Beautiful Hell: A Contemporary High School Bully Romance Read online

  “An X-ray will tell us more,” the paramedic says, blandly trying to comfort me.

  It’s the apocalypse for me. I doubt he understands what this is like. I was supposed to play Clara in the Nutcracker! The Julliard recruiter was gonna be so impressed that he’d come to me after the show just to shake my hand! My dad was going to have to eat an entire humble pie for all the times he’s told me I’d be better off focusing on business management instead of doing pirouettes around the house. But that’s a fantasy now. It’s… It’s not fucking real.

  I manage to glance around for a bit, enough to observe some of the worried or shocked faces. Among them is Elias Dressler.

  “What the…” I whisper, suddenly realizing he’s a foreign element.

  What the fuck is he doing here? He doesn’t go to Trinity High. My father made sure we’d never cross paths, though he has failed several times. Could this be one such instance? Judging by the manila folder under Elias’s arm and his elegant three-piece navy-blue suit… I think it is. I think the universe isn’t done beating me down yet.

  I think I’ll have more problems on top of this broken ankle, soon enough.

  Elias looks at me, his brow furrowed as he watches my dramatic exit. I leave Trinity High behind, knowing there will be a lot to unpack once I get back. If… I get back. All I see is darkness and misery ahead.

  If I can’t dance… I can’t do anything. I’m useless.

  And if Elias is here… then I’m all the more screwed, because that bastard will ruin the parts of me that manage to survive.

  2

  Kira

  A day has passed, and my dad hasn’t been around to see me. To say that he’s an absolute prick would be an understatement, but it’s not the first time he’s done this, either. There’s a part of me that knows he means well and that he cares about me; a part of me that believes that being my father means that he has to. Would it fucking kill him to show it more?

  I steady a breath in my lungs and try like hell not to think about my mother or just how much I wish my father had been taken in her place. Losing a parent is hard. Losing the wrong parent is even harder. Ballet was one of the last things I had left of her and I’m pretty fucking sure I’m on the road to losing that too.

  My ankle is broken. A thick cast is tightly strapped around it. The pain continues to pulsate outwards, like a dim but persistent fire. The painkillers are really good, though. Thank the stars for our private insurance, the doctors don’t feel the need to skim on the drugs. I admit, I’m pampered as a human being. I’m just not sure I’m also loved. Sometimes I wonder if one can ever have both.

  I’ve been crying on and off since the cast was put on. The nurse is kind, checking in on me every other hour. She’s trying to get me to eat, and so is my stomach, but I’m in no mood. I’d sleep, but my mind keeps going back to that moment. How the fuck did I end up on the floor? How… Did Giselle trip me? What are the odds that it really was an accident, considering the dance routine? Giselle wasn’t supposed to be so close.

  My phone is flooded with text messages and Get Well Soon wishes, mostly from classmates. Janelle – my only true friend – is on her way. She can watch me bawl like a little girl, because I feel another wave of tears coming up as the main conclusion takes center stage again. I missed my moment with Julliard. I will not be dancing as Clara in The Nutcracker. I will not be dancing for at least six months, according to the doctor. God, I’m so miserable…

  This is one of those moments when my mom would’ve made the difference between despair and hanging on to hope. I’m in a pit, hope so far out of sight, I can’t even imagine what it might look like. My stomach churns, hunger gnawing through it like a furious rat, but I know that I’d throw up whatever I try to eat. My nerves are stretched too tightly. My heart broken beyond repair. And my ankle throbbing, permanently reminding me of my physical degradation.

  I replay the incident in my head, over and over. It just doesn’t click for me. How did Giselle get close enough to “accidentally” trip me?

  The door opens, and I find myself in shock.

  My dad comes in, wearing a faint smile and a deeply furrowed brow. His tie is loose, the collar of his white shirt unbuttoned, his dark green jacket perfectly fitted over his broad shoulders. The man hit fifty, but he can still rock the business casual almost effortlessly. There’s salt and pepper in his hair and fine lines around his blue eyes—the only signs that time spares absolutely no one.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he says, slowly, as if not to disturb anyone, closing the door behind him. He’s probably aware that I’m pissed off, since it took him a fucking day to come see his only daughter. “Sorry I’m late. It’s been meeting after meeting. But I called the hospital and gave them all the information to make sure you’re well taken care of.”

