I heave my lunch into the toilet, the gurgling sound echoing around me like a fucked up symphony.
Do you know that distorted sound some violins make?
Yeah, me neither. Dad and Mum are into classical music – they met at a concerto. Shocker. I prefer punk and alternative rock. Thank you very much.
Anyway, I fill my mind with my favourite songs instead of the sound of heaving. You never get used to it, not the sticking your finger in your throat part and not the vomiting part; it’s always disgusting. Every time I do this, I feel as if spiders are crawling over my skin with their hairy legs, leaving trails of rubbish in their wake.
Once my stomach makes the hollow sound, announcing there’s nothing left, I step out of the stool. No one is here, as they shouldn’t be.
I only do this right before class, after I make sure everyone is in there. That’s why I sometimes arrive late, then pretend it’s because of a headache.
Being invisible is easy, but being completely non-existent is a bit difficult. If I were a ghost, I wouldn’t have to go through this trouble every day.
You know, the part about making sure no one is inside a public girls’ toilet. If anyone is around, I just vomit in RES’s back garden in the rubbish bin and only return here to brush my teeth.
As soon as I finish washing my mouth, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
That face is also a nightmare.
In fact, it’s the worst nightmare. Those cheeks that I thought would no longer be shabby, those breasts that appear too small against my blouse. My saggy arms with stretch marks galore. They’re everywhere – stretch marks, I mean – at the underside of my arms, my stomach, and my thighs.
Everywhere.
I hate them and I hate this fucking body. I hate myself in it. I wish there was a way to detonate it from the inside out, aside from vomiting my lunch.
A thought assaults my subconscious.
I want to slam my fist into that mirror, break it into pieces, then take a shard of glass and –
No.
No, no!
I shake my head frantically and slap both my cheeks, resisting the urge to touch my wrist.
For Kir, you’re here for Kir.
My steps are hard and determined as I exit the toilet while closing my bag.
I’m late for my next class. Or more like, I’ll be late in about a minute.
That’s the downside of being in the girls’ room after everyone’s settled in.
I’m running down the hall when an arm wraps around my shoulder. For a second, I freeze, thinking Xander has returned for revenge.
He’s been ignoring me since the morning, but I know more than anyone that if Xander Knight ignores you, it’s a disaster disguised as a blessing.
I release a breath when I inhale and realise it’s not him. He doesn’t smell this strong or feel this hard – not that I know how he feels.
And yes, I know how Xander smells. It’s only because of my ability to connect to my surroundings, remember?
“You’re also late, Kimmy?”
I smile up at Ronan, my first real smile since the one I gave Kir this morning.
Ronan Astor, also one of the horsemen and possibly the closest person I have to an ally in this school – aside from Elsa.
He has boyish charm, his brown hair is slightly curly, and his deep, rich brown eyes hint at a playboy in the making. Scratch that, he’s already a playboy. Oh, and he happens to be a true aristocrat. His proud nose is clear proof of that.
I don’t think he notices it, but his nose screams nobility from a continent away.
“Speak for yourself.” I poke his side. “You didn’t come in the morning.”
“I had…an important meeting.”
“You mean, you slept in because of yesterday’s party?”
“Hey! Parties are important meetings, Kimmy. I’m going to teach you that…amongst other things.” He grins. “Wait and see.”
“No, thanks.”
“Yes, and don’t thank me yet.” He waggles his brows. “I have payment suggestions for later.”
“Why do I feel like I won’t like it?”
“Believe me, you will.” He tucks me closer to his side as we walk to class.
None of the students dares to say anything to me in front of Ronan. He might not be as brooding as Aiden and Cole or a damn popularity freak like Xander, but Ronan also has his throne in RES.
His crown is just a bit more approachable, touchable even.
He’s a prince, and he’s pretty much charming, too.
I still can’t believe how he came to me first and decided we’d become friends just because he saw me at one of Elites’ games. Oh, and he announced I’m invited to all his parties. They’re legendary and with limited access, so at first, I thought maybe it was another elaborate plan from Xander to fuck with me.
