Beautiful Hell: A Contemporary High School Bully Romance Page 17
“What the fuck?” I whisper, mostly to myself. I can feel my eyes bulging.
“I’m telling you, Elias, we’re onto something here,” my dad says, his voice clearer as I head for the lounge. Until now, the massive potted ferns flanking the door have kept me out of sight. They both turn their heads and see me.
Their smiles fade. I figure they’ve been having a pretty good time so far.
There’s whiskey on the coffee table between them. Their glasses are full. There’s ice in a stainless-steel bucket. I notice some finger food prepared by Margaret—I can hear her fiddling with pots and pans in the kitchen. The guys are going all out tonight, from the looks of it.
Keeping myself calm is proving itself quite the challenge.
“Kira. I thought you were out,” Dad says, as serene as a daisy in the sunshine. Elias sits across from him, wearing a flat, tense smile.
Inundated by some inappropriate flashbacks, I take a deep breath, struggling to stay afloat. “I was out. For dinner,” I reply with a straight face.
“Oh, that’s nice, honey. Did you have a good time?” Dad asks, and I wish I could whack him with one of the many blunt and heavy art objects displayed around the lounge area. Hell, I wish I could whack him with Elias. Clank their damn heads together and hope the both of them bleed common sense after.
“It could’ve been nice, yeah. Only my date didn’t show up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Dad has completely forgotten about the one thing we’ve been able to do together, more or less, consistently. He can’t actually be serious!?
“Thursday evening dinner at Carlotta’s. I called. No answer. I texted. No answer,” I say, and it finally hits him, his eyes widening.
“Shit. I’m sorry, honey. I completely forgot.”
“Yeah, I see that.”
“It’s my fault,” Elias interjects, his voice as smooth as honey. If we delete a few days between me seeing him at the hospital and now, maybe his voice would have brought a little warmth to me. Right now, however, it only serves to piss me off. Elias has already taken a lot from me, my dignity included. And as much as my father isn’t exactly something worth keeping, I hate the fact that tonight he’s stolen him away from me too.
I point a stern finger at him. “You, shut up. I’m getting to you in a second,” I say, then turn my focus back on my father. “What the shit, Dad?”
“I forgot. I said I was sorry!”
“You rejected my call. Surely my name on the screen should’ve triggered something, like… I don’t know, the common sense of texting back and telling me you were busy? I waited like the ultimate asshole at Carlotta’s for an hour! I ate so much garlic bread, you had better keep a six-foot distance from me in case I burp, because I’m fucking toxic.”
Dad frowns. “I get it. Like I said, sorry, Kira. As you can see, I’ve been busy. I’ll make it up to you. Tell me what you want, and I’ll buy it.”
I scoff, shaking my head in dismay. “I’m past the age where you can throw something expensive and glittery in my face in return for my affection,” I shoot back. “Secondly, what the hell is he doing here?”
Elias and Dad exchange glances, looking like camp kids who just got caught smoking behind the shed. I cannot believe I’m seeing all this. It’s like one of my ugliest nightmares, with a Wes Anderson vibe. It’s equal parts ridiculous and horrifying, but packaged quite nicely.
“I had an idea for a charity event, and Elias’s non-profit has been quite active in supporting the same cause I’m looking to support,” Dad says. “I figured we might as well join forces and put something solid together. Big enough to get twice as many people as I normally would with one of our events.”
“Charity. Your common ground is charity?” I reply, raising an eyebrow.
“ALS,” Elias says. “We want to raise at least five million for further research. There has been some progress with stem cells and cannabidiol-based treatments, but it still has a long way to go. Additional funding is required, and if there is a treatment coming, we want to make sure it’s accessible to people.”
“We all know how volatile the health insurance market is, these days,” Dad chuckles.
“So, let me get this straight. You spent over ten years of my life teaching me to hate Elias and everyone with the Dressler last name. You poked and prodded Elias and me into feuding with one another. You took pride whenever I socked him in the face. You made it clear that he’s the enemy… then, all of a sudden, you leave me waiting at a restaurant so you can hang out with your new buddy, Elias fucking Dressler… to talk about charity? Are. You. Fucking. Kidding me?!”
