Brutal Boy by Selena
eight
Harper Apple
The moment I step through the doors of Willow Heights on Monday morning, every head turns my way. I’m so sick of this shit I could puke. If they’re trying to drive me back to Faulkner High, this is sure as fuck tempting me. The only thing keeping me going is the knowledge that enduring this for two years will ensure I never have to see a single one of these assholes again in my life.
I wish I could turn and walk out, that I could run to Colt’s house and smoke pot and make out and eat sandwiches at the island in the kitchen with light streaming in the picture windows.
But I can’t do that again because if I do, they’ll kill him.
I run my hand subtly down the back of my skirt, making sure it’s not tucked up into my underwear. On Saturday morning, I found my bike and backpack locked to the railing on my porch, and surprisingly, no one had raided the bag and stolen anything. The clothes were wet and the laptop was damp but still alive, since the rain wasn’t super heavy. A trip to the laundromat later, I’m walking into school looking more or less normal for once. Well, not normal for me, but at least I fit in with the other rich bitches, if I’m a little on the conservative, preppy side. Mabel’s style was more J. Crew than the popular crowd, but that’s fine by me. I’m not the stilettos type anyway.
A bitchy voice cuts through my determination to ignore the stares. “Oh my god, what is she wearing now?”
“Oh, bless her heart,” squeals the answering voice. “Does she really think this is going to make us forget she’s in a literal porn video?”
“Let’s go, girls,” Gloria says. “Everyone deserves a chance to start over and try again.”
I try to meet her eye, to thank her silently, but she ignores my attempt to acknowledge her scrap of kindness.
“Fuck this shit,” I mutter under my breath. I’m about to hand them their asses if they keep this up. But I’d rather not be suspended, so I don’t react. Instead, I forge ahead and don’t stop until I reach my locker. They follow me like bloodsucking mosquitos, their heels clicking down the hall behind us.
When I finish getting my books, those bitches are still standing there, watching me and snickering, probably waiting for me to lose my shit. “Don’t you have something better to do than follow me around gawking?” I ask. “I swear you’re worse than the guys asking me for blowjobs.”
Everleigh scoffs and exchanges a look with one of the other Bitch Pack girls. “You’re such a freakshow.”
“So, what is it?” I ask. “You want head, or you want a lesson on how to give it?”
“Oh my god,” Eleanor squeals, her face twisted up in disgust. “Is she hitting on you?”
“Ew,” Everleigh shrieks, grabbing onto Gloria like she’s scared I’m going to lunge for her pussy and start eating it in the middle of the hall.
I cock a brow at her. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”
“Are you really such a whore that you don’t even care if you’re with a guy or a girl?” asks one of their sidekicks, gaping at me. “Would you, like, do an animal?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Y’all really need hobbies if you have nothing better to do than obsess over my sex life. Hey, maybe you could try getting one of your own. A good dicking might mellow you out.”
“Ugh,” Eleanor huffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder and giving me a once-over. “Clothes can’t change who you are. You’re still a skank underneath.”
“Again, why are you so obsessed with my clothes and what’s under them?” I ask. “Considering your pursuit of Dolce dick, I pegged you as a straight girl. My bad. But just so you know, you’re not my type.”
“Oh my god, ew,” Eleanor says. “We’re not trying to get in your pants, freak.”
“Could have fooled me,” I say with a shrug, closing my locker.
“Come on, girls,” Gloria says, linking an arm with each of her sisters. “I need to talk to Dixie before dance. You would not believe what happened to Royal this weekend.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It was wild.” And then I turn and walk away, just to deny them the satisfaction of doing it first. Yeah, I can be as petty as the next bitch, and I know she’s baiting me, trying to get me interested in her gossip about Royal. But fuck if I’m going to chase her down the hall like she did me.
Still, I hate knowing that she talked to Royal, that he told her what happened.
I slide into my seat in class, checking the back table where Duke Dolce usually sits with his buddies. Cotton and DeShaun are there, leaned over a laptop.
