Beautiful Hell: A Contemporary High School Bully Romance Read online

  For two weeks I’ve been dragging my feet, popping pills whenever a twinge hits my ankle. Every promise I’ve made myself since the hospital has gone to shit. I can’t even be honest with myself and admit that I’ve got a problem. The appeal of total numbness is far too powerful. It’s impossible for me to ignore it.

  I walk down the hallway, bag on my shoulder, as I mentally prepare myself for class. Elias played a big part in my off-the-wagon fall. Stop lying to yourself. He’s a convenient reason. A trigger, at best. I’ll see him and Giselle in just a few moments, tongue-wrestling outside the classroom.

  “And there they are…” I mutter to myself, taking deep breaths as I try not to relive that kiss. It didn’t even play out the way I’d hoped. To this day, I don’t know what got into me when I moved towards Elias. When I kissed him. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t do it all over again.

  My god, his hand between my legs…

  The dark look in his eyes as he almost ripped an orgasm out of me. I’m wet again. Dammit. It happens every time I think about him, now. The sensations linger in my core, humming, buzzing and making me vibrate. The taste of him on my lips. The possessiveness with which he took hold of me and commanded my body. I can only imagine what he’d be like, if we went all the way.

  We won’t. The mere acceptance of the fact makes my heart ache in new and troubling ways. No wonder I find comfort in Oxy. It’s the only thing that makes me focus and function at a bare minimum in society.

  Fucking bastard.

  I should hate him.

  As I walk towards the classroom and I see him giggling with Giselle, one hand resting on her ass, I urge myself to hate him.

  He looks up, and my heart jumps into my throat. I should ignore them both, like I’ve ignored them for the past two weeks. But I can’t look away. The hand he’s got on her ass is the hand he used to…

  “Well, if it isn’t the former prima ballerina,” Giselle says, glancing at me over her shoulder.

  Fortunately for her, there isn’t a blunt object handy. Lorna chuckles. “You’re looking worse every day, girl.”

  “Says the pathetic third wheel,” I mutter, determined to get into class before the pot boils over. I’m inches from strangling someone, simply because of how naked and vulnerable I feel whenever Elias looks my way. It’s like he knows my deepest, darkest secret—he kind of does, if I think about it.

  “Don’t be jealous, Kira. It’s not a good look on you. Green is so last season,” Giselle replies, leaning into Elias. He’s expertly ignoring me. I can’t help but appreciate it. I don’t have the energy to deal with him, too.

  “If I were you, I’d focus more on those academic achievements. You’re of use to no one, particularly Julliard, with an abysmal GPA,” I tell Giselle, clearly touching a nerve.

  Her face sours and she tilts her head to Elias for backup, but gets no response. “At least I’ve got something to work for,” she hisses. “Unlike you. What have you got, Kira? Pain meds and the prospect of a career selling townhouses in New Jersey?”

  My eyes shoot to Elias, but he gives me just as little attention as he gives to Giselle. The fucking bastard. How much has he told her?

  For the first time, I find myself taking pride in what my father does. It’s my only line of defense in this particular conversation. There’s no way I’m letting this bitch make everything worse.

  “Fowler & Malone control forty percent of the real estate market in the state,” I say flatly. “I live in a mansion with a pool, overlooking Hampton Heights, Giselle. We’re doing alright. All my choices involve a different kind of success, but success nonetheless. All you have is your parents’ stale approval and the money they’re willing to pump into donations in order to get you in schools that wouldn’t accept you otherwise.”

  Giselle gasps. Lorna is speechless. Even Elias is staring at me.

  “I know. That came out in more words than I’d thought,” I continue, flipping the three of them off. “Anyway, fuck you. And Elias, maybe you should be a little more honest with your whore.”

  I’m about to set foot into the classroom, when I’m yanked back with brutal force. I catch a glimpse of an astonished Giselle and a horrified Lorna, as I’m thrown against the wall. The air gets knocked out of my lungs. Elias pins me against the hard surface, his forearm pressing into my throat, making it harder for me to breathe. Lower, his hips are right up against me and I’m not sure what’s worse, the fact that he could choke me out at any moment now, or the fact that maybe I’d like it.

