt so much? It’s like a betrayal of getting stabbed in the back. Only with a slightly duller blade.
I don’t give a shit about Aiden’s rules. I’m not going to class. It’s Friday, and I went to every class yesterday so he wouldn’t bother me. Now? Without even being allowed to get off to comfort myself? What’s the point?
May as well drop out.
Swiping at my face, I manage to make it back to my dorm room with blurry vision. Deep sobs shudder through my lungs while I stuff random clothes and toiletries I’ll need for the weekend into an overnight bag. I head out to my nondescript, basic car. White, like everyone else’s.
That’s the point.
If I blend in, no one looks too closely.
Getting hit on by guys in middle school and having the girls ostracize me for it?
My sisters calling me showy, dramatic, too much until it was easier to disappear?
Being simple turned into my armor. On the outside, when I had the energy, I became palatable.
Commercial. And what everyone else wanted. For me to fit in. Just like them.
Minimalism isn’t about taste; it’s my camouflage. I hide my things in plain mediums—neutral colors, tidy spaces, nothing that begs to be stared at. Because when I choose to stand out, it’s on my own terms.
And that makes every flash of color, every rebellion, mine.
When I go glam, that means I’m on a warpath. Or finally feel safe enough to be seen.
After an hour of punk and ska blasting loud enough to make me numb again, I park in front of my parents’ Mediterranean-style modern mansion.
It’s such a useless thing to feel so sorry for myself. But I do.
How dare Julien do this to me?
My brain circles with reasons why this is Aiden Cardell’s fault. I’m sure if I think about it for long enough, I’ll come up with a solid one.
“Asa?”
Mom’s voice rings through the house when I step inside. As I round the corner to the downstairs offices, she meets me in the foyer. “Oh. Hey, Ash! I thought you were your dad.”
She hurries forward and gives me a tight hug. “Adalyn’s working on floral arrangements, and we need his opinion.”
“Can I see?”
Her caramel-colored eyes scan me with uncertainty. “If you want to.” With a shrug, she leads me into the hall. “Didn’t think you liked that stuff.”
Lingering at the door to her office, I pause. Two of my older sisters snap with arguments about fabric swatches, flicking rapidly between samples on a metal ring to compare. Mom bounces over to the white leather settee by the back window wall and pats the seat next to her with a smack.
“Ash wants to see!”
Adalyn and Arilyn look up at me as if I were a roach crawling into their wedding cakes.
“Oh. Hey,” Adalyn says, unperturbed.
Jaw tight, I set my hands on my hips. “College is going well. I’m doing great.”
Arilyn studies her tablet, pointing out something to Adalyn. “That’s great. Hospitality management?”
“Interior design.”
Adalyn glances at me with a scowl. “Really? But you don’t ever decorate anything.”
In my head, I do.
“Ma!” Wyatt yells from the hall and swivels around the doorframe, flinging his backpack onto a nearby chair. “The chef said they’re out of those puffs I like. The ones with the shrimp and beef, too.”
Mom sighs. “We’ll get you some. Don’t worry.” She pops up from her seat, latches her arm around his waist, and aims toward the kitchen. With a sigh, I take her abandoned spot.
“Are you going to wear your hair down for the wedding, as I asked?” Adalyn starts with a pointed gaze at me.
“I’ll do whatever you tell me to,” I lie. I’m going to do whatever I want to, and she can bitch about it, but I won’t listen. “I mean…if I decide to go.”
“I swear to god, Ashlyn!” Both of my sisters yell at once until it’s indiscernible, and I laugh hardily.
Dad strolls by like he’s not hearing all the commotion in the room, and I sprint out to follow him.
“Hey, firecracker. What’s smoking?” he asks, tossing his corded arm over my shoulders. We enter his office, and he slyly closes the door behind us, drowning out my sisters’ annoying voices.
“Decided to hang here for the weekend,” I say as I plop onto one of the swiveling club chairs near the poker table in the back.
“You seem down.” He’s half paying attention. Mainly, he’s focused on tapping away at his phone.
“I made a friend.”
“That’s great! Hey, look at you! Getting all big at college. Your mom and I didn’t go, but you’re sharp as a whip, so it makes sense—”
“He died,” I interrupt before he gets too enthusiastic.
“Oh. Bummer. What happened?”
“I think he was murdered. Possibly by a guy dressed as a ringmaster of a circus. Or by some type of weird bullet.” Mainly to myself, I mutter, “Not poison. No?”
Now I have his full attention. He throws his white-suited legs up on the glass-top desk. No socks. Because does he ever wear them? “Murdered? Anyone from around here?”
“No. No family ties that I know of.”
He palms the sides of his blond hair, styling it back into perfect place as he contemplates what I told him. Slowly nodding, he lays his blue-eyed gaze on me and swallows hard. After a long beat of silence, he clears his throat. “You doing okay otherwise, like, uh…being careful...”
