Black Knight (Royal Elite #4) by Rina Kent

If it were the old me, I would’ve bowed my head and run away crying, and his mocking laughter would’ve followed me as I sniffled in dark corners, not wanting others to witness my shame.

However, something’s changed.

Me.

I’ve changed.

Ever since I woke up and found Kir hugging me and bawling, I’ve come to an important conclusion. If I want to survive in this world, if I want to stay with my baby brother and save him from our mum, then I have to take my life into my own hands.

I’m done playing a secondary role in my own tale.

Done letting the likes of Xander Knight walk all over me.

Done crying in corners like a damn coward.

I push my shoulders back the way Elsa always does and meet his gaze head-on. “There’s room.”

Okay, my voice could’ve been louder, but it’s calm, so there’s that. Baby steps.

“What did you just say?” He narrows one of his eyes as if not believing I spoke.

I don’t talk back to Xander. Ever. I either run away or do as he tells me. I’ve always thought if I did, one day, he’d find it in him to forgive me. One day, he’d recall those times we used to be best friends.

But I’ve been a fool.

Those times only exist for me. He already wiped them clean, so I might as well do the same.

“You heard me.” I motion at the rest of the hall. “There’s room. Use it.”

He chuckles, the sound dry and humourless, and my back stiffens. “Did you just order me, Berly?”

I hate that name. I fucking despise it.

It’s a taunt, and a cruel one at that. The boy who used to call me his Green is long gone. It’s not that I want him to call me that again, he lost the right when he said I disgusted him. He lost the right when he stood by as all the other students bullied me.

He lost the right when he was no longer my number one supporter and turned into my number one tormentor.

Still, I wish he’d just call me by my first name.

I lift a shoulder. “Call it whatever you like.”

I start to move past him, but he stops twirling the ball and thrusts it in front of my face, forcing me to halt. “Not so fast.”

A sigh escapes me even as a tremor shoots down my spine. Being this close to him that I almost smell the mint on his breath and his rich ocean scent rattles me in ways I don’t care to admit.

Or experience.

“What do you want, Xander?”

His brows scrunch and his grip tightens on the ball. “First, lose the attitude. Second, don’t say my fucking name.”

“Then how about you stop getting in my fucking way?” I snap, then bite my lower lip.

Shit.

I just snapped at him. This must be the first time in…well, ever. I don’t remember ever doing it, not even when we were kids. He seems taken aback, too, when his face loses the hard edge for a fraction of a second.

Before he can think about a way to retaliate – and hurt me – I brush past him and stride to class. But I don’t run. No, I keep my steps controlled.

From today onwards, Xander Knight won’t see me run or cry.

This confrontation is only the beginning.

A new battle has started in our war.

And this time, I’ll come out as the winner.





2





Kimberly





I heave my lunch into the toilet, the gurgling sound echoing around me like a fucked up symphony.

Do you know that distorted sound some violins make?

Yeah, me neither. Dad and Mum are into classical music – they met at a concerto. Shocker. I prefer punk and alternative rock. Thank you very much.

Anyway, I fill my mind with my favourite songs instead of the sound of heaving. You never get used to it, not the sticking your finger in your throat part and not the vomiting part; it’s always disgusting. Every time I do this, I feel as if spiders are crawling over my skin with their hairy legs, leaving trails of rubbish in their wake.

Once my stomach makes the hollow sound, announcing there’s nothing left, I step out of the stool. No one is here, as they shouldn’t be.

I only do this right before class, after I make sure everyone is in there. That’s why I sometimes arrive late, then pretend it’s because of a headache.

Being invisible is easy, but being completely non-existent is a bit difficult. If I were a ghost, I wouldn’t have to go through this trouble every day.

You know, the part about making sure no one is inside a public girls’ toilet. If anyone is around, I just vomit in RES’s back garden in the rubbish bin and only return here to brush my teeth.

As soon as I finish washing my mouth, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

That face is also a nightmare.

In fact, it’s the worst nightmare. Those cheeks that I thought would no longer be shabby, those breasts that appear too small against my blouse. My saggy arms with stretch marks galore. They’re everywhere – stretch marks, I mean – at the underside of my arms, my stomach, and my thighs.

Everywhere.

I hate them and I hate this fucking body. I hate myself in it. I wish there was a way to detonate it from the inside out, aside from vomiting my lunch.

A thought assaults my subconscious.

I want to slam my fist into that mirror, break it into pieces, then take a shard of glass and –

No.

No, no!