  Pathetic little thing that I am, I lick my lips at him. He presses harder, taking away any lick of pleasure that might have come with the way his hips are tight against me.

  “You might wanna watch your mouth, Kira.” It’s not a dare, it’s a threat. Still, I’ve never been one to respond well to threats.

  “You’re not wrong,” I manage to say, croaking and gasping for air. Every muscle in my body is turned to stone, as tension blows through me, gradually dissolving into fiery anger.

  I’m in a bad spot here. If I let Elias subdue me, I’ll be the laughing stock of the school. If I fight him, it might stain my record. But do I need a school record for Julliard anymore? It’s the end of September. I don’t think I have what it takes to try The Nutcracker again.

  Why the fuck am I thinking about ballet while Elias is trying to choke me out of consciousness?!

  “Here’s… Here’s the thing, Elias,” I say through gritted teeth, both hands gripping his forearm so hard, my nails dig into his skin, piercing it and drawing blood. He’s got an impressive pain threshold, I’ll give him that. He doesn’t bat an eye. “You don’t want to bully me here… because I’ve grown a lot since the last time you tried something like this.”

  “Oh, really? Because from where I’m standing, I’ve got you right where I want you,” Elias replies. I can almost hear his rampant heartbeats. The fact that he’s hard as steel doesn’t make it any better. I doubt anyone around us understands what’s truly happening here. Giselle’s head would explode if I told her everything about what Elias and I have put each other through.

  “Yeah, but your balls are open,” I shoot back.

  As soon as the realization seeps into his expression, I kick as hard as I can. He coughs and jumps back, letting me go, but it’s too late. I nailed him. He’s red-faced and sweaty by the time my vision clears, with Giselle trying to comfort him.

  “I told you, Elias. I told you I didn’t want us to do this anymore,” I say to him, my voice raspy, my throat tender. “Yet you continue to provoke me, just so you can score some points with a trashy third-rate ballerina whose sole joy in life is to put other people down. If it’s a war you want, Elias, I’ll give it to you. I’m not twelve anymore.”

  “Fuck off, Kira!” Giselle cries out, looking as though it was her crotch I assaulted, not his. “You’re a friggin’ animal!”

  “Says the girlfriend of the asshole who nearly crushed my windpipe,” I reply and flip them off again. “Leave me alone, because I’m not angling for Julliard anymore. I have no reason to keep my record clean. I will burn you all, if I have to.”

  Walking into class, I find myself ogled by a sea of shocked students. My guess is they’ve heard most of what went on outside, since the door is wide open. Elias coughs and wheezes in the hallway, struggling to recover. If there’s one thing I appreciate my father teaching me, it’s the crotch hit. It never fails. Unlucky for Elias, he seems to be a bit forgetful.

  I’m shaking like a leaf, but there is an odd sense of satisfaction making its presence felt through me. For his sake, I hope I didn’t break his cock when I kicked him. I can’t help but smile as I walk over to my desk and settle in, pulling a couple of course books out of my bag. Lorna says something to Giselle outside, who then flips out at her: “Don’t you have class?!”

  “So do you!” Lorna replies.

  My guess is that Giselle and Elias won’t be attending this class, which gives me an hour of peace. It’s better th
an what I could’ve asked for. Maybe I should kick Elias in the balls more often. I know this pleasant feeling is short-lived, but I intend on making the most of it.

  And as my ankle begins to hurt again, I desperately hang on to the thought that at least I’ve shown Elias that I’m not his to be pushed around. Fumbling through my bag, I find the pill box and inwardly curse myself. It’s the umpteenth time I’m not even able to hold back.

  I swallow a pill and wait for the sweet numbness to return. This isn’t how I wanted things to turn out between Elias and me. It’s just gotten from bad to worse. My heart hurts more than my ankle right now, but the Oxy will take care of them both.

  13

  Kira

  Once the school day is over, I bolt out of the building, nervously looking around. There’s no sign of Elias or Giselle, and I assume they’re out there, somewhere, licking their wounds, so to speak. I brush past Lorna without saying a word. To my surprise, she calls out after me.

