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“I’m sorry, girl.” A single tear rolls down my cheek – the third tear I’ve shed in as many weeks. It’s disgusting. I give in to this one indulgence and allow it to fall, splashing against my chest and rolling off the end of my nipple. I wipe my eyes before the next tear can fall, pressing my fists into my sockets, pushing the pain back inside, where it belongs.
I lower my hands. My gaze catches my reflection in the mirror over my dressing table. Mackenzie Malloy stares back at me, her jaw set with determination. Haughty defiance burns in her eyes.
Bring it on, bitches.
My mask in place, my armor protecting me, I climb out of bed and prepare to face Stonehurst Prep.
School is just as horrible as I expect it to be.
But I get through it. Minute by minute, hour by hour. I stare straight ahead in class, trying to tune out the whispers, the laughter, the disgusting sexual advances lobbed at me. My locker is plastered with printed photographs from the night – me, kissing Gabriel beside the pool, struggling with him in the water like a siren possessed. Me, pressed up against Noah, my hand in his crotch, my face buried in his hair.
Gabriel. Fuck. I can’t even look him in the eye. He kissed me, and I…
The double standard grinds my gears. Noah was the one hard for me. He started this shit, and yet he holds court like a king while I bear the brunt of their cruelty.
Classes crawl along at a snail’s pace, but at least under the eyes of the teachers, I have some safety. I debate skipping lunch altogether, but I know my absence will be noted. I know Noah will count it as his victory.
Something hits my hair while I’m waiting in line for lunch. I keep my eyes fixed ahead, raising my hand to touch something slimy dripping down my hair. Out of the corner of my eye, Eli gets up from the royal table and strides toward me.
I can’t deal with him today. I step out of the line and circle back toward the door. I slam my elbow into a weedy-looking guy loitering beside the condiment stand. When he turns in surprise, I grab his tray out of his hands and make a run for it.
“Hey, that’s my lunch, you crazy bitch.”
The laughter swirls around me like a tornado. I don’t stop, don’t look. No one touches me or accosts me. I run until I reach the bathroom, and I slam the stall door shut and lean against it, the tray wobbling in my shaking hands.
I’ve just about got my racing heart back to normal when the bathroom door swings open, and a clan of hyenas enters, cackling and baying for blood. They crowd around my stall, beating their fists against the walls. The lock rattles.
Faces pop over the top of the stall. “That’s her,” Cleo sneers. “I told you she eats in here. What a loser.”
Something hits my cheek. Wet, wadded up toilet paper. The cackling rises an octave. It pounds in my ears, and for the first time since I woke up to find myself trapped in a coffin, I long for silence.
I swipe at Cleo’s face with my nails, but she’s too fast. I’m trapped. “Grab the bins,” she says.
Fuck no.
I throw my hands up to cover my head as a cascade of waste and filth topple over the sides of the stall. Wadded toilet paper, used sanitary pads and pill packets bounce off and pile up around me. Their fists drum a relentless beat as they empty the contents of the bins over the stall, over my head.
Mackenzie
I wait in the stall, numb, surrounded by stinking trash, until the bell rings, until they leave, their laughter echoing down the hall. I wait until I’m sure I’m alone.
Alone.
I wrap my fist in one of the fluffy towels, smash one of the high windows in the bathroom, and crawl outside. The freshmen have gym class, so the playing fields are filled with students. I duck behind the trees as I make my way to the front gate. I don’t want them to see.
I can’t face the bus, so I walk up to Harrington Hills. The sun beats down on me, mingling sweat with my already disgusting scent. People cross the street to avoid me. Every stomp of my shoes against the pavement drives home the undeniable truth.
I don’t belong here.
The walk takes over an hour, but finally, I see the tower of the manor’s third story peeking between the tops of the jacaranda trees, the breeze blowing up from the ocean making the purple blooms dance in fairy-tale reverie. I duck into the wooded area and head for the door of the maintenance shed, digging in my pocket for the key. I know as soon as my hand rests on the door that something’s wrong.
I locked the door when I left this morning.
I always lock the door.
Yet it swings open at my touch, revealing the rows of machinery that operate the car lift and other features of the house.
Shit.
