Page 45 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
… even if I don’t have the will or energy to protect myself.School.
Glorified prison. But at least I’m out of solitary confinement for a while.
“Smoking is such a filthy habit,” Reba says in my imagination as I take a drag. She’ll have to keep saying it there for a while because in real life, she’s sitting in the cafeteria eating a turkey and avocado sandwich with Johnny R. while he tries—rather fucking unsuccessfully—to hit on her.
Our eyes meet through the grimy glass as I exhale, billowing gray smoke into the quiet, dreadful air. And yes, air can absolutely be dreadful when it’s tainted with murder and threats and intrigue.
“I bet she’s in the woods somewhere, half-buried and rotting,” Dena says in a voice colored with bubblegum, morbidity, and the peach schnapps she stole from her mom. As I stare at her, with her shiny strawberry-blonde hair, bird’s-eye-blue eyes, and general bitchiness, I realize how much I truly fucking hate her.
She’s so turned-on by the mystery of the missing Carol Brigg’s that her nipples are showing through her lacy pink tank. Her evil eyes glitter as she looks between Chardou, Amiya, and me, looking for solidarity, another wicked soul to revel in her gossipy glory.
There are so many types of monsters in the world, aren’t there? They don’t all come in stripes. Some have spots. Some have leather vests. Others have pink Prada bags and convertibles.
“She was shot by the Grey Wolfe Mafia and buried so deep, nobody will ever find her body,” I say, and even though it’s one hundred percent truth, it’s too wild to believe, and the other three girls just giggle and scream and shove playfully at my shoulder while I smoke.
I’m only hanging out with them because, to be quite frank, I don’t give a lot of fucks as to whether they live or die which means, of course, that neither the mafia nor the club will be interested in murdering them to make a point. They’re safe in their suburban homes, cozied up under goose down and texting crushes until three in the morning.
Heh.
Is it weird that now I only live three houses down from her?
In elementary school, I lived on the wrong side of the tracks and Dena never let me forget it. She picked on me mercilessly. As soon as we upgraded to her snobby, rich neighborhood, I was good enough to be a friend. Doesn’t matter to her that my dad’s a crook so long as he’s got money. Guess it shouldn’t considering her dad’s a crook, too: he’s a politician, so really he just has to be. State senator or something, I think. Like I give two craps. The club exists and operates entirely outside of normal society. Anything we do to play into it is either for our own benefit, or to put up a front to keep outsiders out of our business.
“Maybe she ran off with a guy?” Chardou says, her hair beaded with the school colors of black and gold. Go Vikings. Now, her mom, I like, regardless of how pretentious their family is. Mrs. Doctor Michael Klepson, that’s how she introduces herself. Drives me nuts, like being married to a doctor is any big deal. That, and she drives her daughter nearly six hours to the city to get her hair done by a prominent celebrity stylist.
Like you have room to judge anyone else, Gidge, I tell myself, smoking my clove cigarette and staring at the shiny, black surface of my nails. My black cable knit sweater falls over my fingers, and I find myself enraptured by the glow of the cherry as I lift my smoke back to my lips. Filthy fucking habit.
“Let me have a drag on that,” Amiya says, snapping her fingers in a way that grates on my nerves. I hand over the cigarette anyway, watching as she inhales and then coughs. I know for a fact the only thing this girl smokes on the regular is a little bit of pot.
“Oh my god, bitch,” Dena says, laughing like a pink sparkly hyena that shits rainbows. I hate her so much. She takes the cigarette and does these tiny, ladylike little puffs that make me raise a brow. “So, you know that Trevone’s parents are out of town Friday night, right?”
Somehow, in the swirl of murder-mystery and mayhem, Dena’s forgotten that I almost rounded second base with Trevone at the camp. And I’ve almost forgotten that I rounded all of the bases with Grainger right after. Stifling a groan, I keep my attention on the girls and not on thoughts of Grainger’s hard cock pummeling me against the counter.
And of course, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since yesterday.
Piece of shit.
My hand shakes as I take the cigarette back. Dena notices and raise a single blond brow, but doesn’t bother to ask if I’m okay. Why should she? She doesn’t care about anyone but herself. My eyes start to stray toward the cafeteria window again, toward Reba … but I won’t let my own selfish want for love and affection send her to an early grave.