My voice gets louder, while Elias and Dad are silent and sullen. They stare, unable to utter a response, but I am patient now, because I see where this is going. This is the universe bitch-slapping me with cosmic force, proving exactly how futile my years of despising Elias have been. I should’ve ignored my father. I should’ve ignored Elias’s father, too. The two of us could’ve spent our childhood being friends… and maybe saved me the mountain of stress that has always pressed heavy on my chest. He, of all people, should know how fucking suffocating it is to live in hate.
“Kira—” Dad is about to say something, but I cut him off.
“No. I don’t even want to hear it. I’m done. You two can do whatever the fuck you want. I am done!”
“Kira!”
“NO!” I shout. “No more. You poisoned my mind and my heart, Dad! You put your hate of Martin Dressler first, and you don’t get to sit around here now, palling with Elias Dressler, then look at me like I’m the crazy one! No! Fuck you, Dad. And fuck you, too, Elias.”
I walk away, headed straight for the staircase, my ankle throbbing and burning. It’s a miracle I’m still standing. My hand digs into my purse, desperately searching for the pill bottle as I make my way up the stairs.
“Kira!” Dad shouts. I think he’s about to come after me, but I hear Elias stopping him.
“Mr. Malone, it’s best not to,” he says calmly. “She just needs some time to adjust. I totally see where she’s coming from.”
He can totally see where I’m coming from. How fucking mature of him.
My vision is hazy. I’m tearing up. I feel so stupid, so wasted… Reaching my room, I shut and lock the door behind me. I palm the bottle of Oxy in my hand so goddamn hard, begging myself not to be weak. There’s a bottle of Amaretto hidden in one of the drawers of my nightstand. It’s a better alternative. I take a heady swig and take the bottle out on the terrace. I’ll need more than a couple of gulps to paralyze myself.
I’m one to usually embrace change. But after all this Malone-Dressler feud has done to us, to me, in particular, I simply cannot accept that my father can so easily dismiss it all so he can do charity work with Elias. It’s preposterous at the very least. It’s proof he never cared about me or my feelings.
And that makes me feel like the loneliest little soul in the world.
17
Kira
I haven’t slept much since last night. The image of Dad and Elias chuckling and drinking whiskey in our house has been on a constant loop, hijacking my brain. I can’t believe my father did this. Worst of all is that… the more I think about the whole thing, the more convinced I am that he’s up to something. The hate he harbors for Elias, his father, and Dressler Corp. is too intense, too toxic for it to dissipate in favor of a joint charitable event.
I’m just not buying it. Dad is up to something, and Elias might end up on the receiving end of it. It’s why I’ve been unable to sleep… It’s why, despite pulling out my suitcase, I didn’t pack my shit and run far, far, far away.
Elias might be an asshole, but it’s not because he was born with venom in his veins. It’s because our families forced him to be that way. It’s because my father and his hatred and their hatred for each other, never prompted anything but hate between us. And sometimes, when you’re so caught up in brewing evil, you forget that there’s still some good inside. I don�
�t know what any of this has to do with anything. But what I do know is that there’s a storm coming and I’m pretty sure my father’s the one stirring the waters.
Elias hasn’t got a fucking clue what he’s getting himself into. And sure, it’s not my duty to save him. It isn’t even my duty to care if he sails of if he drowns. But what I also know, is that every fucking time our families collide, I end up one of the casualties. Not this time. I might not be able to stop whatever evil my father’s plotting, but there’s a part of me that thinks maybe, just maybe, I can have Elias open his eyes a little wider. Something akin to throwing him a life jacket and allowing him to make the decision whether or not he wants to put it on.
This endeavor also means I have to actually talk to Elias, and our last conversation ended with him choking me and me kicking him in the balls. The one before that ended with a near-orgasmic experience and his fingers inside me, and good grief… I’m a fucking mess.
