Bloody Princess by Helen Scott

20

Lyric

I feel like ass. Not just ass, but ass that's been run over and brought back to life, only to be run over again. It's why I skipped class today. Well, that and the fact that all my normal methods for removing something like marker from my skin weren't working.

That doesn't mean I'm going to skip my homework date with Atlas, though.

We finally have a chance to work on this project. Alone. The best part is the strange little devices that Melody sent me, though. I know from the tiny scrap of hand-written instructions that I just peel and stick, and the tape will pull the tab keeping the battery from connecting as well, so they'll turn on at the same time. I have each one in a small pocket in my backpack, wrapped in tissue, so I don't get any fingerprints on them.

I need to plant those and try to get Atlas to open up to me a bit more. It's not going to be super easy, but I'm sure, with some puppy dog eyes and a look down my shirt or up my skirt, he will be too distracted to notice what I'm doing or what we're talking about. Provided he's not too distracted by all the dark lines still on my skin. I've got a ball cap on to help hide some of the marks on my face.

Seriously.

Me. In a ball cap. It's like, when I came to Welhurst, I stepped into a parallel universe or something.

Most girls probably would have put on jeans and a high-neck, thick t-shirt as well—anything to hide the marks—but I don't. Just some sweats and a regular t-shirt. If anyone looks closely enough, they'll be able to see the marks through the fabric. The v-neck doesn't quite show any of the marks, and I hate having things around my throat, so it's not like I'm actually going to wear a regular t-shirt. I figure I've got most of it covered, so it shouldn't be a big deal.

This time, I don't knock on the door. I just go in and head upstairs. I'm fairly sure all the guys’ rooms are on the top floor since they like to be close to each other, and I doubt any of their APT brothers would fight them on it. As I get to the third floor, I call out, "Atlas?"

A crashing sound erupts from one of the rooms a moment before the door swings open and Atlas' head pops out. He's not the only one though. Keats' door opens, and I see him do a double-take when he sees me.

"What are you doing here, Little L?" Keats asks.

I can't help but run my eyes over him, from his auburn hair to his aqua eyes to the tattoos covering every inch of his chest and arms...then further down, to the eight-pack, or whatever it is he's sporting, and the GI Joe lines that disappear into his shorts. It all hits me like a ton of bricks, making my mouth go dry and heat pool low in my belly.

Apparently, I take too long to answer because Atlas jumps in and says, "We've got a class project together."

"Weird, us too," Keats says as he glances between me and Atlas as though he's suspicious of Atlas' answer.

My gaze shifts to Atlas, and I'm struck by how beautiful he is. It's not that he's a pretty boy, or more ruggedly good looking, like Keats. He's just genuinely beautiful. It actually makes me a little angry. I need to find one of the boys in my dorm and scratch this horny itch before it gets me in trouble.

"What's on your face?" Atlas asks as he approaches me.

"Marker. I couldn't get it all off." I sigh and automatically rub at the faded lines on my nose. As soon as I catch myself, I stop before I move on to the circles on my cheeks. I'm just glad that at least they’re not still the bright, thick lines and circles that were there when I made it into the showers this morning.

"Line-up?" Keats asks as he walks up. His brows are pulled together, and his eyes have a heat burning in them that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with anger.

I nod and look at the floor, which isn't actually as dirty as I expect. "Apparently, I need a nose job, a boob job, and to lose twenty pounds," I mutter. The remarks from Paige and the other sisters who helped her don't actually bother me, but for some reason, I'm curious to see how Atlas and Keats react. It hasn't escaped my attention that they are the only two out of the four of them who are willing to have anything to do with me. Jude and Thayer keep well away, which is something I'm going to have to fix, eventually. I just need to figure out the best way to go about it.

Keats' reaches his hand under my chin and lifts my gaze to meet his once more. "They are fucking nuts. If you lose twenty pounds, there'll be nothing left of you. Don't listen to them."

"I don't really have a choice if I want to become a sister, though, do I?" I challenge him without breaking eye contact.

"This is why I told you not to rush. You don't need them," Keats replies with a growl, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us.

In my mind, I can see exactly what could happen. I see Keats pushing me up against the wall and pulling my shirt down to see the other marks before kissing them and worshipping my body. My pussy throbs in anticipation, and the feeling shocks me out of whatever trance Keats has put me in. My body is never interested in sex. Never wants to be touched or kissed, let alone worshipped.

"You told her not to rush?" Atlas asks, which breaks Keats from whatever shared fantasy we've just been having.