However, it’s been months, and Ronan remains a rock I can lean on. If it turns out to be a sick game, I might never return from it. I actually really like Ronan. He’s outgoing and funny, and he always shoos all the unwanted attention away.
And sometimes, even the fog.
He’s going into details about the type of weed he bought yesterday as we step into class.
“I’m telling you, Kimmy.” He leans in to whisper at my ear, making me stop at the first table. “That shit was cloud nine level. Do you want to try it?”
My eyes widen. “We’re at school.”
“Get a room,” someone says from class.
That’s when I realise the position we’re in. Ronan has an arm around my shoulder and I’m completely glued to his side as his lips hover near my ear. From the outside looking in, it appears too intimate.
But since I’m used to this from Ronan, I don’t stop to think about it anymore.
“That’s a great idea.” Ronan snaps his fingers in the voice’s direction. Silver. Of course, she’d say that.
I can’t believe we used to be close once. Now, she’s this exotic goddess, beautiful in a painful way with a model body and a venomous mouth, and she’s also a top-grade student. A basic bitch.
Who was once my friend. Who hugged me when Nana died and gave me one of her favourite Barbie dolls.
That time of my life used to be so full and then, in a moment, it became empty.
“Let’s go get a room, Kimmy.” Ronan smiles mischievously at me.
I hit his side jokingly.
But I can’t help wondering how my relationship with him would be if I’d known him as long as I’ve known the others.
Ronan only joined the four horsemen in our previous school. Maybe he, too, would’ve distanced himself if he’d known me since our childhood.
“Everyone take their seats.” Mrs Stone’s voice comes from behind us and I push away from Ronan to settle at the front of the class. Usually, Elsa or one of her foster siblings would be here with me, but now, it’s just me. Ronan is out since he prefers to sit at the back and sleep in peace.
As I settle in, a movement catches in my peripheral vision.
Xander.
He’s by the window, in front of Cole, who’s telling him something in his ear while clutching a book.
He doesn’t seem to be listening since his entire concentration is on me. It’s blank, though, as if he’s not really looking at me.
But he is.
I can feel his gaze, not on my skin or on my face, but deep in my soul. It’s invading me and touching parts he has no business touching.
I turn around and flop into my seat, fighting my heated cheeks. Just why the hell did I have to be in the same class with the four horsemen during my last year in RES?
I was almost surviving without having to see Xander’s face in every damn class.
Mrs Stone is speaking about a test, but I can’t for the life of me concentrate on what she’s saying. My mind keeps flickering to the back tables, where I feel someone watching me.
My nape prickles with unwanted attention and I squirm in my seat as if that will make the discomfort go away.
Something hits my arm before a crumpled piece of paper falls beside me. Letting my hair cover my eyes, I peek behind me to be greeted by Ronan’s grin.
He’s sitting right beside Xander, where the latter is clenching his pencil in a death grip. Ronan stretches both legs in front of him, twirling a black pen between his index and middle finger. He motions at the paper with his brows.
I throw a fleeting glance at Xander, but he’s focused on Mrs Stone. His expression is neutral, but his shoulders are rigid. Why the hell is he so tense?
After retrieving the paper, I unfold it discreetly. It’s a scribble in Ronan’s messy handwriting with a smiley emoji at the top.
‘Give the world a middle finger with a smile.’
I stare back at him and he winks. My lips instinctively curve in a smile.
Xander’s harsh gaze slides from Ronan to me and then stays there.
On me.
It doesn’t waver nor does he attempt to look away. He’s trying to intimidate me so I’ll be the one to cut off eye contact and cower down like I do every time he’s in my vicinity.
If looks could slice me open, Xander’s would be the sharpest blade right now.
But there’s something he’s forgetting. His war doesn’t scare me anymore. It can’t be worse than the fog or Kir’s disappointed gaze or the fear in his little eyes when he thought I’d leave him alone.
So I continue smiling. At Ronan, not at Xander.
I flip off those who slowly broke me, who turned me into this pathetic shell of a person.
Those who took pleasure in igniting my breaking point and watched me as I fell.
Those who threw me under the bus instead of pulling me to safety.
Those who fed the fog and allowed it to rule my life.
I follow Ronan’s advice and give the world the middle finger.
