Her Shame: A Dark Bully Romance (The Forgotten Elites Book 1) Page 12

  After he disappears around the corner, a sly look stretches over Bridget’s face.

  “That’s Mr. Peters, right?”

  She glances at me, then pauses—a momentary look of uncertainty passing across her face. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, have you?” she asks, before her voice drops suddenly gruffer. “He’s the closest thing to a hot teacher this place has, anyway. I thought you, of all people, would have taken note of that.”

  I feel my face grow hot. “Live and learn and all that?”

  Bridget eyes me for one more long, scathing second before she just purses her lips and lets out the smallest of sighs.

  “Whatever you say, Aubrey. Anyway, I’d really like to make sure I enroll in that class. If it’s gonna be a fluff class, every slacker in this place is going to jump on it. Gotta figure out a way to get early enrollment, seems like the kind of class that would earn me bonus points that might get me out of here early …” she says, her voice trailing off for a second before she shoots me another, even more poignant look. “And just like that, I have the perfect task for you Aubrey.”

  “Why?” I ask. “Don’t you think you’re already having me do enough?”

  More than enough.

  More than enough to make me start reconsidering this little bargain we have to begin with.

  “Because he’s your counselor and I want you to, simple as that. Find a way to convince him I should get priority enrollment for his class next term.”

  “You really think I’m the best person for that? Why don’t you use the same charm you use on the boys?” I ask. “You don’t need me for that.”

  “Actually,” she snaps back, “I do.”

  She stops for a second to make sure no one is within earshot of us before she continues.

  “I don’t want it to get around that I flirted with the counselor to get enrollment, can’t have that marring up my reputation. You on the other hand … well, we already know you have a thing for teachers,” she says with a sly wink.

  My stomach turns. After the last interaction I had with Mr. Peters, I had no intention of visiting his office again. But if it means keeping my secret …

  “Fine, I’ll see what I can do,” I say.

  Besides, he was fine today. There was no hint of the spark that caused his hand to reach out and rest on my knee. Maybe he’s just new and unexperienced.

  Maybe he really meant nothing by it.

  “Good,” Bridget replies. “Now can you take my bag back to Mason House? I need to go meet Warren.”

  She heaves her heavy bag into my arms and sashays away before I have the chance to complain. I consider dumping it somewhere in the woods around the school, or tossing it into a dumpster and being done with it, but I think better of it. Instead, I lug it all the way back to Mason House and unceremoniously toss it in her room before heading back to my own.

  Alaska is reclining on her bed, reading, when I arrive.

  “How was the beach?” she asks without looking up.

  “Fine,” I say, carefully moving to sit on the edge of the bed without showing how sore my shoulders are from lugging Bridget’s things around all weekend, not to mention before. “How about you?”

  “Not bad, Clark and I went to see a movie. It was fun,” she says. “What’s it like hanging with the cool kids?”

  She punctuates this with another well-deserved eye roll.

  “That’s not what it’s about,” I say. “It’s … complicated.”

  “Yeah, must be really complicated to cling to Bridget’s coattails all of a sudden. Does she let you brush her long, luxurious hair for her?”

  Alaska scoffs.

  “Look, I’m just trying to keep the peace, okay? I get that you hate her but just … trust me. There’s a reason for it.”

  She thinks I’m sucking up to them just to make myself look better. I don’t blame her, really; I’d probably think the same thing if I was where she was.

  “I’d love to go to a movie with you and Clark next weekend if you’re interested …” I say, attempting to offer an olive branch.

  “Yeah, we’ll see,” Alaska says.

  There’s an awkward pause.

  I debate staying here, but I don’t have the stomach for it.

  “I’m gonna go get some fresh air,” I say, hesitating just long enough to be sure Alaska isn’t going to look up from her book.

  She doesn’t.

  I step out of the room and head back out onto the quad. The sun is sinking lower into the horizon as I fight back tears.

  It’s all such a mess. What am I even doing here? I should come clean, but I’m already in too deep. There’s only one thing worse than being a whore. It’s being a lying whore.

  I sit down on one of the benches that line the quad, my shoulders heavy and the knot in my throat sitting there like lead. I breathe slowly, trying to steady myself.

  Why does it feel like life keeps just happening to me? When am I going to start deciding things for myself and stop being so afraid of everyone else’s reactions?

  I slowly pull my heavy shoulders back and raise my eyes to the sunset.

  It’s too late for that now. I have to face what’s in front of me.

  Starting with Mr. Peters.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next day, I find myself standing outside Mr. Peter’s office door. I take a deep breath and knock on the heavy oak before I can talk myself out of it again. I’d tried to get myself to go see him yesterday … but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it then.

  Even now, I briefly consider running away before I hear the shuffle of footsteps and the door slowly opens. His face immediately plasters with that bright, cheerful smile of his.

  For the first time, I give him a second look after what Bridget said yesterday. He’s no Ben Haverdy, but he’s not half bad looking.

  Or would be, if it wasn’t for the way that smile of his makes my skin crawl.

  “Aubrey! So nice to see you! How can I help you?”

  I swallow, hard.