I turn back to the front and start getting my stuff out, tuning in to the voices around me.
“Did you hear—”
“…can’t believe…”
“… It was random?”
“Have you seen—”
“So sad.”
I straighten and set my laptop on the table in front of me. Before I can open it, Dixie comes marching into the room in her kick-ass boots, Quinn hovering like a planet orbiting her cooler cousin.
“Hey, Harper,” Dixie says, sliding into her seat opposite me. Quinn takes another seat at the table as usual. The teacher clears her throat, and Dixie lowers her voice to a whisper. “I know you don’t like gossip, but you might want to check the blog.”
Everleigh comes flouncing in just as the bell chimes softly. I’ve only been here a few months, but I’m already used to the posh bell. I’d probably jump out of my skin if the harsh, jangling of the Faulkner bell sounded instead.
“I’m not late,” Everleigh says, a challenge in her voice.
The teacher sighs and waves Everleigh to her seat. She’s a Dolce girl, so even the teachers won’t give her much shit.
“We were looking for you this morning,” Everleigh says, stopping at our table to address Dixie. “Gloria has tea.”
“Spill.”
“I can’t,” Everleigh says, rolling her eyes at the teacher, who clears her throat loudly. “Gloria will tell you in dance. It’s about Royal.”
She slips back to the table with the other populars, though Duke is missing. I wonder if Royal was worse off than we realized. I mean, the guy stopped breathing. He didn’t say a word once we got in the car. Suddenly, my stomach knots. Maybe he wasn’t the one who called Gloria. Maybe Duke or Baron called to tell her he was in the hospital. He could have gotten pneumonia or some infection from inhaling all that dirty water. Hell, he could have brain damage or… I know fuck-all about drowning, but I know it can’t be healthy to come as close to dying as he did.
I shouldn’t care. I should be fucking happy. I pushed him off that bridge on purpose. He deserved it.
But my heart seizes at the thought of anything happening to him. I didn’t let myself think about it too much this weekend. After the harrowing ordeal, I slept through the Friday night fight, so I had to play poker all night on Saturday to make up for it. Then I slept all day Sunday and did homework at the laundromat in the evening. Which means I spent as little time as possible awake and dwelling on my thoughts or considering what would’ve happened if Royal had held onto me just a few seconds longer. We’d both be dead right now.
What would’ve happened if I hadn’t grabbed his shirt? If I wasn’t strong enough to hold onto him and pull him up? If I had to choose between letting him go and getting to shore alive, or holding on and dying? What would have happened if Baron didn’t know how to do resuscitate him? If I got him to shore, and we had to wait for paramedics to arrive, would it have been too late by the time they got there and trundled down the bank with a stretcher for quarter of a mile? Would we have had to sit there and wait helplessly, watching him die?
I shiver at the thought, wrapping my arms around myself and trying to focus. Thinking about what could have been is pointless. I’m not the sort to dwell on shit I can’t control. Even so… I’m not a killer. I know exactly how precious life is. Yeah, I hate Royal, and he did and said some fucked up shit to me, and I was pissed at him. But nothing he’s done was as bad as what I did. I could have fucking killed him.
I almost did.
I remember Colt telling me I attacked everything with brute force instead of being patient and letting things work themselves out. That’s exactly what I did. I wanted revenge on Royal, so I did something reckless and dangerous, and he almost died. I could have plotted revenge and taken my time, waiting until the moment was right and delivering a soul-crushing blow, the way the Dolces do. They held onto that video for months.
Instead, I went in with all the stealth of a sledgehammer. I wanted to escape, and I knew we could both swim to shore, so I jumped off a fucking bridge.
I’m startled out of my head by the little OnlyWords app popping up in the corner of my screen, the black box with boxy green letters blinking at me.
WHGossipGrrl: Did u read the blog?
BadApple: no sry ill check now
WHGossipGrrl: i’m sorry : (
BadApple: y?
