Chapter 5
Show and Tell
Bash
My go-to get-off material was no longer working. I had a pretty good imagination, so it was no problem to conjure images in my mind of a wet David Beckham or a naked Chris Hemsworth. Sometimes I got creative and pictured the two of them together with me in the middle. When I was really hard-up, I added a splash of Tom Hardy just for fun. However, lately when I got five minutes to jerk off in the shower, all I could see when I closed my eyes was Rutledge Alexander Darby IV on his knees in front of me. His pretty, smirking mouth wrapped around my dick. I might have gotten the last word in, but he sure as hell had won that round because I couldn’t get the image of his face and body, or the idea of shoving my cock down his throat, out of my mind.
He was far better at playing this back and forth game than I was. After luring me in and dropping that bomb, the one where he turned everything I thought I knew about him on its head, he’d done a spectacular job of acting like I didn’t exist. I’d gotten so used to the intensity of those icy eyes of his following my every move that I felt the loss strongly when he’d stopped.
At first, I thought it was the monster he called a best friend reining him in. The dark-haired brute was not my biggest fan. Where Edge watched me with open curiosity and quiet contemplation, Cutter glared at me with outright hostility and blatant distrust. As the days dragged on, I was giving more credence to Mac’s theory that the hulk was in love with the blond heartthrob and blind to the fact.
I also started to wonder if Edge was already bored. Another new kid popped up a few days after our confrontation in the dining hall. He called himself Hardy, but his name was Harden Thomas. He was everything I wasn’t—an aristocrat, with patrician features, perfectly styled auburn hair, and a killer British accent. He was enough to rival any dirty Prince Harry fantasy, but better because he was close enough to touch. He was a junior, so I only saw him in passing, but each and every time I did, he was walking with Edge and Cutter.
There was a familiarity there that shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.
I should have been ecstatic that I was no longer the one in Edge’s crosshairs, but I wasn’t.
It annoyed me that Edge spent my first few weeks at Castle Pines disrupting my day to day, only to move on as soon as someone more appealing came along. It was exactly what I told him was going to happen, but being right didn’t feel all that great. There was zero vindication. Once again, I felt like an afterthought, and it pissed me off that I hadn’t protected myself better. I had enough of those wounds as it was. I didn’t need to collect any new ones.
He left me alone at lunch, even though his guard dog had been missing a couple days in a row. He sat with the Brit, and I hated that I watched them together with something close to envy. Nothing was ever that easy for me when I started a new school. Not once had I walked in and been instantly accepted, especially by the guys who called the shots and made the rules everyone else followed. Never did I feel like I found my place among my people. I was always the odd one out, looking in. I told myself I wasn’t missing anything, this was normal teenage bullshit, but that refrain was getting old, and I was tired of forcing myself to repeat it over and over again.
I was also dealing with the added irritation of becoming the new favorite target for a group of guys who took abject delight in making my day hell. The ringleader was a guy on the baseball team with my roommate. His parents made their fortune in oil, so he was from somewhere deep in the heart of Texas. A true good ol’ boy who didn’t take too kindly that one of his jock bros was stuck rooming with a couple of queers. I’d never confirmed or denied my sexuality to anyone, but there was no way I could hide my reactions to Edge Darby. I might as well have tattooed ‘I Suck Dick’ on my forehead after we practically eye-fucked each other at lunch that day in front of everyone. Since Mac was scary as fuck and more than a little unhinged, he was spared the redneck’s wrath. I, however, was fair game, especially now that Edge was no longer circling around me like a predator ready to make a kill.
I was immune to the shoulder-checks and taunts. It was super easy to ignore the same slurs I’d gotten used to in public school and on street corners. I didn’t blink at the overt and covert bullying. Honestly, it was to be expected. I stood out like a sore thumb, and the boys attending school here were not the type of people who appreciated differences. The only thing that bothered me, the thing that got under my skin and rubbed me the wrong way to the point I couldn’t ignore it, was the way he disrupted me in my creative writing class.
It was one of two classes we had together, and since it was the only class I’d admitted to enjoying, he went out of his way to be a complete pain in the ass and total distraction the entire hour. He’d kick my chair. He’d throw things at the back of my head. He’d talk under his breath the whole time. He’d play on his phone, the beeps distracting and bothersome. I thought I was doing an okay job keeping my irritation disguised, but apparently I wasn’t, because each day he found a new way to be as annoying as possible.
I kept waiting for the teacher to say something. I figured I couldn’t be the only one bothered by his antics, but the days dragged on, and there were no repercussions. It became glaringly obvious the class I looked forward to the most was going to be a nightmare for the rest of the year.
Today, we were supposed to get up in front of the class and read a short story we wrote about one of our most vivid childhood memories. It was supposed to be prep for when we wrote our college entrance essays. The teacher wanted us to tap into something that made us relatable, but also showed how we might stand out from other candidates. So far, there were stories about first trips to Europe and new ponies. There were memories of meeting famous people and moving into mansions on the beach. One guy wrote about the first million he made in investments; yep, already a millionaire at seventeen. Another wrote about how heartbroken he’d been when he received a BMW for his sixteenth birthday instead of the white Mercedes he’d wanted. My favorite was the kid who wrote about how unfair it was that his twin was getting a larger share of the family inheritance since he was three minutes older.
