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Peyton and Jack are whispering back and forth laughing as he jostles his shoulder gently against hers and rolls his eyes, like she’s impossibly tedious but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He smiles at her, and I until this very moment I don’t think I fully understood when someone spoke of a broken smile until I saw it cross his face. The right side of his mouth tilts up, hinting at a dimple in the center of his cheek, but his left side doesn’t follow suit, turning down at the edges like it’s more comfortable that way. He doesn’t look happy, but like he’s trying to be.
“Briar?” Gianna’s voice interrupts my thoughts and I swing my head to her where she’s drumming her fingertips on the tabletop having finished picking at her rabbit food that she dares to call a meal.
“So, spill! Which one of the guys here is slumming it down with the Darling Valley charity?” Her eyes are cunning as she stares down her nose at me and the way her teeth shine through her smile like she’s won something when Nash straightens in his seat, putting back the space between us.
I just stare at her. I stare at her until she starts squirming uncomfortably under my gaze, ignoring the glint in Blakely’s eyes and the intensity of Leo’s stare. I don’t look at questions written on Peyton’s face, the steely glare from Jack, or turn to see the Nash pick at the remainder of his meal. But I can feel it all. Why would she even think I’m fucking anyone here anyway? I barely know these people.
Gianna snaps, leaning forward in her seat “Come on. We know you are. Blakely says you leave your room almost every night and your phone buzzes constantly. Plus, everyone knows that girls of yourclasshave a particular set of skills that need maintaining”
Ex-fucking-cuse me? Myclass?The only skill I’ll be maintaining around here is when I pin this bitch up by her thumbs. The air around us becomes malevolent. The rage pulsating through my veins becoming a tangible thing.
Taking a few deep calming breaths to calm the fuck down, I drawl, “I have no intentions of wasting my time entertaining men who couldn’t get a girl off with an instruction manual. Best I continue to handle myself.” I shrug an indifference that I don’t feel because even though my words are true, I do have no intention of fucking any of this rich extremely hot, mouth-watering men, I’m not sure if that’s because I don’t want to or more about self-preservation. No distractions.
Leo chuckles and bites the corner of his lip. “Do youhandleyourself often?” Heat rushes into my face as I realise what I’ve actually announced. What am I even supposed to say to that? Like yes, but not lately because I’ve been forced into sharing a room with a prissy bitch who pops in at unannounced times and I don’t want to waste the water to touch myself in the shower. Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be an easy, carefree conversation. Or appropriate. Luckily, Blakley, for likely the only time ever, comes to my rescue with her sharp remarks.
“Got yourself a little criminal boyfriend back home, do you trash? Although, I can personally vouch for the skills of the men here.” She reaches her hand up and runs a painted nail down Leo’s chest. His eyes trail the movement before glancing up and hitting mine. She continues, “There aren’t many who’d entertain the idea of fucking the lower-class, better get your claws in before word spreads.”
Leo’s hand shoots up and covers hers as it reaches his belt, before roughly pulling it back and placing it on the table. His eyes remain on mine though, before he stands up and with a goodbye head nod that guys do in my direction and a quick squeeze of Peyton’s shoulder, he walks out of the dining hall. Jack and Nash follow suit without word, with the former reaching down and kissing Peyton’s cheek and Nash ruffling up her hair. I don’t realise I’ve watched them all the way to the door until Nash turns back and catches me staring. With a grin and a wink in my direction, he too is gone.
With the guys now firmly out of ear shot, Gianna and Blakely lose all pretense of civility, even as poorly maintained as early, and vicious sneers are once again aimed my way. At this point, I’m hoping the wind changes direction and it’s frozen in place.
“You don’t belong here. Don’t for one second think just because you are friends with the Vasiliev brat that holds any standing in this group.” I look to Peyton and see her eyes downcast, a crestfallen look taken over her face, so unlike the carefree girl I usually see.
“Your sad little life is never getting better.” Then her and Gianna are up and moving to another table, but not without Gianna throwing a patronizing look at Peyton. So much for her being friends with these girls, she might have known them for years, but I’d rather have no friends than friends who treated me that way.
I try not to show her just how much those words affect me, how close to home they hit. Because she’s right. My life isn’t going to get better, and there’s no way I can dig my way out of this eternal abyss I’ve found myself in. My last thought as my head hits the pillow that night is how loudly I’ve been screaming, and for years still no one has heard me.
