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“Fine, you line them up.” I demand, joining Rebel at the table where he starts to line up the shots, followed by the beer and Diesel's drink.
I pick up the first shot, it’s clear, and I put it up to my nose and give it a sniff. Vodka, starting the show off easy. I down the vodka and slam the shot glass on the table. The crowd starts to shoutdrink, drink, drinkwhile Rebel yells out one, holding a finger in the air.
“Two.” He shouts after I down the Jägermeister.
“Three…four…five.” I grasp the table after the fifth shot, it burns the whole way down, and I feel a warmth pooling in my stomach. Five was always my limit to start the night, but I need to push on. I haven’t looked his way, but I can feel Diesel’s eyes burning holes through me.
The crowd cheers as I manage to down something awfully sweet which must belong to the brunette. “Six.”
“Drink, drink, drink.” Is still being chanted around the room. The seventh goes down almost feeling lumpy, the beer a welcome relief to ease the burn in my throat. The last drink, I pull it to my lips and turn to face Diesel and slowly gulp down his drink and place the cup down on the table. “Now, I believe that was one month, boys.”
I hear one say they didn’t think I would be able to finish them off, another makes a comment about chundering when I leave here. And they are right, the alcohol sits in my stomach, threatening to come back up, yet I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me vomit.
I turn and make my way to the elevator and hit the button. The doors slide open straight away, and once inside, I turn and face the room. Rebel gives me a thumbs up, Diesel has vanished, and Cuyler winks at me.
When the doors fully close, I slide to the ground, the movement causing the alcohol to catch up to me and fast. I knew pushing past five was stupid. My head spins, and I wait for the movement to stop. As the doors pull open, I crawl out on my hands and knees, not having the strength to stand without help. I manage to crawl to the couch and pull myself up. I feel like a new-born foal getting used to its own legs as I stumble to the bathroom. I run my hands against the walls, looking for any sign of a light switch. Bingo, I flick the lights on and see a toilet stall directly in front of me. I manage to open the lid before everything comes up, not having dinner wouldn’t have helped with my situation.
***
The sound of a toilet flushing wakes me, my head pounds as the water flushes through the cistern. Last night rushes back through my mind, and I make a noise that resembles that of a strangled cat.
“Nice of you to join the land of the living.” Someone says, and my eyes flick open; my gaze travels up a toned pair of legs. I bite my lip and blink when I realise someone is naked standing above me. I look up instinctively to see who is towering over me, and I’m suddenly assaulted by balls, yes, real-life guy balls, when Diesel steps over me in nothing but a towel.
“Oh my god.” I screech, and five guys fly into the bathroom or step out of a shower to watch our exchange. I have barely seen two guys naked in my entire life, and now I’m surrounded by them. My brain scrambles to catch up to what is happening, surely this is reason enough to switch me into a female only dorm.
“See something you like?” Diesel asks, dropping his towel from his hand and stepping into a stall, not even shutting the door. I don’t know what comes over me; I get up from the floor and race behind him and shove him with all my might. He stumbles forward, using his arms to push back off the wall. The laughter and taunts I hear from the others sends me back to a time that I want to desperately forget. I’m lost in my head when he pins me to the wall–still naked. His large hand wraps around my throat, all eyes are on me, but no one helps.
“Do not ever touch me, do not look at me and never speak to me or…” his voice pure venom, his face void, he wants to send me running scared. Not again. I won’t allow myself to be the victim to make others feel better about themselves. The last time I allowed that to happen, I walked away with burns.
“Or what? You will tease me, bully me, lock me in a room, try and kill me because nothing you do will break me… nothing.” I try to scream at him, but with the pressure on my neck, it comes out softer.
“You will wish you were dead by the time I’m done with you.” I watch the way he looks at me, his tone serious, but he doesn’t yet realise that he can’t hurt me.
“I already do. So finish me off and do me a favour.” When he finally gets it, he lets go of my neck and lets me walk away. I turn my back on him until I reach the bathroom door.
“Oh… Diesel,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at him. He turns back to me at the sound of my voice. “This will be the last time I look and address you unless you provoke me, but I had to answer your question, I’m so not impressed.” I flick my gaze to his crotch and turn back and walk with my head held high into the temporary safety of my room, leaving behind the laughter this time not directed at me. A small victory for me. Especially when I was extremely impressed.
There was a mix up with my new uniforms, and I didn’t have enough to get me through the week. Every time we wear a uniform, it goes into a special laundry shoot. Our regular washing needs to be bagged and labelled but not school uniforms. They are sent to the laundry daily, and we get a week's worth delivered into the lobby every Sunday. Darla sent me an email yesterday, explaining I would have two more arrive today, and I had to get them from the lobby this morning at seven, and it’s now almost eight. My head is thumping, and my blood pressure is through the roof after my run in with Diesel.