My shoulders stiffen. I understand what he means, but I’m giving him an out before I get homicidal. “With murder?” He doesn’t need to find out about Mutton…
“Come on, firecracker…you know what I’m talking about. Your mom took you to get birth control and all that—”
“Yes, Dad. I’m practically celibate now. Collect dicks on spikes and post them outside my dorm hall like Vlad the Impaler. Virgin the Repeller is what they call me. Patron Saint of Nope.” Standing, I shove off the chair and whip open the door. “Does that work for you?”
“Baby—”
“I’m not a baby!” I scream like I actually am one, then storm out.
Did I prove everyone’s point about how immature I am? Can’t be trusted with anything? Perhaps, but I’d hate to disappoint everyone and succeed.
When I reach my room, I toss my stuff onto the bed and stare at the curtains covering the patio doors. They always stay closed. But something urges me to pull them open, like peeling the scab off an old wound.
I know it’ll hurt. But I’m already drowning—may as well tie cinder blocks to my feet and sink the whole way.
Heart pounding in my ears, I rip the white sheers back and unlock the door, sliding it open and stepping out onto the small space that overlooks the backyard pools and gym.
Beyond the fence is a large myrtle tree that’s been there forever.
And beneath that are gravestones.
It’s where my soul is buried deep beneath the soot. Leaves cover the spots like a colorful blanket. Pretty dead things that rot into the ground.
I swipe away the tears and return to my room, shutting myself in again like it’ll keep the ghosts out.
The one with the lazy eye and sweaty palm is at it again. Same hand he’s grabbed my ass with a few times.
“If you want out of there early, you know exactly what to do, Ashlyn.”
His slurred voice seeps under the gap between the door of the closet and the kitchen. My feet are firmly planted on either side of the frame, fingers gripping the smooth brass doorknob with all my weight. Neal continues to jiggle it every so often, not letting up.
Usually, he goes away. I hear some of the other girls give him what he wants. They even act as if they like it. Flirt with him and all that.
Not me. Fuck him.
If I grab that butcher’s knife on the block just outside this door, I can use it as a weapon. Maybe snag his lighter from his pocket and set him and this place on fire.
“You want another day in there? Because this is how you’ll get one.”
The sick joke is that when Aiden can’t break free to visit, Neal’s my only choice for company. He talks at me as if he’s my age. That’s probably the creepiest thing about him.
And when I told my mom and dad that he was the worst counselor, they said he’s the founder’s son. There was no way he could be as bad as I hinted at.
“You’re just looking for another way out of here. But you can’t do that, firecracker. It’s either Crest, or juvenile detention. That’s jail.”
So I didn’t bother anymore.
Neal is feistier this year. Bolder in his assumptions about what I want and what experience I have.
I’m not from a broken home like most of these girls. My parents are wealthy. Good looking. Respectable members of their community. If I make a comment about abuse? No one believes me, saying I’m just overly dramatic. How could a rich girl with everything be traumatized?
And if I was, did it even count? Did it matter, when I had money, a family, and a future worth protecting more than me? I wasn’t a sob story.
Because rich girls aren’t supposed to hurt. Pain is supposed to bounce off money.
Eventually, I realized it wasn’t that they didn’t believe me.
They just didn’t care enough to do anything about it.
So now I’m stuck. Clinging to the doorknob to prevent myself from being molested by the big adult man on the other side.
“Fuck you! Go away!” I scream at the top of my lungs until my throat is raw.
But my body’s fear betrays me. My hands get slicker until I can’t hold on anymore.
Falling backward, I scramble into the corner as Neal flings the door wide open.
That’s when I spring. Nails first. Growling like a wildcat, I leap at his face, slashing, tearing, digging. One of his arms gathers my waist, and he curses at me, then throws me off him as I kick and spit and hit.
The moment I’m out, and he’s inside the closet, I slam the door on him and lock it, then sprint hard. Heart pounding against my ribs. Vision blurring. I make it through the side door and out into the woods. No shoes. Shorts. And it’s a chilly evening.
But I don’t stop.
Not until I trip over a large foot.
With the same fury, I unleash on the person in front of me. Wailing out sobs of terror and gripping skin, trying to dig in and make it hurt.
“Ssh! I got you. I’m here. Fuck! You’re like a fucking kitten from hell with those claws.”
Blinking back tears, I still tremble as Aiden throws me up against the wall behind the garden shed. The force yanks the air from my lungs.
And it’s comforting.
Not to have to breathe in Neal’s sweaty stench.
But my body still isn’t sure that it’s the boy I’ve gotten to know. He gathers my wrists and forces them above my head, his tall, lean figure pressing into mine.
I need it. The entire weight of it.
It’s what allows me to forget.
“It’s me, baby girl. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
“Aiden?”
“Yeah… It’s dark. But I’m here. You want to get out of here? Or do you need to keep fighting me to let it out?”
That’s when I lunge at him in an entirely different way. Desperately clinging to him with everything I have. Arms around his neck, teeth into his skin, legs around his waist. I just need more comfort.
The kind only he can give me. Because he’s the only one who gets me.
He breaks apart, only to grab my face and hold me still. The look in his eyes is terrifying.
I love it.
“It was Neal, wasn’t it?”
I nod. Already understanding what he’s planning to do.
And knowing I won’t stop him.