  Late? Seriously. This isn’t just late, this is…this is…proof that I’m not his fucking priority.

  “How fatherly of you,” I grumble, looking away. I can barely stand the sight of him right now, and there aren’t enough painkillers to stifle the ache nestled inside my very soul.

  Mom was so good at this kind of stuff. Mom would have been here before the ambulance had a chance to wheel itself inside the parking lot. Mom would have held my hand through every moment, she would have caught every damn tear that fell from my eyes.

  Silence falls between my father and me. For all his faults—of which there are so many, at least he has the decency not to try other excuses. I suppose the Father of the Year award will go to somebody else, as always.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks, likely realizing that he’s not going to get much out of his daughter if he waits for her to say something, instead.

  “Like shit.”

  “Language, Kira,” he replies, all fatherly and whatnot. There’s a lot of resentment brewing inside me, as far as William Malone is concerned. I will forever be thankful for him raising me, but that’s about it. I cannot consider having grown up with a real father, but rather the guy who had no choice but to take care of me after mom died. Sometimes, I doubt he’s capable of any empathy at all. I don’t think he even cried at mom’s funeral…

  “How does language even matter at this point?” I ask, my tone clipped. Anger stirs me, but I can’t give him the satisfaction of watching me spin out of control. Not here, not now. “My ankle is broken. I’m not going to be in The Nutcracker. There will be Julliard scouts attending that show. Dancing is my entire life and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to dance again. Pardon my French, daddy dearest, but I am utterly and irrevocably fucked.”

  Dad scoffs, shaking his head in dismay. “Maybe now’s a good time to start considering Wharton. If you’re not going to insist with dancing since, like you said, you can’t dance anymore, you should look into other options. I won’t be around forever to run this business, and I need someone dependable to take over. I’d rather give the reins over to you, honey.” He says it like he thinks he’s just brought me the winning lottery ticket. Like he doesn’t damn well know that I don’t want his business.

  “Seriously?” I shoot back, my eyes wide with disbelief. “I’m merely a day into this fracture, and you already want me to give up on a dream I’ve worked for since I was a little girl? Seriously?!” I know, I’m the one who said it. But what happened to the part of a parent that is supposed to convince their kid that anything is possible; that nothing is broken forever.

  He looks alarmed, as if aware that he screwed the pooch on this one, too. The man can’t get anything right with me, and it’s for lack of trying.

  “I understand from your doctor that there won’t be any dancing for you in the foreseeable future,” dad says, a tinge of satisfaction persisting in his gravelly voice.

  “Six months. No physical effort for six months. Not a lifetime,” I reply. “It will be okay. I’m not giving up. Don’t expect me to slip into a pantsuit and start selling Hampton villas. You’ve got Janelle for that.”

  She’s been interning at the company
for a few months now, and she loves it. Then again, Janelle’s father was once half of Fowler & Malone, one of the most prominent real estate and development companies in the county. It’s in her blood—more than in mine, for sure. My dad leads Fowler & Malone now, but he’s taken Janelle in to help with some of his smaller residential projects while he focuses on the northern malls.

  “I wish you were more like Janelle,” dad grumbles, staring out the window.

  Fuck you, dad.

  “Janelle is where she wants to be. She’ll make a fine Fowler for Fowler & Malone when she finishes school, for sure. You just need to get this stupid idea that I’ll be the next Malone out of your head,” I say, pointing an angry finger at him. “And stop bringing Janelle into this.”

  “You mentioned her name!”

  “Stop using her to make me feel like shit!” I snap, my blood boiling. My precarious state is not the right ammo for one of our so-called father-daughter talks. “You know what, dad? Why don’t you just leave? I don’t need anything from you. Go. You’re probably busy. Go piss off some indigenous people for taking over their lands. You’ve done your fatherly duty here.”

