THE FIRST TWO weeks of school are much the same. Learning my schedule, trying to get a feel for my teachers and what they want from us, homework every night, though it isn’t too hard. They always ease us into it at the beginning of the term. It’s the same at every school. I’ve not really made any friends yet. Rumors went around that Whit tripped me on purpose on the first day of school, which left them with all sorts of questions. Plus, people witnessed our nasty little discussion after class ended that Monday, and slowly but surely, I’ve become a pariah at school.
No one will talk to me. They’re all wearing a Lancaster muzzle. I haven’t seen Sylvie since that first day in the library, so I can’t even count on her friendship. It’s as if I’ve become a ghost and no one sees me.
I should’ve known this would happen. The moment I realized Whit was on campus, I knew my chance at having a semi-normal senior year was through. He realized the second day of school that I was in the honors English class with him, but I refused to look back at him. He’d glared in my direction the moment he strode into class, always late, with that nonchalant I don’t give a fuck attitude for Figueroa.
I’m sure the entire staff at this school hates his guts.
His poisonous words about me ate at my reputation, slowly but surely. Bit by bit. To the point that people literally sneered when they walked past me in the halls. The very girls I hung out with at lunch on my first day now pretend they don’t see me. Or they shoulder check me in the dormitory, like Caitlyn did a few days ago.
It’s as if he’s trying to drive me out of here, but I refuse to leave. At lunch, he sits in the dining hall or outside, always surrounded by girls. Always accompanied by the same three boys. Chad, Elliot and Spencer, who are seniors like us, from prominent families, but ones not as prominent as Whit’s. I’m surprised the devil has friends, but I suppose you get to be the devil by having a persuasive personality, and oodles of charm.
Sounds like something my mother would say.
I don’t tell her what’s going on. I definitely don’t tell her about Whit and what he’s doing. She thinks school is going well and I’m managing. If I told her there was a struggle with Whit, she’d contact his father. And then there would be hell to pay.
For me.
So I remain quiet. I moved to the next row over in American Government, so I no longer sit directly behind him. I’ve taken to spending my lunches in the library. I get all of my homework done in there, since I have study hall directly after. At night, I grab some food from the dining hall and take it to my room, keeping to myself. I take a shower. Read or watch something on Netflix or whatever. My days are the same. Boring.
Lonely.
If I pretend I don’t exist, then I don’t. By the end of the second week of school, it seems as if Whit has also forgotten about me, which fills me with a quiet sense of relief.
But not too much relief. I don’t completely trust him. He might have a plan secretly in place.
Having him so close though, leaves me curious. I watch him sometimes at lunch, when I’m there for those few moments in the dining hall. How he talks to the girls, and how they fawn all over him as if he’s a celebrity. My ears strain in the classes I share with him and when a teacher calls upon him, he always gives the correct answer. He’s smart.
He’s also dangerous.
Everyone sucks up to him. When your family name and crest is the one on the school, I suppose that comes with the territory. Teachers and staff. Every single student. The only ones who don’t seem impressed with his status are his three friends, though they treat him with a quiet reverence that lets him know he’s in charge. Girls flirt with him—him and his three closest friends especially—in such a desperate manner, it’s pitiful. They’re pathetic.
I treat him much the same way he treats me—I refuse to talk to him. He called me a whore. Nothing’s changed. He hates me.
I hate him.
I’m watching him now. It’s the last period of the day. Friday. He’s one seat ahead and to my left, right in my line of vision. He taps his pencil against the edge of his desk in a steady rhythm that’s annoying. I glare.
He doesn’t even look in my direction.
His hair tumbles over his forehead, his lips curled into the faintest smile. There’s no happiness in that face, though. It’s all harsh lines and dark shadows. But oh, it is such a beautiful face, too. Cold and hard, like the statues in the gardens on campus.
The teacher puts on a video and turns off the lights, the only illumination coming from the large screen TV on the wall. It’s a current events clip, talking about the state of the world and our woeful future, and I immediately tune it out.
I’m depressed enough.
The moment Mr. Stein leaves our classroom, the mood shifts. Phones are whipped out. People start talking. I doodle on an empty page of my notebook, tilting my head so my hair falls forward, covering my face. I don’t want anyone to see me. I write my name in big bubble letters. Draw flowers around it. Then I write Whit’s name.
And surround it with little devil faces, their horns long and extra sharp.
“Is that how you really think of me?”
A gasp escapes me when I hear his familiar deep voice and I slam my notebook shut, lifting my head to find Whit sitting right next to me. He’d somehow slipped into the empty desk behind him and slid it over silently to mine. How did I not notice?
“You think I’m the devil?” he prods when I still haven’t said anything.
I turn away from him, wishing he’d leave me alone.
Wishing he’d keep talking to me.
“I suppose I have made your life a living hell,” he says casually, as if we’re making light conversation.
Still nothing but silence from me.
“I thought you’d be a crying mess by now, since I turned everyone against you,” he continues. “You’re stronger than I thought.”
