Bloody Princess by Helen Scott
11
Lyric
When I get back to my dorm room, Evie is nowhere to be seen. In some ways, I'm grateful because the mood Mel put me in isn't exactly conducive to being friendly and outgoing or showing my most normal side to someone. Yet, I also know that if she was here, she'd be able to drag me out of this mood.
I'd resolved earlier to do exactly what Melody had told me to, so as soon as the door shuts behind me, I sling my purse onto my desk chair and walk over to my bed. The cream and lavender comforter and pale pink sheets are still a mess from when I'd woken up this morning. I'm still getting used to not having any staff picking up after me. I'm spoiled, I know.
What no one knows is that the sheets hide a multitude of my sins. I pull the corner back and tug at the edge of the mattress, lifting it so I can access the slit that I cut into the end. I wiggle my hand through the thick, ugly material and metal springs to find what I'm looking for.
Lyssa's diary.
Once I have it in my hands, I let the mattress flop back down and tuck the sheet back in place. I sit on the edge of the bed and debate just scanning through it, but that won't get me in the right headspace, so I lay down and curl on my side, pulling the diary up so it's right in front of my face. All I can see is the diary and the white wall behind it, nothing from Evie's colorful, happy side of the room to distract me. Just me and Alyssa's words, her life summed up in her own handwriting.
The small notebook is bound in rose gold leather, which is embossed with designs of roses, birds, and bees. My heart pinches at the sight of it, and an ache forms in my chest. Lyssa was who I wanted to be when I grew up. She was free. She was allowed to do whatever she wanted, go wherever she wanted, be friends with whoever she wanted. All within reason, of course.
The thin strap of elastic that holds the thing closed is getting worn from use, and I expect it to snap sometime soon, but putting the diary away without the strap in place somehow feels wrong. As I slide it off and lift the cover open, the binding creaks as I do so, and I know that's come from the unexpected amount of use that Mel and I have put the poor thing through. We weren't exactly gentle with it in the beginning, when we first found it after her funeral.
We knew, thanks to me snooping, that Lyssa had drugs in her system and that the brake lines of her car had been tampered with. Yes, technically, she’d died from a car accident, but it wouldn't have happened if she'd been in control, and Melody and I both knew Lyssa well enough that we knew, given what she had going on, there was no way she'd have gotten high. If someone had tampered with her brakes, that was murder—manslaughter, at the very least—but that wasn't the kind of attention my father wanted, so it was brushed under the rug, like so many things, and just called an unfortunate accident.
Inside the front flap, there's a brown page, which feels a little like high quality brown craft paper, where Lyssa had doodled her name hundreds of times, sometimes with various last names—most of which belonged to boys we went to school with or celebrities. I trace my fingertips over her writing, feeling a little as though she's there with me, though I know that's not true.
I flip past the brown page and find the first entry. She talks about school and her daily life, which boys she thinks are cute and why, which of her friends she's currently frustrated with, the party she's planning on sneaking out to go to that weekend, and how much of a jerk our father is. I mentally sigh. If only she knew the half of it.
As I flip through the pages and take in the easy, beautiful, full life she’d had, between dance and boys and school, a tiny spike of jealousy flares within me. The whole time she’d been the Sterling princess, I’d been the Sterling punching bag. I push the thought aside. Lyssa had no idea what was happening, just like Mel and I had no idea what was going on in her life until we found her diary. By that point, it was too late. She was already dead.
The entries are sporadic at first but become more regular as she gets older. The further into the diary I read, the more frustrated both of us become. Me, mainly because Aunt Sophie has told Lyssa a secret, one that has shaken her to her very core, but she never actually wrote it down. I desperately want to know what it is, but Lyssa was very careful not to include any details or even hints as to what it might be. She'd found out shortly after she and Jude started to move their friendship into something more romantic.
Just as I am getting to the part where her diary becomes frantic and messy, the part right before her death, the part that makes me the angriest, the door to the room opens, and Evie scurries in.
I roll over to look at her, and what I see surprises me. Evie's hair is heavily mussed,and her lipstick is smeared, as though she just got done fucking in the hallway or something. As soon as she sees me, a blush rises on her cheeks.
"Who's the lucky guy?" I ask as I close the diary and tuck it under my pillow. I'll put it away properly once I've finished reading it. Right now, I want to be distracted by the fun that is Evie being embarrassed.
"Cliff," she mumbles as she strips out of her tank top and proceeds to struggle with her bra because she's somehow put it on inside out.
"Who is Cliff and what did he do to make you blush like that?" I reply with a grin. A small part of my brain wonders if I'm acting and trying to fit in, or if I'm actually regaining some of my humanity now that I'm away from my father and Sampson.
Evie finally gets her bra off and pulls a baggy t-shirt over her head before stripping out of her pants, which means I don't get to think about that uncomfortable idea for too long because she says, "The other APT brother from the cookout?"
The douchey guy? The one who pulled his friend away from staring at my tits? That guy? I didn't even think they'd talked. "Yeah?" I ask, not knowing what else to say. It wasn't as though I'd had these kinds of conversations before. The girls at my high school knew to stay away from me, especially junior and senior year when I was just waiting for someone to say the wrong thing and provoke me. I'm still surprised my father didn't ship me off to the same boarding school as Melody.