  “Kira, wait!”

  I stop, holding my breath for a moment. All I can do is hope she won’t parrot Giselle and piss me off some more. The Oxy is wearing out, and the world is becoming a heavy weight again. On top of that, I’m due to meet with Janelle for some coffee and gossip—anything to stop me from going back home and straight to my room, where I can keep wallowing in my misery.

  “Lorna. What’s up?” I ask, turning around to face her.

  “Listen, I’ve thought about this a lot,” she says, pausing for a moment. “This is getting really out of hand…”

  I find myself frowning, slightly confused by her statement.

  “This whole feud between us,” she continues, “you, me, Giselle, now Elias, too. It’s getting stupid. And crowded. Frankly, I’m exhausted.”

  Blinking rapidly, I try to find the meaning behind her words. “Is this you trying to bury a hatchet?”

  “Thing is… There is only so much compromise I can take for the sake of friendship. I can’t do it anymore, Kira. This isn’t me, and I want it to stop.”

  I stare at her for a long moment. She doesn’t surprise me with these statements. Deep down, I’ve always known Lorna had a good side. That she wasn’t cut out to be a spiteful little shrew like Giselle. She’s got so much talent going for her.

  “Thank you for coming to me,” I reply. “To be honest, I’ve got better things to do than to fight with you or anyone else.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Lorna says, smiling faintly. “You never struck me as the mean girl type. But you sure give as good as you get—”

  “If not worse!”

  We both laugh, and it feels good. All it took was a little bit of decency, and the universe feels a little less off than it did five minutes ago.

  “For what it’s worth, I think it’s a shame you’re not coming back to ballet class. I may be good, but you are amazing, Kira.”

  Suddenly, I am floored. Then shame burns through me as I remember the pill box in my bag and my inability to lay off the fucking Oxy as well as my fear of going back to training and dance practice. I’m stuck in a limbo, and I’m having a hard time finding my way out of it.

  “I’m working up the courage to come back,” I mumble. “It’s just… It’s hard. We’ll see.”

  “You should,” Lorna says. “Madame Olenna misses you. You’re an exquisite ballerina. Your form, your technique… I doubt we’ll be able to put on a proper Nutcracker this winter without you. Giselle headlined the previous one after your accident and… trust me, it was mediocre, at best.”

  I cringe. “That bad, huh?”

  Now, I feel guilty. It’s one thing to be decommissioned due to an injury, but it’s a whole new level of stupid to stay decommissioned like I am. Maybe Lorna’s another wake-up call. Will I ignore this one, too? Will I hit the treadmill for five minutes, then get off and do something else to throw myself deeper into this same pit of despair? I’m obviously a sucker for self-destructive patterns.

  My heart hurts worse than my ankle, as I remember my moment with Elias. It felt genuine. Intense and unexpected, but fucking hot and… real. It’s been haunting me, like a beautiful dream that turned into a nightmare and scared me into waking up.

  “All I’m saying is… You shouldn’t give up,” Lorna replies. “At least think about it. You’ve got until mid-November for the auditions. Giselle isn’t going to like it, but I doubt she’ll be the prima this year, anyway.”

  “Madame Olenna will likely give you Clara’s part,” I say.

  Lorna smirks. “Probably. I’m pretty sure that’ll be the death of my friendship with Giselle.”

  “Why are you encouraging me to audition, then?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. We all deserve a fair shot. Either way, I’d rather lose Clara’s part to you than anyone else.”

  Lorna walks off before I can say something. I mouth a “Thanks,” but she doesn’t notice, as she’s got her back to me as she makes to cross the road. This was unexpected, to say the least, but… much needed. It reinforces my opinions about Lorna, and it pushes me to once again consider dancing.

  Dad left a Wharton brochure on the breakfast table this morning, before I came down. He’s trying to nudge me in the opposite direction. Going to Wharton would be like giving up altogether. Maybe Lorna’s another sign from the universe, telling me I belong on stage.