They were stories of excess and extravagance. They all had the same theme; these kids had no idea how good they had it. I grew up in the lap of luxury right alongside them, but my parents had never paid enough attention to mess up a birthday gift and they had never given me my first anything. In fact, I rarely saw them. For the longest time, I wondered why they dragged me around from place to place if they were going to forget about me as soon as we got to the next place. It wasn’t until I was old enough to read the tabloids, and search the web, that I realized they kept me close by because that was what was expected. I was part of their image, their brand. I was the token of their love they toted in front of the press every time a rumor of infidelity or a split arose. They used me to cover up, to distract from the pain they’d caused other people and the relationships they’d ruined.
When it was my turn to get up and read, my new nemesis tried to knock my iPad out of my hands. I was ready for him, though, as I sidestepped his grab and narrowed my eyes at him. The teacher finally told him to behave, and there was a rustling in the back of the room. My attention immediately shifted to where Edge and Cutter sat by the far wall, closest to the door. Edge wasn’t watching me, his frosty gaze was locked on the ball player, and there was a frown on his too-pretty face. Someone that handsome shouldn’t look so intimidating, but he did. All it took was a scowl and the freezing burn of those pale eyes settling on a victim.
Once I was in front of the room, I cleared my throat and looked down at the words on my iPad. I rubbed a nervous hand across the back of my neck and muttered, “My birthday is coming up in a few days. I wrote about the first time I realized my parents didn’t throw me a birthday party the way other kids’ parents did. I didn’t get a cake or a clown. There were no presents or balloons. My whole life, my birthday has been like any other day, and I didn’t know that was weird until I started school.”
There was a snicker from my tormentor, but the rest of the class was eerily silent as I read the story about getting a cupcake from a kid in my kindergarten class. I’d asked him what it was for. I remembered the confusion that overcame me as he explained birthdays to me. Why did he get a special day with presents and special treats? I continued on, telling how my teacher had tried to explain to five-year-old me why birthdays were a big deal, and how I clearly recalled her horror when it was obvious I had no idea what she was talking about. I got to the paragraph about my mother telling the teacher that she and my father refused to spoil me. She insisted that just because we had a lot, didn’t mean I needed much… or anything. Not even the basics like love and affection.
When I was done, the entire classroom was staring at me like I was an alien who had invaded their fancy private school. If it wasn’t clear I didn’t belong before, it was now. These kids were the legacies, and I was a latchkey kid who had fended for myself from the get-go.
Suddenly, my tormentor let out a loud bark of laughter that broke the thick silence in the room. He threw his head back and howled at the ceiling. He slapped a hand on his desk, drawing everyone’s attention as I stared stupidly at him.
“Of course they didn’t give you a birthday party. Look at you, you freak. Who wants to celebrate that?” He waved a hand, indicating my entire form. “They’re probably embarrassed by you. You look like a damn coloring book a two-year-old went after—and what’s with the nails? Are you a chick? I would be horrified if you were my kid.” He snorted. “And even if they did throw you a party, who would come? No one.”
I tapped the iPad to close the screen and cast a look at the teacher out of the corner of my eye. He was frowning where he sat at his desk, but he wasn’t saying anything to take back control of the situation. I couldn’t tell if he was stunned stupid, or if he was afraid of the kid and his influence—the latter seemed more likely. Sighing, I shoved my hair out of my face and started back to my seat. I was almost there when words so sharp I felt the prick of them against my skin stabbed through the tension and melancholy in the room.
“You’re done, Rodgers.” Edge didn’t shout or raise his voice in the slightest, but his words echoed off the walls.
Every head in the room turned to look at the blond in the back, but he only had eyes for the guy giving me a hard time. The redneck swung his head around, face going pale as his eyes darted between the other guy and me.
“What? No. I was just giving the new guy a hard time. It was a joke. Right, new kid? We were playing around… right?” The ball player’s voice rose with each word. His eyes went wide, and I swore he broke into a sweat as I finally lowered myself back into my seat. I refused to turn around as he practically screamed, “Tell Edge it was all in good fun! You aren’t mad, are you? Tell him!”
He started to reach for my shoulder, but I flinched away just as that frozen voice barked out, “Touch him, and you’re more than done. Keep your hands and your eyes off him. You fucked up, Rodgers.”
The jock whined, “You can’t threaten me like this in the middle of class, Edge. There are witnesses.” He pointed to the teacher, who was watching it all play out, still not saying a word or lifting a finger to intervene. “Mr. Parker, you can’t let him get away with threatening me like this.”
Cutter stood up, hands flat on the table in front of him as his gaze skated across each person watching. “Anyone see anything?”
A collective “no” echoed in unison around the room.
Properly chastised, my nemesis sunk back into his chair.
His ugly eyes bored into the back of my head as he said, defeated, “I thought he was done with you,” under his breath.
I thought he was done with me, too, but apparently, we were both wrong.
I couldn’t stop the smirk that crossed my face as I glanced over my shoulder with a look of utter contempt.
“No, you’re the one who’s done.” I took perverse pleasure in getting the last word in. I was so used to holding my tongue.
I didn’t know what being done meant in Edge’s world, but I was kind of excited to find out.
I might have lied… his level of power and control in a world that was flooded with it… was turning out to be sexier than I’d ever imagined.