Evie dramatically flops down on the bed and covers her face with her hands before doing a strange little shimmy in place and squealing in delight. When she finally brings her hands down, she's grinning from ear to ear. "His dick is amazing," she says as she breathes dreamily.
I laugh, though it sounds hollow to my own ears. "It must be, if it's making you smile like that." I know my experiences with sex are far from normal, but seeing how Evie is reacting, I can't help but wonder just how far away from normal I am.
She rolls onto her side so she can look at me as she says, "It's so girthy. I don't even care that it's not that long because it's so thick. And I mean thick. If we'd gone for another round, I'd probably have trouble walking tomorrow. And he's fucking stacked. I mean the guy’s got muscles on his muscles. Oh, and the way he uses his hands..." she sighs and stares off into space. "And his tongue," she adds a second later.
"I'm glad you had a good time," I say, unsure how else to respond.
"A good time?" she scoffs, sounding amazed at my words. "I haven't been fucked like that in ages. I feel fantastic. I feel like a damn goddess. If I could get dicked down like that for the rest of my life, I'd be in heaven."
"Can't say I've had the same experience with sex, but I'm glad you did." Why in the holy fuck did I just say that? No. There are some things I can stretch and share, but that's not one of them.
As though she can sense my panic, she looks at me, all the joy and excitement blanked from her face, and asks the exact thing I don't want her to. "What happened?"
"Just a stupid boy using me until he could get in my pants and then running away," I say, summing up the stereotype of high school sex as best as I can.
"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry!" I see her flinch, as though she wants to come over and hug me, but I think she's also picked up on the fact that I don't really do physical affection very well, so she just stays in bed. "We'll find you some good dick, don't you worry. I'm an excellent wing woman. The next time we try and find a party, that's going to be our goal. Get you some ass."
I can't help but cackle at that. The last thing I need is to hook up with some random guy and have him fall in love with my pussy. "I'm good, thanks. I know how to take care of myself just fine."
"Girl, I get that, but sometimes you just need some dick in your life."
"True," I reply with a nod, knowing that she probably won't leave me alone about it until I agree with her.
"Oh, what about Atlas or Keats? They both seemed happy to see you." While she's talking she pops up off the bed and digs her phone out from her jeans pocket. I already know that she's pulling up the BABSightings account on Instagram or TikTok. The woman is obsessed, but not in a creepy way, fortunately.
"Uh, they are like brothers to me," I say, lying once again.
"They certainly don't see you as a sister. I've seen the way they look at you. They want you naked and sweaty under them, or on top, or behind...you know, whatever. I'm not one to judge." She giggles in a way that makes me wonder exactly what she and Cliff got up to.
"Sounds like you're projecting."
"Not at all. As much as the Boys of Ascendance Bay are sexy and rich and all that, they are also watched, like all the time. It was only when I saw those videos of you and them that I realized how weird it all is. I mean, I've definitely submitted photos of them before when I've seen them out in public, but being this close to it puts it in perspective, you know?"
I nod and push up off my bed, going over to the mini fridge in the corner and grabbing a bottle of water. "It's weird."
As I crack the cap open, Evie says, "I'm serious though. Those guys, or at least Atlas and Keats, look at you like they want to fuck you stupid or eat you alive...or both."
I want to tell her that's been the plan all along. That I packed so many clothes because I know how to dress my body for the male gaze. Sampson taught me everything I need to know about seduction, so I packed accordingly. I know how to pour the perfect cocktail, how to perform in a burlesque show, how to strip, how to please. I'll use every metaphorical weapon I have at my disposal to make sure I know which one of the Boys of Ascendance Bay killed my sister, and once I know, I'll use every literal weapon I have to make them pay.
"You know, I didn't think you'd be a frat bunny," I say, teasing her as I sit back down on my bed. I grin at her and hope she doesn't take me seriously.
"No, I think I'm just a Cliff bunny. At least, he makes me want to fuck like rabbits." She giggles as her cheeks flame red. This is a new side of Evie that I haven't seen yet, and I kind of love it.
"So you're not thinking about pledging a sorority, then?" I ask, trying to gauge where she is on the whole Greek Life situation.
"I don't know. It just seems like a lot. Most of my high school friends who went to other schools said they don't do rush until spring semester—or even sophomore year. It's only been a few weeks, and I feel like I'm still getting the hang of things. I don't know that I want to complicate that, you know?"
"Yeah, I understand. I think I'm going to rush, though. My mom was in a sorority when she was in college, so it feels like a way to connect with her." Why do I keep opening my big mouth around Evie? The last thing I should be doing is talking about my mom. I shouldn't even be thinking about her that much, not unless I want to have nightmares. What I don't say aloud is that I also want to rush because then the guys will be forced to interact with me. Not only am I a Pi Ep legacy because of my mom, but they almost exclusively party with APT, which will give me plenty of opportunity to figure out which of the Boys of Ascendance Bay needs to pay for hurting my family.