Keats turns away from me, as though the temptation to keep watching me is too strong. Once he's facing Atlas, he says, "Yeah. I don't want to watch her get destroyed by a bunch of girls who act like their shit doesn't stink. Do you?"

Atlas looks at me, and I see guilt flash in his eyes. "You know this is going to get a lot worse before it's over, right?" he asks as he watches me.

I nod.

"See, she knows what's up," he says to Keats.

"Bullshit, she has no idea what's coming her way. If you think she does, you're lying to yourself, man." Keats turns and stalks back into his room, his hands flexed into fists at his sides, then slams the door shut. I hadn't expected that.

"Should we, uh, go work on the project?" I ask as Atlas glares at Keats' door.

"Yeah," he mumbles before he leads me to his room.

I've seen Keats' room before, but not Atlas', and I'm not surprised by what I find when I walk in. Gym bags are scattered around the room, along with lacrosse sticks propped up in a couple corners, some with the nets in, some without. Why one person needs so many different sticks, I don't know. But then, I know nothing about lacrosse, so that makes sense.

There are no posters on the wall, just a large whiteboard calendar with stuff scribbled all over it in writing I think is probably only legible to Atlas. His bed is in the corner, with the closet opposite it and a desk on another wall. There's a dresser with a TV on it, along with some hair products and other bits and pieces, like deodorant and body spray. He has a nightstand next to his bed that holds his alarm, a lamp and a few other things. I'd be surprised if there aren’t condoms in the drawer. The only other piece of furniture is the mini fridge that's next to the night stand.

Atlas walks over and sits on his bed, so I grab his desk chair and shrug my book bag off before sitting down, letting it fall to my feet. I quickly unzip it and pull my notebook out—the one I use for the class I have with him.

"I'm surprised you rushed, if Keats warned you off it," Atlas says suddenly.

I look up at him from my notebook, and I can see his gaze traveling over the lines on my face. "I'm surprised you guys think I can't handle this. You know what my dad is like." I can’t say anything about Sampson, not without risking his wrath, and I'll do pretty much anything to avoid that.

Atlas' gaze dips, and for a moment, I think he's checking me out, but his eyes don't move, and I realize that it's more like he's lost in thought. "Was your dad as bad with you as he was with Lyssa?" Atlas asks quietly.

I can't help but burst out laughing. "He wasn't bad with Lyssa. She got pissed at him, but he was actually a father to her—" I almost say too much. Hell, that probably is too much.

Atlas' gaze locks with my own, and though I want to break from it, I can't seem to look away. His chocolate eyes warm something within me I didn't even know was cold. "What did he do to you, Lyric?" Atlas asks.

It's the first time in a long time that he's used my actual name, and as much as I like that I have a nickname, having only ever had the one that they gave me, hearing my real name makes me feel more...seen. "It's not important," I say as I flip my notebook open and find the page with the notes about the project on it.

"If you ever want to talk about it, I've been told I'm a good listener," Atlas replies quietly.

When I look up, I find him watching me. "Let's just say that a bunch of prissy girls aren't going to be able to break me, and leave it at that, yeah? We don't need to bring all the shit from my life up right now."

Atlas nods. "One more thing, then we can actually do school work." I watch him expectantly as he seems to gather his courage. "I'll never say this in front of the guys, and if you tell them I said it, I'll deny it, but you've got an amazing body. Whatever the Pi Ep girls tell you doesn't mean shit."

I don't know how to respond for a second since that was the last thing I was expecting him to say. "Can I get a glass of water or something?" I ask, instead of addressing the elephant in the room.

"Yeah, of course," Atlas pushes to his feet, and for a moment, I expect him to go to the mini fridge that's in the corner but he doesn't. Instead, he leaves.

I can't help but sit for a second. Yes, I know I'm sexy. I've been told that my whole life. Told how bangable I am, how much they want to eat my pussy or fuck my mouth, or whatever it is that floats that specific guy’s boat, but I've never cared before. Hearing Atlas say that I'm hot means something.

Something I don't want it to mean.

I pull myself from the daydream that tries to play in my mind of what exactly his words could mean, and I pull my backpack onto my lap, finding the secret pocket inside and extracting one of the devices Mel had sent me. The only place I can think to put it that it won't be noticeable is under the edge of his nightstand. His desk doesn't have anywhere to hide it where it wouldn't be obvious, and putting it in a drawer isn't an option if we want to actually hear anything.