WHGossipGrrl: Txt me after u read it
BadApple: k
I make sure the teacher isn’t roaming the room before surreptitiously searching for the blog. My stomach is knotted with dread now that she apologized. The last thing I need is more bullshit coming my way. But I seem to be the target of way too many of her blogs, which is why I avoid the thing in the first place. Surely she has better things to blog about than a dramatic wardrobe change, even if it does involve her favorite magnet for gossip. I haven’t done anything else noteworthy lately, unless…
My heart flips, and I nearly choke as I shoot her a look. Does she know what I did to Royal?
The entire school will string me up and crucify me if they find out I almost killed their king. I’m lucky the twins were there and relieved enough that I saved his life to punish me for being the one who risked it to begin with.
My hands shake as I click on the link to her latest blog.
Willow Heights Gossip Grrl
Student Attacked
I usually try to focus on the positives, but this week I come bearing tragic news. If you’re a normal person who leaves “Local News with Jackie” to your parents, you probably still saw this all over social media over the weekend. If not, you missed a tragic story, and though I hate to be the bearer of bad news, this cannot be ignored. I’m sure we’re all equally shocked at the news of a brutal attack on one of our own.
Sometime after school on Friday, Colt Darling was violently assaulted outside Willow Heights in the east/faculty parking lot. A member of the custodial team found him on the ground, unresponsive, when she arrived for work at around 7pm. She called 911, and Officer Gunn arrived on the scene shortly thereafter. Colt was then airlifted to Faulkner Regional where he remains in stable but critical condition as of Monday morning. His family asks for your prayers in this heartbreaking time but also asks that you respect their privacy and do not contact them regarding his condition, details of which they will share as new developments occur. Colt did not attend school on Friday but was seen leaving campus that morning with Harper Apple. His reason for being on campus after school is unknown.
The Scoop: Though the perpetrator(s) remain at large, the police do not think anyone else is in immediate danger. Sources say the attack seems to have begun over a fender bender in the parking lot and escalated to a physical altercation. If you have any information regarding this attack, please contact the police department or call their anonymous tip line.
Must have item of the week: A candle for the candlelight prayer service that will be held Tuesday night at 7pm in the east/faculty parking lot where the attack occurred. First Baptist of Faulkner’s Pastor Burton will preside. The Darlings request that all cards, flowers, etc be left there or donated to First Baptist, where Colt attends.
I sit there reading it over and over, wanting to puke. Fragments of conversations I’ve had about the Dolce boys cycle through my mind interspersed with lines from the news-like blog post.
They’re not like the guys you’re used to… Prayers in this heartbreaking time… In with the mafia… Perpetrators remain at large… They’re criminals… Brutal attack… They ruin lives… Contact the police… They’re dangerous… Unresponsive… Airlifted… Critical condition…
I slam my laptop and bolt out of my seat, sure I’m going to be sick. Everyone turns at my sudden disruption, but I barely hear the teacher telling me to sit down as I pass her, throw open the door, and stumble into the hall. My feet carry me out the door before I can stop them. I know I’m fucking up right and left. I should sit through class and pay attention, not go back to my old habits of skipping school and smoking under the bleachers. But fuck that.
Fuck everything.
I don’t have anything to smoke, so I sit on the bleachers alone, not doing anything. The day is bright and sunny and cheerful, though inside, I’m being torn apart by a fucking hurricane. This is why I don’t have friends.
There will always be psychos in the world. I can’t control that. I can only control how they affect me, whether I give them access to my heart.
Friends are dangerous. Friends are a means for them to get to me.
No more friends. That’s my first sacrifice.
Because this is my fault. I didn’t just let them get to me. I led them straight to Colt. They warned me over and over to stay away from him. They warned me they’d hurt him if I didn’t. And I still had to have it my way. They don’t give a single fuck about who should have been punished for that indiscretion. They could have hurt me. I can take it. I’d rather they’d hurt me than Colt.