Just as I was told, my uniforms are hanging on a portable rack in clothes bags with my name on them. I see one with Cuyler’s name and grab it too; I may as well take it up with me. The lobby has two elevators, the one on the right opens once I push the buttons, and I head back upstairs. I step out into the living area, and no one seems to be around. I lay Cuyler’s garment bag on the kitchen counter and head back into my room.
A few things happen when I open the door, everything on my desk has been swiped onto the floor, the clock on my desk warns me that I should have left here five minutes ago, and now I will be late for breakfast, and I’m not even dressed yet.
I have no time to clean the mess, so I throw on a uniform and throw my hair up into a ponytail. I have no time to shower, so it’s vomit-eau-de-toilette today. I spray on as much of my perfume as I can to cover the smell, grab my laptop bag, and stop dead in my tracks when I see Zeke's photo smashed on the floor. I bend down and shake the glass from the frame, my hands tremble as rage fills my body and tears spring to my eyes. I don’t care what he does to me or my things but touching a reminder of Zeke is going too far, especially when this is the frame he gave me the day before he died. I fall to my knees in a pile of shattered glass, the pain a welcome relief. I clutch the photo to my chest as tears stream down my face and remind myself that I deserve this pain. It’s my fault, he was home safe, going to bed, and I had to be selfish and expect him to be at my side anytime I was in trouble.
I put the broken frame into my bag and storm back into the living area, looking around the room. It seems everyone left. I double check the bathroom, and no one is in there either. How is that even possible when they were just here.
I manage to make it to breakfast with a few minutes to spare. I walk through the automatic doors into the cafeteria with steam coming from my ears, and it’s alive with activity, groups of students lining up, or sitting at tables. I look around, taking in how modern the room looks: fresh white walls, long trestle table style seating and smaller round tables. At the front is a buffet style setting filled with all types of hot breakfast foods, and along the side wall is a coffee station and a cereal wall. Thanks to one tall dark douche throwing a tantrum last night, I didn’t have any dinner, besides the alcohol, if that even counts. Lining up, I load my plate full of bacon, scrambled eggs, and English muffins, finishing with an orange juice. All food is included in the price tag, which, depending on class selections, is over five grand a week. I almost died when I read the yearly fees in the welcome packet on the plane.
Looking around, I spot them dead centre of the room, it must be their table. Figures guys like that would want to be the centre of attention. But what strikes me as odd is all the tall, leggy blondes at their table, as if blonde bimbo is a requirement to sit with them. So glad I don’t fit that mould. My dark brown hair has slight caramel brown highlights in the ends. I’m not exactly a Barbie knock off, but I’m far from ugly. I think my lips are a bit large for my face, very full and a natural red colour, and if I had to choose, I would say my best feature would be my eyes, a blue that makes them look grey. I know Diesel noticed me walking in and is ignoring me which is fine by me. Douche by association is not a title I want. Going unnoticed for the school year suits me fine, being popular got me nowhere at my last school after Zeke died.
I hold my head high and gravitate towards them. I know he can see me even though everyone at the table ignores my presence. I rip the frame from my bag and slap it down in front of Diesel, audible gasps come from where the girls were standing. Like a bunch of sheep, they all wait for their leader for direction, but he doesn’t move nor look up at me, so I lean in closer.
“You want to destroy my shit fine, but you fuck with this.” I point to the photo. “You will wish you never met me. You think you and your friends scare me, you don’t.” I spit. “Are you some kind of fucking monster? He is off limits.” I realise I’m yelling and have drawn the attention of the whole cafeteria. Diesel pushes his chair out and stands to his full height. We’re chest to chest, or more like face to shoulders, but whatever. His composure is almost beautiful.
“A monster is exactly what I am. I eat girls like you for breakfast. Threaten me again, little creature, and I will take you down where you stand.” His look is a deadly weapon. His intimidation must hold weight here. Yet I didn’t get the memo.
I stand on my tippy toes with a smile on my lips. “Your violence will only excite me. You declared war, baby, and I hope you’re ready to follow through on your threat.” I turn on my toes and go to walk away, but a searing pain radiates through my head, and it takes a second for my mind to catch up to what is happening as my body is slammed backwards, and my hair is wrapped around his fist. My heart beats wildly in my chest, and I smirk at myself. I have been in zombie mode for so long that I had almost forgotten what feeling anything other than self-hatred was like.