Chapter Six
“Shouldn’t you wear a face hair net or something? Aren’t you worried about all that beard going in the food of the rich and spoilt, Sipho?” I bat my eyes at him innocently, but the look he gives me tells me I’ve hit my mark. He is definitely unimpressed with my antics today.
It's been a couple weeks since Blakely reminded of exactly who I am. Even so, I’ve suffered through a few more awkward dinners with Peyton. It’s abundantly clear that the girls here are nice to her when the boys are around, but when they’re gone so are their manners. Snot nosed brats. I wish she’d stand up for herself, and I don’t understand why she doesn’t, but I do, causing the rift between Blakely and I to go from an unbridgeable disparity to gapping chasm.
Other than class and the occasional dinners I’ve been subjected to, Peyton is off with the guys or practicing her dance routine for class. Between classes, studying, and maintaining friendships, along with placating Clarke, my time is heavily monopolized and the weight of it some mornings leave me breathless. Thankfully, Sipho has taken up to begrudgingly letting me eat breakfast in the kitchen with him and his staff. He’d never admit it, but I think I’m growing on the old grump, having worked ourselves into a routine where my go-to is awaiting my arrival on the seat across from his. Coffee and porridge.
Porridge is one of those nostalgia foods, the ones that make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside for no other reason than a nice memory associated with the smells or taste. For me, I have no memories as to why I love it so much, it certainly wasn’t served for breakfast in the group homes, but I get the fuzzies all the same.
After a moment of silence, Sipho lets out a deep chuckle before tossing me an apple and a takeaway mug into my hand.
“Alright, enough of you. Out of here, you pest.” He gives my back a light shove towards the kitchen door before turning back to his work. I look back, as the rest of the kitchen staff shuffle around listening to him bark orders and he goes back to the stove to start pouring batter on a pan.
I’m not paying attention as I walk through the doors and bump straight into a hard chest, splashing hot liquid all over myself. Someone up there hates me. It’s undeniable. Especially when I hear the soft rumble of curses that tells me exactly who I’ve bumped into even before I meet those all too familiar sea glass green eyes. Nash. He too is covered in what would have been my second cup for the morning. Unlike me though, Nash is also doused in the whip cream and caramel sauce.
“You know, normally it’s me getting the girls wet.” He chuckles at his own joke while I stand there and internally panic. Since dinner Blakely and her band of bitches have amped up their game, and I can’t help but wonder if that was set up by the guys or my presence at their dinner sent them into a tizzy. I’m used to the whispers and snickers that follow me down the halls, but my things have started to go missing only to show up days later ruined, and earlier in the week I returned to my whole bed soaked with, what I can only hope was, water.
It took over an hour for me to strip the bed and drag the mattress to the balcony on our floor to sun it out, and it didn’t fully dry for days. I wouldn’t have cared about sleeping on a couch under normal circumstances, it’s much better than some of the places I’ve spent the night before, but I mourned for the comforts this place affords me.
If word gets out that I’ve once again offended or damaged the precious golden god, the girls are going to crucify me. I just need a freaking break! Just one day, universe. One damned day.
I mutter out an apology before side stepping him and making my way back to my room. I have classes in fifteen minutes which should give me just enough time to get changed. I get exactly two steps before a hand shoots out and clasps on to mine, tugging me so I’m looking over my shoulder at him. His mouth is pursed like he’s annoyed about something, and his eyebrows furrow close together.
“Where are you going?”
I think about shrugging out of his hold and not answering him, but I really don’t want the added drama today. I sigh, loudly, letting him know that his unexpected need for conversation is the bane of my existence. “I need to get changed. I don’t want to go through the next few hours sticky and wet, and if I don’t get another coffee stat, I might just stab someone if they so much as side-eye me.”
He grins. He fucking grins and I swoon. Nash steps into my space, rubbing his thumb over where he’s still holding onto my hand. “I could use a coffee and I think you owe me.”
I barely refrain from telling him to fuck off but decide against it in favor of the fact that I just can’t today. I’ve barely slept over the last few days, and it has left me feeling all jittery. Instead, I drop his hand and do a vague gesture as permission to follow me to my dorm room. There’s a lot of eyes directed our way as I walk with Nash beside me. At first, I think it’s because our rivalry is well-known on campus, but when I see one of the boys wink and clap Nash on the shoulder, I realise they think I’m about to fuck him. No, not happening.