Chemistry lab is harmless enough as a class, even though it requires that I be in the same room as Giselle and Elias, but I’ve got the first table at the front. The teacher is drawing some formulas on the blackboard regarding ignition and mixing household items into flammable solutions. She’s talking to us, too, but my mind is elsewhere.
I can hear Giselle snickering behind me. She’s sharing a worktable with Lorna. Finch is at the back of the room, while I’m working with Lauren, one of my classmates. I only talk to Lauren during these workshop hours. She’s pretty cool, but she’s also very school-oriented, which I appreciate, since most gossips around Trinity seem to involve me in one way or another.
“Will you pass me that beaker?” Lauren asks, but I don’t immediately register the question. “Kira? Beaker? Kira.”
“Hm? Right, sorry,” I reply and hand her the glass beaker.
Lauren chuckles. “Coffee hasn’t kicked in yet, huh?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” I mutter, feeling someone’s eyes on me.
Slowly turning my head, I find Finch at his table with one of the lacrosse jocks. He’s got as much interest in this class as I do, by the looks of him. He stares at me, and I can’t quite make out what he’s trying to convey. His gaze softens for a moment, and I find myself thinking about the many times we’ve bumped into each other, growing up.
“Now, the most important stage in mixing these solutions comes right before, in that you need a recipient to hold them that won’t be affected by their acid combination. Plastic is obviously out of the question,” the teacher says, her gravelly voice reaching across the room. “Mind you, don’t try this stuff at home. I’m merely exemplifying these formulas here for your reference, not for you to set the shed on fire, okay?”
Snickers ripple around me, as if the teacher has read some of the less brilliant minds in this class, and she knows that that is exactly what they’ll be tempted to do.
“I’m not kidding. These combinations serve only as a warning, for you to avoid potentially tragic accidents,” she adds, and I can’t help but feel sorry for her. One third of this class alone is why we have labels on absolutely everything.
Elias keeps watching me. I glance his way again. This time, I spot glimmers of humor in his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Darkness gradually envelopes his expression, and I know from the smoldering emeralds in his gaze that he and I are remembering the same moment, back at his house. The kiss, the towel barely hanging around his waist. His hand in my panties.
Sucking in a breath, I shift my focus back on the worktable. I take notes from the blackboard, while the teacher—whose name I can never remember, discusses the risks of combining the listed chemicals.
And then, I think about other moments with Elias. Like the time my tampon string was slightly hanging out of my swimsuit and he tugged it halfway out of my pussy. And the time he managed to put superglue in one of my shoes while I was getting ready for the mystery ball, having just performed for their guests.
“The problem these days is that common household chemicals can be mixed to create powerful, even deadly explosives,” the teacher continues, grabbing my attention once again. “The purpose of today’s lesson is for you all to be aware and to learn to spot the danger signs in any home or office,” she says.
“I think she means well, but I can already hear the wheels turning in some of the emptier heads in this room,” Lauren mutters. “I know of at least one idiot who will definitely try this at home.”
“Let’s consider it natural selection and worry less about it,” I reply. We grin at each other, aware that we’re both thinking about the same guy. Lenny Marquesa, lacrosse player and asshole extraordinaire, currently Elias’s lab partner.
Giselle giggles again behind me, and I’m quite proud of how effectively I’ve ignored her, thus far. I’m also wondering why she didn’t partner with Elias in this lab. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen the two lovebirds together as much lately. Brushing the thought away, I ponder on methods of getting Elias alone so I can talk to him about Dad. My stomach churns, almost painfully. He doesn’t deserve me reaching out to him.
“No, don’t!” I hear Lorna mutter. “Dammit…”
The airhead prima ballerina bursts into laughter this time. Gasps follow. Something is burning. I sniff the air. Something is definitely burning. Warmth spreads in the back of my head.
I look at Lauren. “Do you smell smoke?”
She glances up at me, and the blood drains from her face.
