Bloody Princess by Helen Scott
1
Lyric
I take a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs and holding it until it burns and my chest clenches with the need to breathe before letting it back out again slowly. This is it. This is where my life changes. This is where everything I've planned—we've planned—comes into being.
“You ready for this?” Melody asks from the bucket seat of her tiny hatchback next to me.
The old faux leather creaks as I turn to look at her. “I still don’t see why I couldn’t just live at home and commute. It would make this whole thing easier.” I give an exaggerated sigh, puffing my cheeks out and slouching in my seat, not quite ready to leave the comfort of the car.
“It will be easier for both of us if you’re not always under the watchful eyes of the staff. You know they tell Dad everything—at least when they’re brave enough.” Melody shrugs and looks pointedly at the door handle. Opening it will lead me to my future, as dark and devilish as it may be. I don't correct her about the staff. She never believes me, so what's the point?
My life awaits. Whether I'm ready for it or not.
I grasp the smooth, worn plastic and tug before pushing the door open and climbing out. The heat of the late summer air washes over my skin, and I immediately miss the air conditioning. The pop of the trunk unlatching has me moving around to the back of the car as Melody gets out.
“You should stay in the car,” I mutter when she comes around and starts helping me lift out my bags.
“I’ll be gone in a moment. No one will remember me, especially not today.” She gestures to all the parents dropping kids off. The dads moving stuff. Moms crying. It’s a mess. The whole parking lot looks like either the beginning or end of some kind of disaster movie.
With the two suitcases and backpack out of the trunk, she turns and gives me a brief hug before slamming the trunk closed and making her way to the driver's seat once more. I move over to the side and wait for her to pull out before I wave her off, her car zipping out of the parking lot and earning some glares from the parents still wrestling with their children’s belongings and the emotions that come with someone leaving.
I pull my backpack on fully and grip the handles on each suitcase before making my way toward the dorm. South Hall. My home for the next academic year. I thought I'd packed light, but as I pull my luggage down the path and toward the dorm, I realize that I have not, in fact, packed light. These fuckers are heavy. I don't have anyone to help me with them though, so my only hope is that the dorm has elevators and I'm not going to be stuck climbing stairs with all this. Either way, South Hall awaits.
As does Brittany Bachsleigh, my roommate. A stranger.
Fantastic.
If it wasn’t for the presence of the Boys of Ascendance Bay, I wouldn’t even be at this school. I’d wanted to go to UCLA, but when we’d embarked on this idea, I’d watched my LA dreams vanish like morning fog. Though, if I'd ever brought the idea of UCLA up to my father, I'd hate to imagine what his reaction would have been. I know one thing for sure: it wouldn't have been pretty.
No, I’m stuck here at Welhurst University.
A tiny school that can barely call itself a university and is full of stuck-up brats, like myself, whose parents have more money than sense and think that, if they spend a lot on their child's education, they must be getting the best possible. Money equals power and luxury, which is everything Welhurst claims to contain—plus stellar professors who totally care about your individual child's education.
There are a few dorms on Welhurst’s campus, and if I’m honest, South Hall wasn’t my first pick when it came to where I’d be living. Guildstine Hall has the biggest rooms and overlooks the football field—which is guaranteed to have some decent eye candy—and would have been my preference. South, however, is the closest to the two most important places on campus, at least for me. First is the APT frat house, where they live. Second is the Pi Ep sorority house, where I’ll be pledging in a couple of months. Not to mention, South is co-ed, so that’s a plus. Always good to have some on-call friends with benefits in case I get an itch I need help scratching.
Of course, there had been some persuasion of the green kind involved in getting me into a dorm typically reserved for the academically gifted, which I am not—at least, I hadn’t been the last couple of years.
I’m not dumb, but I hadn’t gone after all the AP classes in high school, and my SAT and ACT scores had left something to be desired. Having your sister die will do that, though. With that uplifting thought, I open the door to South Hall, holding it with my foot as I shove in first one suitcase, then another, while someone's dad just watches me as though he can’t figure out what I’m doing.
“Hi!” A bright, overly friendly voice greets me from off to the left. “Are you checking in?”
I nod as I turn to the voice, and the perplexed man that had been watching me struggling to get in the door acts like walking around my suitcases is the same as walking over hot coals. I ignore him. “I'm Lyric Sterling.”
The young woman’s finger skims over a sheet of paper until she stops at what I assume is my name. “Here you are,” she replies with altogether too much enthusiasm. “Room 516 with Brittany Bachsleigh.” She finds a sticky note with the room number written on it before picking it up and thrusting her hand in my direction, a keycard swinging from the lanyard on her crooked finger.
“Thanks.”
I take my card and the ugly orange lanyard that comes with it and head toward the elevator. It dings shrilly when it arrives on the ground floor, and two sets of haggard-looking parents leave the small metal cube. I shuffle in and punch the white circle with the number five on it, breathing a sigh of relief as the number lights up red and the doors close—though I could have done without the metallic grinding sound that starts as soon as the elevator begins its ascent.