  Dad scowls at me, probably wishing he could say more. He’s well aware, by now, that I’m not the type to put up with his bullshit. I’ve got a trust fund waiting when I turn 21, and there’s nothing he can do about it. We’ve had these conversations before. He can’t hold any of my comfort over my head as a bargaining chip. I may be dependent on his wealth for now, but it’s only a few years before that changes.

  And he knows I’m crazy enough to emancipate and figure out my own way through life, if push comes to shove. I’ve threatened him before. Therefore, his scowls and knife-like words only mean to hurt me, not scare me, and I always try my best not to let him think he’s getting to me. William Malone can be a vicious son of a bitch (sorry, Meemah!), but that’s why he’s been so successful in business.

  “How long are they going to keep you here?” he asks.

  “Why do you care?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Kira. Just answer the damn question.”

  Rolling my eyes, I exhale sharply. “A couple more days, just to run some tests and make sure it’s just the ankle I’m dealing with.”

  “I’ll see you when you get home, then.”

  He doesn’t wait for my reply. He just walks out, and I’m alone again.

  Maybe I should feel more where my dad is concerned, but I’m numb. It could be the painkillers. I hope I get a prescription for these babies, because it’s just so nice not to care about what he says… and how he says it. It’s been like this since mom died. I doubt he’s ever just looked at me with genuine love. I think I remind him of her—a little too much. But then again, was their relationship as husband and wife better than what we have as father and child? I’m not sure. Toward the end, I could see in mom’s eyes that most of the love she had for him had vanished. He pulled the same stunts with her while she was at the hospital too – showing up late, not showing up at all, leaving too early.

  At least I don’t feel like crying anymore. He made me so mad, I completely forgot about my own grief, albeit momentarily.

  The door opens again, and Janelle’s smile brightens up the entire room. She’s a petite little thing, with mousy brown hair styled in a pixie cut and big brown eyes. She dresses in tan or grey, and she never wears more than a pair of sensible earrings as jewelry. But her smile… oh, it stands out. It fills my heart with all kinds of good things. Love. Hope. Patience. Kindness. I just can’t understand how she can stomach working with my dad, who’s the complete opposite. Then again, it’s a part-time internship. She probably doesn’t get all the brunt on a daily basis.

  Yeah, wait until he takes you on full time, you poor soul.

  “Gah, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” I murmur.

  Janelle comes in and rushes to my side. Seconds later, her arms are wrapped around me, squeezing tightly. “I’m so glad it wasn’t worse,” she says, gently pulling back to measure me carefully from head to toe. Her gaze lingers on my cast, sadness flickering in shades of caramel.

  “I think this is bad enough,” I sigh.

  “You know this break could’ve been a lot more severe,” Janelle says. It’s why I love her so much. She has a tendency to use facts in order to reassure me. I doubt I’m even half as smart as she is, but she always makes me want to be a better version of myself. Either way, I cling to her words as if they’re the only thing separating me from the dark bottom of an abyss that is dying to eat me. “Compound fracture. Permanent damage. No chance of dancing ever again. Not even the friggin’ merengue.”

  “I guess…”

  “You’ll be fine!” Janelle insists, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. We’re polar opposites, physically and personality-wise, and yet we’re like sisters, always in sync, always caring for one another, even if weeks go by and we barely exchange a handful of words. “Six months, and you can go into recovery. I’ve asked your doctor to recommend some top tier specialists… It’s why I’m late.”

  I can’t help but smile. “You’re the only good thing in my life right now.”

  “Well, thank you, but that’s not entirely true. You still have ballet. The two of you are just taking a break,” Janelle replies. I like how she doesn’t let me mope around or feel sorry for myself. I’d be lost without her. “Then there’s your dad—”

  “Oh, don’t go there,” I hiss. “Don’t.”

  She chuckles softly. “All drama aside, you know he cares and that he’s worried about you. I met with him on my way up here!”

