“My sister is perfect. She is selfless, smart, and the kindest person I know. Joey is a sociopath. Don’t you ever forget it,” he whispers, and I feel the words on my skin.
He doesn't let me go. If anything, he pulls me closer, and I can feel the heat of his lips on my own. My face flushes. My legs are trembling, and he smells unbelievably good. Maybe all my time spent with the Jackal has damaged me permanently, because lusting after a guy who despises me so deeply must mean I’m irreparably broken.
“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 and just opens up 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, and 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 seeing Blaise altogether. If I could keep this up, I would have a great year.
I eat dinner by myself, reading theIliadfor Lit while I chew. I can zone the entire room out that way and get ahead with my homework for the weekend. I might even be able to take a day off and sleep for the whole day.
That would be incredible.
I make it to my room with no interruptions, and I grab my pajamas to head in to have a shower before bed. The group 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 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 school after gym. It was gross to think about now, but it was all I could do at the time. Once I got moved to the group house, showers were hot but on timers, so the water would shut off after two minutes. Still, it felt like a luxury to me 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 passover 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 and find it's not in the stall with me. 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 at 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 start in my chest, and I count backwards 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 or 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 the left side. I didn't need Avery seeing that and digging around in my past. I am 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 hip that I can't think about without triggering my PTSD, and then there's the two perfect circles on 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, and 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, don't cross my arms over my boobs.