  “Hi Mr. Peters, I just had a few things I wanted to chat about, do you have a minute?” I ask, tugging the books already in my arms even closer to my chest.

  “Of course! Come in,” he ushers me through the door and I slide into the chair across from his desk.

  “I’m glad you came back in, our last session ended so abruptly and I just wanted to make sure everything was alright,” he says warmly.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I’m just not very comfortable talking about the things I’ve been dealing with. My parents weren’t big talkers,” I say.

  “That’s very understandable. Many people have difficulty opening up to their family or don’t have the family structures that allow them to feel safe talking about their feelings. But I want you to know that you can feel safe here, I’m here to listen and to learn.”

  He takes his perch on the corner of the desk, this time maintaining a comfortable distance. It’s strange, but in this moment, I do feel comfortable with him. He has a warmth that I’m not used to feeling from someone older.

  Maybe I judged him too quickly. He does seem to genuinely care.

  “There’s just … a lot that’s changed lately. I never saw myself ending up at a school like this, and since I’ve gotten here things have felt really … out of control.”

  “How so?” he asks.

  I pause for a second. This isn’t what this meeting was supposed to be, but now that I’ve started … I find I have a hard time stopping.

  “I just don’t feel like myself, like no matter what I do, I’m always acting. My old self doesn’t feel any more real than whoever I am here.”

  I fiddle with my fingernails, the anxiety in me building as the real feelings begin to spill out.

  Mr. Peters smiles. “That’s absolutely normal. You’re growing, changing, it’s impossible to know who you’re going to grow into before it’s happened. I think you’re being a bit too hard on yourself.”

  “Am I, though
? I’m in a school specifically for screw ups, isn’t the point to be hard on myself so I stop being a screw up?”

  Mr. Peters laughs. “While Ridgecrest is a school for ladies and gentlemen who haven’t made the best choices, and sometimes discipline is required to help in their journey toward making better choices, I think you’re one of the exceptions. Part of the reason you’re in the position you’re in is from being too hard on yourself.”

  Too hard on myself.

  Now that’s a novel idea.

  “Why do you think that?” I ask.

  “Well, this relationship that you found yourself in at your previous school, did the man assume any responsibility for it?” he asks.

  “I mean … no, not really,” I say.

  “And did anything happen to him?”

  I pause. “I … I don’t really know. I think he was fired.”

  Mr. Peters nods again, leaning a little bit closer. “And yet you are bearing all the shame and long-term punishment for what happened. Do you think he’s sitting at home beating himself up for the choice he made?”

  He doesn’t wait for me to answer.

  “I doubt it. In fact, he’s probably proud that he got a woman like you to turn her eye to him. You’re bearing all this guilt over your own desirability,” he says, a glint in his eye. “When instead, you should celebrate it.”

  “Celebrate it? Why would I celebrate what happened?” I ask, my stomach beginning to twist. This … this is taking a turn again.

  “Tell me, was that the first time you really acted on impulse? Gave in to what you wanted?” he asks.

  Suddenly, the way he’s leaning forward seems menacing. The warmth … cold.

  “I … I don’t know why that’s important,” I say, my hands beginning to shake. I glance toward the door, wondering if I should just leave.

  If I could.

  Instead, I find myself glued—unmoving—to my seat.

  “It’s very important. We are taught that what we desire is wrong, that we should constantly deny ourselves in pursuit of some higher cause. I’ve found that to be counter-productive to true growth.” As he speaks, he leans forward a bit again.

  The space between us is shrinking.

  “You’re a very beautiful woman, and I think you should let yourself embrace those desires instead of holding them back all the time,” he says. His eyes meet mine and stay there, but not before they flicker over my body ever so quickly.

  It does not go unnoticed.

  My stomach is turning like a circus act.

  Shit, remember why you came here. That can at least change the subject.

  Every instinct in me is telling me to run, but I can’t. Not until I’ve gotten what I came here for.

  “Hey, I was really interested in that ethics course you’ll be teaching next term. Bridget and I both really want to take it together; do you know if there will be any early enrollment options?” I ask as sweetly as I can manage.

  Mr. Peters chuckles. “Unfortunately, no. The school is quite strict about making sure everyone gets a fair chance when it comes to class enrollment.”

  “Oh … that’s unfortunate. I figured since you were teaching it, you’d have some sort of sway,” I say.

  He crosses his arms and looks at me. “Oh, and what kind of sway may that be?”

  I try to turn on the charm further. “Just like, maybe being able to hold a couple seats for your favorite students.”

  “Favorites,” I say, though I want to vomit, “like me.”

  He slides himself closer to me and my stomach drops further. He leans down. “Very interesting Aubrey, are you expressing a clear desire to me?”

  “Um … yes?” I say, trying to lean back away from him without him noticing.

  “Well … I think something could be arranged … for my very favorite students.

  “Really?” I say, trying to force as much innocent enthusiasm into my voice. “That would be great!”

  “Not a problem at all,” he says.

  I force that cheery smile of his own onto my face.

  I stand up and start to move toward the door. Mr. Peters follows me, but just as I think he’s reaching for the doorknob, in one deft move he locks the door. Before I have a chance to react, he grabs my arm and plants a loose, sloppy kiss on my lips.