  I meet with Janelle at our favorite coffee shop after school. It’s just a couple of blocks down from my house. It was built in the late forties, overlooking the bay, and they make the best macchiato on this side of the country. The baristas are all trained in Milan before they’re stationed here. It’s a small place, but its terrace tables with pure white linens and fine ceramic cups are simply to die for. The coffee is amazing, an artisanal craft passed down three generations of shop owners. Recently, they’ve expanded out back, now providing in-house pastries, too.

  This is my comfort zone.

  We take our usual table at the far left corner of the terrace, closest to the water. I can hear it lapping at the wood base below. Seagulls circle above, their squawks making me smile. I like them, even though they can be outright thieves and snatch food straight from people’s hands.

  “How are you feeling?” Janelle asks after the waiter takes our order.

  “Pretty good,” I say. “Better than this morning, anyway?”

  Janelle raises an eyebrow at me. “You just ordered the caramel macchiato and a slice of triple chocolate cake. Kira, that’s not ‘pretty good’ food, that’s ‘I’m miserable and I need comforting’ food…”

  “I got into it with Elias and Giselle this morning.”

  It does feel nice to get that off my chest. Janelle scowls, cursing under her breath. “That was bound to happen…”

  I haven’t told her about my moment with Elias. I can’t tell her now, either. It’ll just make me look like the crazy idiot. Besides, I’ve admonished myself enough on the topic already. I really don’t need her input, too.

  “I handled it. Sometimes, I have to get physical with Elias to remind him that there are limits he can’t cross. But Giselle, ugh... She’s like a moth to my flame.”

  “That means she’ll get burned.”

  I nod slowly. “I’m tired, Janelle. Her life might be empty and meaningless for her to seek out some kind of… I don’t know, entertainment by poking and prodding me, but… I’m tired. I’ve got better things to do.”

  “And you know Elias will never change,” Janelle replies.

  “Maybe.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” she says, a tone of warning slipping into her voice. “Kira, he’s a younger version of Martin Dressler. The rivalry between your fathers continues, for as long as your dad leads Fowler & Malone.”

  “Frankly, I don’t give two shits about that,” I reply. “I’ve had enough of that, too. I just want to live my own life. Do whatever I want… is that so much to ask?”

  Janelle sighs, leaning back into her chair. “Are you going back to dancing? Have yo
u started training, yet?”

  “I’m still working up the courage…”

  “Courage,” she scoffs. “Kira… do you even want to dance again?”

  The question hits me like an icy draft. It’s a good question, though. Perhaps it’s time I start being honest—at least with myself. Do I still want to dance, or am I just fawning over an era that’s already gone by?

  “I think so. Yes. Maybe… Dammit, I don’t know,” I mutter, thankful to see the caramel macchiato placed before me. The waiter serves Janelle her triple espresso and leaves the cake plate in the middle with two dessert forks.

  “Just in case you might want to share,” the waiter says, smiling politely before he backs away. Janelle stares at the cake with wide eyes. I can’t blame her, since it looks like a work of art. Chocolate cream pours from between the puffy brown layers. Chocolate syrup is drizzled all over the plate, along with a dash of powdered cocoa. My mouth is already watering.

  “Yeah, this thing could cure pretty much anything,” Janelle concludes, grabbing one of the dessert forks. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  I shake my head, chuckling softly. “Hell, no. Dig in, sister.”

  We both start working on the cake slice, while Janelle tells me about her work for my dad. The bottom line is that she’s happy and that she’s starting to like this business more and more. It brings me back to something I’ve told her before… something I feel is worth reiterating.

  “Janelle, I think you’re much better at real estate development than I ever will be. In about ten years, the board will expect my dad to appoint a successor, and I’ve got a feeling it’s not going to be me.”

  Her gaze finds me, surprise flickering in her brown eyes. “What?”

  “Even if I eventually decide that I’m not going to pursue dancing, I sincerely doubt I’ll find an interest in what dad does. In what you’ll be doing full time, soon enough…”

  “Kira, he’s already spoken to the Dean at Wharton. You’re a legacy. They’ll have no problem taking you in.”

  My jaw drops. “Whoa. You know about Wharton? Of course you do, stupid question. You obviously know more about it than me, since all I saw was a brochure my dad left for me this morning.”