Slowly I face him once more, our gazes meeting, his sucking me in. Even in the dim light, I can see that glitter of light blue, his hungry eyes seeming to eat me up. I part my lips, but no sound comes out.
Besides, what would I say?
“But I guess you don’t really care who likes you or not, huh?” His lips curve into the barest smile. “As long as you get what you want, you win in the end.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“This isn’t a game,” I say, my voice low.
He lifts a brow. “She speaks.”
I glare.
“You’re wrong, Savage. Life is a game, and pretty much everyone that’s in this room is a loser.” He pauses for the barest moment. “With the exception of me.”
His arrogance is astounding.
“Only because you have money,” I remind him.
“And power. I have so much fucking power, it practically drips off of me.” He leans in close, and I shift back, wanting to get away from him. “They’re all scared of me. They’ll do what I say, no questions asked.”
“Like when you tell them to ignore me?”
He grins. “Yes. Sheep, all of them.”
“And you’re the sheepherder?”
“I’m the asshole who owns the land the sheep graze upon. One wrong move and I can slaughter them all.” He studies me for a moment and I remain silent, willing myself not to speak. I can’t give anything away. Not words, not emotions. “How did your mother convince my father to let you attend here at such a late notice?”
I have no idea, is what I want to tell him.
I remain quiet instead.
“Does she have something on him? Or did she drop to her knees like usual and suck his cock for your tuition?”
I don’t even flinch at his words, not when I know he’s looking for a reaction. I can tell from the way his gaze roams over me, from the top of my head downward. Lingering on my eyes. My lips. Waiting for a tell.
I refuse to give him one.
“I can strike a bargain with you. Make your life here much easier,” he says, his voice pitched even lower and oh so persuasive.
“What are the terms?” I keep my voice cool. Calm.
His mouth curves upward. “Suck my dick and let me come on your tits for a week straight and I’ll take the lock off everyone.”
God, he’s a pig. He wants to come on my tits?
An image comes to me, completely unbidden. Me on my knees before Whit. My lips wrapped around his impressive cock. I know it’s big. It has to be. I doubt a Lancaster would have a small penis, and I remember its shape beneath my hand that one time I touched him. I’m topless, no bra, my tits out, just the way he likes it. I stroke him, let him fuck my mouth so deep I feel the head bump the back of my throat and right when he’s close to tipping over that edge, a feral groan falls from his lips and he pulls out, spraying semen all over my chest so that it drips off my nipples.
He’d wipe his cum off my skin with gentle, lightly shaking fingers, the aftereffects of his orgasm still lingering. He’d drag them across my lips and make me suck them and I’d swallow his cum down without protest. I can see it all unfold, as plain as day, and I realize my fantasies are a little twisted, especially when you consider my previous sexual experience.
“Let me come on your face and I’ll take care of everything in five sessions,” he offers.
For the briefest second I’m tempted, but I immediately push the delicious image out of my thoughts. What the hell is wrong with me? “No.”
“Three days. And I get to come on your tits,” he counteroffers.
I stare at him, unable to find my voice.
“I’ll make it two and you’ll let me finger you right now in class.” His grin is so wide, I swear his white teeth are blinding me even in the darkness.
“Absolutely not.” I try not to squirm in my seat at the idea of Whit’s long fingers under my skirt. Beneath my panties. In between my legs, stroking my wet, tingling flesh—
“You’re thinking about it.” His knowing voice interrupts my thoughts.
“No, I’m really not.”
We stare at each other, my gaze dropping to his throat. I see his pulse point, how it rapidly beats, and I’m oddly reassured that I affect him just as much as he affects me.
“Your funeral,” he finally says, his tone dismissive. “I’ll get them all to turn on you.”
“Haven’t you already?” I don’t know how I’m able to keep my voice so even, when inside, I’m quaking at having him so close. Threatening me with sexual blackmail. I should be offended. Why am I not offended?
Because you’re attracted to him. Despite everything he’s done and said, you like the idea of being with him. You crave what he can give you.
“You’re right,” he says. “I have. I thought you’d cave. A couple of blow jobs and everyone would love you? That’s a deal, if you ask me. I know it’s not easy being the new girl here, especially when a Lancaster hates you.”
“Not all Lancasters hate me,” I drawl, referring to Sylvie.
Whit’s cheeks immediately turn red, his mouth tightening with barely suppressed rage. “If you’re referring to my father, then you’re a bigger whore than I thought.”
He says those last words so loudly, heads swivel in our direction. He grabs his backpack and rises to his feet, exiting the classroom without another word.
I watch him go, ragged breaths escaping me. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, their curiosity, their hurried whispers. They heard him. How could they not? Their king called me a whore, and now I’ll pay the price. Even more than I’m already paying.
He made it seem like I’m messing around with his father, when I haven’t even met the man. He’s more a myth. A fictional character who played a part in my life without ever having truly met me.
Now Whit assumes I’ve slept with his father to ensure my spot here at Lancaster Prep. Does he really believe I’d stoop so low as to sleep with the man who had a years-long affair with my own mother? I can’t wrap my head around that line of thinking.
When it comes to Whit, there are lots of things I can’t wrap my head around.