  A kiss.

  Here.

  Now?!

  I panic.

  Without thinking, I rip myself away from him and my knee flies up and straight into his groin. He yells and doubles over.

  “What the fuck?!” I scream before bolting out the door. I run down the hallway, adrenaline pumping through my body. I don’t stop until I get all the way back to my room, which is thankfully empty for once.

  I collapse onto the bed, my entire body shaking. I stare up at the ceiling, and I notice the cracks seem to be spreading. I swear that I can feel myself cracking as well, as my breathing starts to slow down, the tears finally flow, and I sob until I finally fall asleep.

  I thought Ridgecrest would be different.

  I thought I was protecting myself by doing as Bridget asked.

  Instead, I’ve just made everything worse.

  I’ve just made Ridgecrest into everything I thought I left behind.

  Chapter Twenty

  The next day I feel numb. I wake up and it feels like my body doesn’t belong to me. I’m just inside it, wearing it like a uniform that I’ve borrowed from someone else.

  I consider lying in my bed all day, allowing the gravity of my heavy body to pin me to the mattress for however long it wants to.

  But fortunately for me, that isn’t going to be entirely left up to me to decide.

  Alaska returns to the room after her shower and looks over at me.

  “Hey, are you okay?” she asks.

  I silently nod, trying to hold back more tears that I can feel welling up inside me. She walks over to the bed and looks at me.

  “You don’t look good; do you want me to tell people you’re sick?” she asks.

  I shake my head and try to roll myself over, but my body won’t cooperate. It’s like someone cut the strings on a marionette, and I’m just a floppy puppet that can’t be controlled, no matter how hard my mind tries. The best I can manage is to slightly shift over on my pillow.

  “Seriously, you don’t look good. What’s going on?” Alaska presses as she gently sits down next to me on the bed.

  Come on, just say something. Say you’re fine. She doesn’t need to know about it. Besides, what would she think of you?

  I start to open my mouth and force some words out. They feel wooden and stiff.

  “I’m just exhausted. This year, everything, it’s just … it’s been a lot.”

  After all, how can I tell her what happened yesterday without telling her everything?

  I can’t tell her about Mr. Peters without explaining why she can’t tell anyone else.

  “Yeah, I can get that,” Alaska replies, even after she’s looked me over for a minute—deciding, I’m sure, whether or not to believe me. “This place piles on homework and extra curriculars like they’re going out of fashion. Seriously, I’m gonna just tell the house mother that you threw up this morning, take the day off. I’ll bring you my notes from class.”

  Alaska’s kindness is staggering. Before I came here, she’s not the kind of girl I would have ever been friends with. Her sharp tongue and quick wit would have terrified me, but here, shoved up against each other, I can see how gentle she is under all that.

  I slowly nod in agreement.

  “Good, make sure you drink some water and try to take it easy. We all need a break sometimes.” And with that, she finishes putting herself together and heads out of the room. I lay there, slowly breathing.

  Finally, I begin to feel my legs enough to swing them over the side of the bed. I ease myself up onto my feet and plod down the hall to the bathroom. I lean over the sink and splash some water on my face, though I barely feel it.

  I head back to
the room and once again lay down on the bed. A few minutes later, I hear a soft knock at my door. It’s Ms. Adams.

  “Your roommate said you weren’t feeling well so I wanted to check on you,” she says.

  “Yeah, I don’t know what’s wrong, but I just feel really bad,” I say from the bed.

  “Now, you know class absences are frowned upon unless it’s a serious illness, Aubrey,” she says tersely.

  “I understand, I just really don’t feel well,” I reply, even as my mind begins to reel. Maybe I should just go to class. Get it all over with.

  With my track record, if I hide up in my room every time someone kisses me who shouldn’t, I’ll be spending most of my life up here.

  Still, Ms. Adams stands in the doorway and ponders for a moment. “Well, you don’t look very good at all, you should go see the nurse as soon as possible.”

  “I’m really not—”

  “You have two choices,” she says, cutting me off. “Go to the nurse, or go to class.”

  I bite my lip. I can’t imagine what good going to the nurse’s office is going to do, but I suppose I don’t have a choice.

  I pull my body back up and out of bed as soon as Ms. Adams leaves and grab my bag. I shuffle out of the room and out onto the quad. It’s a beautiful day but the sun feels blinding. I head to the administration building and the nurse’s office.

  The nurse’s office sits right next to Mr. Peters’ office, of course, so I duck inside quickly, hoping I won’t run into him. The nurse sits at a neat little desk just inside.

  I must be shaking just from the sight of the door, because the nurses’ face falls as soon as she sees me.

  “Oh, no,” she gasps, half getting up out of the chair pushed behind an old metal desk. “What seems to be the matter?”

  I quickly motion for her not to worry. “I … uh … I just woke up not feeling very well and they told me to come here.”

  I bite my lip.

  “Just feeling really, run-down and tired,” I say.

  The nurse sits back down in her seat and eyes me for a second, contemplating.

  “Ah, I see. Well, pop up on the table and let me take a look at you,” she says after a moment.