Gritting my teeth, I breathe slowly through my mouth, using my diaphragm, so I don't notice the shaking of the metal box as it climbs higher while also trying to block out the scent of urine that seems to linger in the air. Apparently, even at a place like Welhurst, people piss wherever they want when they’re drunk. When the metal doors part, a tall, sweaty man stands in front of the opening, blocking my exit.
"Excuse me," I say as I step forward. He just stands there and stares at me blankly for a moment before moving out of my way and watching me as though I’m a ghost from his past. The sickly stench of sweat fills my nostrils, and it's only my father’s voice in my head that keeps me from covering my nose with my hand. A Sterling conducts themselves in a manner befitting the Sterling name at all times. Well, that and the fact that I'd then have to release one of my suitcases, which isn’t going to happen.
As soon as I'm past the man, I realize there are two directions to choose from. Left and right. A sign with the room numbers, like they have at hotels, would be helpful. The only thing opposite the elevator, though, is a door, while the hallways branch off on either side. The door has a corkboard on the upper third, with a big hand-lettered sign that says "Floor RA". I really hope the woman I met downstairs is not the floor’s resident advisor. I might punch her in the face before the year is up if she is. Without any clearer guidance, I decide to go left. It's my random guess on which direction my room lies.
Small black plaques with white numbers are screwed into the metal door frames, and I watch the numbers as I pass, making sure I'm heading in the right direction. When I get to five-sixteen I fumble around with my keycard, not having expected to need it just yet. Just as I'm about to slide it into the slot, the door swings open.
Someone I can only assume is Brittany stands there with a wide grin on her face and big, brown eyes that are slightly too wide, giving her an intense look. "Lyric?"
"Brittany?"
"Everyone calls me Evie. It's my middle name. There were too many Brittanys at my old school," she says by way of explanation.
"Evie it is," I reply with a smile.
"I hope you don't mind. I took the bed on the left." She backs up and gives me enough room to enter.
I glance around the room, taking it all in. White walls covered in tiny holes—from the previous resident's artwork, no doubt. A drop-tile ceiling that hides who knows what. And a rust-colored linoleum floor, which is peeling up in one corner. Desks are mounted to the wall on either side of the door, with windows opposite, and each side of the room boasts a bed and a small closet.
"Not at all. It doesn't look like there's a lot of difference between the two, and to be honest, I really don't care. So long as I get a bed, I'm a happy camper." I roll my suitcases over to the right side of the room and look at the boxes sitting on the floor in front of the bed.
"Those were here when I got here—I just scooched them over to your side. Honestly, I thought you might already be here and we’d just missed each other."
"No, I only just got here," I say, though I'm distracted.
'Thought you could use these' was scrawled on the top of the largest box in Sampson's handwriting.
A shudder rolls through my body. I hadn't wanted anyone in my family to know where I’m staying, but apparently, hiding that is futile. I’m sure he probably bribed his way in, or flirted, depending on who was working the reception desk at the time. The man is ridiculous and seems to always know exactly where I'll be.
I pull open the boxes, which aren't even taped closed—just folded with one flap under the other. Bedding and other linens fill the largest box. I don't bother unpacking it all before opening the next one, which is filled with photos and knicknacks, as though I have somewhere to put that kind of stuff. If my father doesn’t want me living at home, if he wants me to have the college experience, then why burden me with the responsibilities and paraphernalia of family? It’s not like I’m leaving forever. We all know I’ll work for the family, eventually. Besides, we aren’t even a family anymore, not with everything that has happened. For all intents and purposes, it’s just my father and me.
Having a family is a thing of the past.
The sooner I get my college degree and turn twenty-one, the sooner I'll have unfettered access to my trust fund, which means that I won’t be under my father's thumb anymore. Not that I am planning on walking away from the family, but having my own free will and the ability to leave if I want to is important. If I did leave, there would be a manhunt of epic proportions, not to mention what would happen when they eventually found me—and they would. Find me, that is. My father has too much money and too much power to get anything other than exactly what he wants.
"It is your stuff, right?" Brittany—Evie—asks from behind me. I hadn't heard her approach, which means I'm allowing myself to be too distracted by the contents of the boxes.
I quickly close the one with all the decor in it and turn, a fake smile plastered on my face, "Yep! My family must have dropped it off to help me out."
"That's so sweet of them! My dad only just left, and he complained the entire time he was helping me bring stuff up." She laughs, but it sounds hollow.
I look at Evie again. Does she have family issues as well? I'll have to get Melody to do some research and see what we can find out before I decide whether or not to trust her. Mel offered already, but I hadn’t wanted to dig unless it was necessary.
Evie seems nice enough, but I won't let anyone get in the way of what I have planned. Not Melody, and certainly not Evie. The Boys of Ascendance Bay are going to pay for their crimes. Unfortunately for them, I'm their judge, jury, and executioner, and I've been well trained in each capacity.
