Page 112 of Filthy Rich Boys (Rich Boys Of Burberry Prep 1)
“Had enough yet?” Harper du Pont asks, her dark presence like a cloud behind me. There’s no point in turning to look at her, not when she matters so little to me. She’s nothing. It’s the guys, the Idols, the three people at this school that made my heart hurt, brought the sleeping emotions inside of me to roaring, vibrant life. Creed is frowning, but he has a very matter-of-fact expression on his handsome face, like this was all in the cards from the beginning.
A breeze tears through the courtyard, blowing the ragged pleats of my skirt around my thighs. Beyond the walls of Burberry Prep, the sea sings its melancholy song, the same song picked up in the irregular beat of my damaged heart.
Tristan moves toward me, slow and cool, with the hint of violence tainting the air around him. I try not to think of that first day, when he presented me with this challenge: how long do you think you’ll last? Joke’s on him: I made it the whole damn year. But based on his expression, I can see he doesn’t expect me back for a second round.
My heart stutters as he reaches out and tangles some of my paint-splattered hair around his long fingers, giving the short rose gold locks a tug. The paint smears across his skin like blood as we stare each other down.
“I take it you won’t be coming back next year, will you, Marnye?” Even after everything I’ve just been through, I can’t stop a shiver from racing through me at the sound of his voice. He thinks he’s the king here, but so does Zayd, so does Creed. One day, they’re going to have it out and it’s not going to be pretty. They’ll destroy each other.
Their money can’t buy them true friendship, and it won’t buy them love. It definitely won’t buy them me.
My gaze moves past Tristan, to Zayd and Creed, but Tristan’s standing so close that I can’t help but look back at him. Has he enjoyed it this whole time, tormenting me? It’s clear in his face that he has. He loves it. They all do.
“Just go home, Marnye, and it’ll all be over,” Tristan says, and even though his voice is soft, it’s a deception. There’s a razor’s edge to his words, one that promises to cut if I don’t heed its warning. On the inside, I’m breaking apart, but there’s some stubborn bit of steel inside of me that won’t let me crumble. “You don’t belong here.”
Zayd slides one of his inked arms around Becky Platter, and my stomach twists into a knot. I feel so sick I could throw up, but I won’t, not here in front of them. Maybe when I get home, I’ll let myself cry, let myself mourn, but not here. Never here. My hands curl into fists, and I grit my teeth.
Tristan meets my gaze one, last time, and then reaches out to pluck a tear from my cheek, bringing it to his lips for a lick, reveling in the taste of my pain. The knife of his betrayal cut close, but it didn’t hit its target. I might be bleeding, but I’m not dead, not yet.
“I’ve already enrolled in my classes.”
The courtyard is silent, watching this moment unfold in all its horrible glory.
There’s not a person there that expects me to stand up for myself, to raise my chin in defiance. No, they thought I would crumble. Maybe they hoped that, like the girl in my essay, I’d run away and internalize my pain.
Not anymore.
All of this pain has changed me. Right now, it feels like it’s changed me for the worst, cracked me in half and spit out broken pieces. But really, I’ve changed for the better. Their cruelty has shaped me into an immovable mountain, a force to stand against howling winds.
“Come September, I’ll be the first in line for orientation.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Tristan is furious with me, but he’s triumphant, too. He still believes he’s won, his dark hair fluttering in the wind. He’s gorgeous, but only on the outside. On the inside, he’s a monster. They all are. “I’ll make your life a living hell.”
“You can try.” My shaking hand reaches into my pocket and pulls out the registration form. I printed it out at the library last week after I filled out the online form to sign up for classes. If it kills me, I’ll be back at Burberry Prep next year. This is my life, not theirs. I won’t let them ruin it. “Because what you don’t know …” Sucking in a sharp breath, I bend down and grab the handle on my ratty, old duffle bag. Tristan is scowling at me, but he’s already done his worst, wormed his way into my heart and tried to break me. What else is there? “Is that my life outside of these walls was already a living hell. This is just another level of Dante’s inferno, and I’m not afraid—not of any of you.”