  “I’ve been here since yesterday. He just came to visit me now. You were here yesterday, mere hours after I was brought it. I told you, Janelle, don’t go there,” I say. “I get that you have to be nice to him because you’re working at Fowler & Malone, but you don’t have to sell me the idea of William Malone being a good dad. Trust me. He’s not. I just hope he’s a better boss.”

  “He is,” Janelle concedes. “I suppose he’s just not that bright, emotionally speaking. Sure, he gets angry easily…”

  “Let’s just stop there, Jan,” I murmur. “I really don’t want to talk about him right now.”

  Janelle pauses, her eyes scanning my face. A faint smile flutters across her lips. “He said something to piss you off, didn’t he?”

  “You read me like an open book,” I reply flatly. “He thinks I should start considering Wharton School of Business, now that I’m not gonna be dancing anymore.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Janelle says, almost laughing. “I mean, I get where he’s coming from, but ballet is all you’ve ever wanted to do, and this break isn’t the end!”

  “That’s what I told him, and then he said he wished I were more like you.”

  The color drains from her face. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what, for existing? Nah. Screw that. I’m not letting my dad drive a wedge between us. I’ve got a broken ankle to deal with…”

  Janelle pulls a chair and sits close to my bed, briefly checking her phone. The case wrapped around it, leather with the F&M logo on the back makes me know that it’s the business phone. “Our school group on Facebook is blowing up,” she mutters. “Conspiracy theories galore about how you fell.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less from those self-entitled assholes. Do any of those theories mention Giselle?” I reply, my mind already bouncing back to the incident.

  “Word is that it was an accident. Madame Olenna said it herself. She mentioned something about Giselle feeling awful about all this, but I wasn’t listening anymore. This was yesterday, and I’d just heard about your accident. You listed me as your next of kin after your dad.”

  I chuckle. “Let me guess. He didn’t pick up when the school called him.”

  “Yeah… I almost missed the call, too. I’m thinking of just switching everything over to the business phone and leaving my personal one behind, so…just in case you can’t reach me on my phone… Anyway, do you thin
k Giselle did it on purpose?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t prove it,” I say, shrugging. “But I know she wasn’t supposed to be that close.”

  “It’s worth talking to the other dancers, right? When you come back to school?”

  I shake my head. “What’s the point? It won’t fix my ankle, will it?” Warmth spreads through me as the medication continues to do its work. “Shit… These are some fine painkillers…”

  “They give you the good stuff here, huh?” Janelle giggles.

  “Yeah. It makes breaking bones not that bad,” I reply, and we laugh. I needed Janelle so much. It’s only now that I realize it, though. Wallowing in self-pity has occupied most of my day, so it’s good that she’s here. Janelle is my beacon, and I’m swimming out at sea, in the middle of a storm. Speaking of perturbations… “Oh, shit, I forgot to tell you! I saw Elias at school yesterday. They were hauling me out of the dance hall.”

  Janelle doesn’t look surprised. I have a feeling she knows more than me, at this point.

  “Don’t tell me Elias fucking Dressler moved to Trinity High. Just don’t,” I say, my tone clipped.

  “I won’t tell you that. But yeah, he did. Brought his file in yesterday.”

  “Fuuuuudge…” I steer clear from another profanity. Janelle isn’t a fan of the F-word.

  Elias Dressler at Trinity High. That means I’ve got hell waiting for me when I come back.

  The feud between us feels as old as time, passed down from our fathers. Martin Dressler and William Malone were sworn enemies, and Elias and I fell right in line, taking over a feud that had nothing to do with us. Now, however, it does exist. And it exists with reason. Both on his part and on mine, because the truth is, we’ve done things to each other…things that are not easy to forgive.

  “Try not to think about it for now,” Janelle says, in a bid to comfort me. “You’ve got your recovery to worry about.”

  Dressler Corp. and Fowler & Malone have been competitors for over two decades. Joe Fowler, Janelle’s dad, wasn’t as harsh or as acid as my dad where the Dressler name was concerned, but he stuck to the business and partnership code, steering clear of any dealings with Elias’s dad.