But they knew. They knew that it would affect me more deeply if they went after Colt. And yeah, I could blame them for being sociopaths, for the assault itself, but they’ve never hidden who they are. I know. They warned me. Everyone warned me. Can I blame a scorpion for having venom? Or myself for reaching in to pet it?
It doesn’t matter why they are the way they are. I have to stop trying to understand them and making excuses for them. They are scorpions, and they sting, and I’ve always known that. They don’t care who’s the casualty as long as they get the result they desire. No more. I won’t risk anyone else I care about. Not by borrowing Blue’s car, or talking to Maverick when I run into him, or even breathing the Darling name.
A footstep reverberates along the metal bleachers, and I startle, my heart in my throat for one second before my rational brain catches up and reminds me that Colt won’t be joining me today.
Instead, I look up to see Dixie trudging along the row of bench seats toward me.
“Shouldn’t you be heading to dance right now?” I ask, resentful of the intrusion. She wrote that blog. She put my name in it. The only reason the cops haven’t shown up to ask me questions is that the Dolces had already collected my bike and backpack when the cops showed up, so no one could place me at the scene.
Suddenly, my head swims and my stomach heaves. If they really went back and got my things before the cops showed up, that means they saw Colt. They saw that he hadn’t gotten up, that he was lying out in the cold rain, beaten unconscious, and they took my stuff and left him there without even calling for help.
I have to swallow down bile at the thought that I kissed the boy who did that to him, after he did it. Yeah, part of that was to distract him before I pushed him off a bridge, but I kissed him right after he beat the shit out of my friend so bad he might not live through it. I didn’t just kiss him, either. I enjoyed every second of it, way more than I should. I felt the kinship of our souls.
Maybe that’s the most fucked up part of all. I still feel for Royal. I still see the human boy behind the monster. I still feel a connection, no matter what he does, and I don’t know how to break it.
Dixie sits down beside me without speaking, her shoulders slumped, her head down. For a while, neither of us say anything. I imagine what it must have been like for her to write that blog about Colt, to sound all professional, when I know she has feelings for him.
“I do have dance,” she says after a long time. She sniffs and wipes her nose, and I realize she’s been sitting there silently weeping for the boy who only we mourn. “I just couldn’t go in there pretending everything was fine and listen to Lo’s trivial bullshit about Royal Dolce and how he called her over the weekend, or whatever she wants me to spread around school so everyone thinks he dumped his older girlfriend and now he’s into her. Again.”
“Is he?”
“Who fucking knows,” she says, the word sounding jarring in her sweet, southern drawl. “I’ve heard he’s into older women, that people have seen him out at fancy restaurants with his secret lover or whoever she is. But every time he sticks his dick in Gloria, she hears wedding bells.” She laughs, but the sound is hollow and tired. “And here I am judging when I’ve been doing the same thing for two long years.”
“With Colt?”
“Yeah,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes. “I know you care about him, too, Harper. That’s why I came out here. I just wanted to sit with someone else who cared about him. Even if it’s not the way I did.”
“He’s not dead, Dixie.”
“He’s been in the ICU since Friday night,” she says. “His parents said they had to put a metal plate in part of his skull. That’s how bad they messed him up.”
I swallow down the bile again. I don’t want to think about it, about how long Royal was kneeling on him, punching him in the face. I must have gone into some kind of shock. It didn’t seem that long. I have to tell someone, and not just Mr. D. I have to tell the police. “Do you have any idea who did it?” I ask carefully.
She scoffs and swipes her eyes. “Of course I know who did it,” she says. “Everyone who went to school here last year knows who did it. We’ve all been waiting for it, in a way. I mean, they ruined Preston and Mabel. Why would they let Colt stay, relatively unscathed, forever?”
I think about his hand, the way his skin is so tight he can’t extend his fingers—the ones that remain. I think about the sadness in his eyes when he talked about his sister and even the Dolce sister. I wouldn’t call him unscathed.
“Do you know why they did it?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, knotting her fingers together between her thick knees. “It all started about two years ago.”