“Oh, my God!” the teacher exclaims. “Fire!”
My scalp burns. In an instant, I realize what’s happening.
Before I can even react, Lauren and the teacher tackle me and pat my head with towels. My eyes sting from the smoke, and I’m choking from the inhalations. “Jesus fucking Christ!” I manage, shaking like a leaf. The adrenalin is quick to shoot through me, energizing every single atom in my body.
“What the hell happened?!” the teacher asks.
I take deep breaths, as Lauren helps me up. “I’m sorry, Kira. It’s protocol,” she says.
“It’s cool,” I manage, remembering the stop, drop and roll routine. They needed me away from the worktable, anyway, since it holds several flammable solutions, including the small gas canisters we use for the Bunsen burners. Touching the back of my head, I realize a good chunk of my hair has been burned.
The smell is nauseating. My fingers tremble as they brush against the rugged, molten ends. I’ll need a haircut, as soon as possible. The reality of what just happened begins to settle, though, and rage quickly takes over, burning hotter than any other flame in this lab.
“I demand an explanation!” the teacher says sternly, her gaze darting from one student to another. No one dares to speak, though, and I’m fascinated by their complicity.
Only one of them is responsible, and she’s struggling to hold back a grin while avoiding eye contact altogether. Giselle. I know she did it. She reeks of guilt and satisfaction. Lorna, on the other hand, has her head down and stares at the floor. Beads of sweat trickle down her temples.
I can already imagine her thought process. If she rats on Giselle now, she loses a friend. As toxic as Giselle can be, I strongly believe it’s up to Lorna to decide whether she’s worth it or not. It tells me a lot about Lorna, too. She’s a decent girl, but she’s under the wrong influence. That being said, I’m not her mother. It’s not my job to teach her about toxic friends and all that crap.
However, I can do something much, much better.
Something I’ve been dying to do for a very long time. Something no one will blame me for, since most of them know that Giselle did it. They know. I can see it on their faces. At least three of the students behind us saw her set my hair on fire. Hell, even the teacher seems to have some suspicions.
“Giselle, care to tell us what happened?” the teacher asks, formidable in her eloquent calmness. The only problem is that we’re well past civility here.
“You tried to set me on fire,” I say, my tone flat, as I star
e at Giselle.
Every muscle in my body twitches, the adrenalin further building up, the tension gathering in my throat. I’m about to let loose, and I have no intention of going easy on her, either.
Giselle glances my way, her eyes wide and filled with contemptuous arrogance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lorna, this is your one and only chance to prove you’re not a mindless idiot,” I declare, loud enough for anyone to hear. “You were right here, standing next to Giselle. I heard your warning, though I didn’t immediately realize what it was about. You need to speak up.”
Lorna is speechless, her lips parted as she looks at Giselle, then back at me. She’s conflicted, and I feel sorry for her.
“This is going to end in one way,” I add. “And trust me when I tell you that Giselle here does not deserve your friendship or loyalty.” Eyeing her carefully, I ask her again. “Did Giselle set my hair on fire?”
I get the faintest nod from Lorna, followed by Giselle’s outraged gasp. It’s all I need.
“Giselle, Kira, Lorna, we need to go to the principal’s office,” the teacher begins to say, but the rest of her statement falls on deaf ears as I jump over the worktable and take Giselle down.
She screams. Other girls screams. Someone shouts “Fight!”, while another student thinks they should get some help. I’m too focused to care. Giselle is on her back, and I’m right on top of her. She tries to claw my face off, and I punch her.
Her jaw crackles. Her nose comes next. Blood gushes from her nostrils. I hit her eye. Giselle cannot stop the pummeling, as I move the blows lower, going for her ribs and stomach. I’m roaring and snarling like a wild animal, but goddammit, I feel so good. So alive!
Blood pumps rapidly through my veins. My breath is ragged. My heart is pounding. My vision field is a red haze, and I keep punching, while Giselle keeps screaming. “Stop! Stop it, Kira! No more!”