Taking it out of the tissue to place it would be pointless. It would just get my fingerprints on it again, which is what I'm trying to avoid. So I leave it wrapped up and hustle over to Atlas' night stand, pulling the backing off the sticker and making sure the tab for the battery has come out as well before I stick it against the back of the night stand.

As soon as I'm confident that it's secure, I move back to my seat. I sit for a couple minutes, but I can't seem to stop myself from running Atlas' words through my mind over and over again. It's not productive, I know that, but I can't seem to make myself stop.

Instead, I dig out a second listening device and picture Keats' room. I know exactly where I'm going to put it. I just need to get to it. So I do the only thing I can think of and head over to his closed door. I knock softly, but no one answers.

Now, I have two choices: either try to go in and hope he's not in there and just ignoring whoever he thinks is knocking, or go back to Atlas' room and be satisfied with only one device planted. For a moment, I wonder what Mel would say, and then I have my answer.

She'd tell me to go for it, that it's better to risk it and get the bug planted than it is to walk away empty-handed. Mel is the rash one, though.

Before I can second-guess my decision, I knock again, and when I don't hear anything, I turn the handle and slip inside. When I turn, I half expect to find Keats standing there staring at me with that dark gaze of his, but he's not. I don't waste any time heading over to his desk. It's a different shape than Atlas', and I'm able to stick the device on the underside of a ledge at the back.

Voices are just outside the door, and I know I'm fucked if Keats comes back in or Atlas finds me missing. The voices pass by, but I swear one of them is Atlas, so as soon as I think it's clear, I slip out of Keats' room.

"Where were you?" Atlas' voice comes from his doorway, and I turn to find him looking directly at me.

"Looking for the bathroom," I blurt.

Atlas points to the door at the end of the hall, but the suspicion on his face doesn't go anywhere. I was standing close to Keats' door when he saw me, but I don't know if he actually saw me come out of there or not. If he did, he'd say something, right? Ask what I was doing in Keats' room? My gut tells me that he didn't see me, but the bitch has lied to me before. I have no choice in the matter, though, so I just head into his room.

"I didn't think there would be one on this floor since it's so small, so I went to the next floor down, but I couldn’t find it, so I came back up to ask you," I say, hoping he doesn't call me on my bullshit.

"I got you some water and a snack, in case you were hungry," he replies, ignoring the fact that I'm lying through my teeth. Either he believes me or he just wants to get past it and work on our project. Either way, I'm counting it as a win. Two devices down, two to go, one of which is more important, at least to me. Getting into Jude's room is going to be a challenge, though, one I can't accomplish today. I'll have to soon, though, or Mel will tear me a new one.

"Thank you," I say and sit on his bed instead of at the desk like I had been. It throws him off, which is what I'd been hoping for, but I also get a lungful of his scent wafting off his blankets and mattress. Sweat and cologne—good cologne, at that.

I try to force my thoughts to the assignment, but the only thing filling my head is what it would be like to be under Atlas on this bed. My whole body heats in response, and I'm not sure how to handle this situation. I tug on the neckline of my t-shirt, feeling as though it's riding up and about to strangle me, and I see Atlas giving me a funny look.

"You okay?" he asks after he plops down into his desk chair.

"It's warm up here," I reply, sounding lame.

"Yeah, the windows don't open, unfortunately."

"Did you mean what you said? That you think I'm hot?" I ask, unable to get my mind out of the gutter without embarrassing myself, apparently.

A slight flush stains his cheeks, and he says, "Lyric, anyone can see that you're hot. If they say otherwise, they're just in denial."

"So my boobs aren't too small?"

The flush in his cheeks intensifies, and his gaze dips to my chest. I don't know what prompts me to do something so stupid, but I stand and move toward him slightly before pulling the neckline of my shirt lower so he can see the marks still on my body there. "They think I should get a breast lift, so they sit higher." I point to the arches drawn above each breast before demonstrating what I think Paige meant by pushing my breasts up.

Atlas gulps, and I can see he's uncomfortable, but I want him to be. Something in me needs this. "Do you see me as my own person or just a shadow of Lyssa?"

"I see you, Lyric. More than you might think," he replies quietly, and his eyes seem to darken with every word. His hands are gripping the edge of his seat as though he's trying to resist reaching out and grabbing me.

The words go straight to my pussy, and my whole body seems to gravitate toward him. I take one stumbling step before one of the other frat brothers shouts something from downstairs. It's enough to break whatever spell I am under that’s making me let these new feelings control my actions. I lunge forward and grab my backpack before running from the room.

I slam into something hard and find Keats standing there in the hallway. "Sorry," I mumble before dodging around him and rocketing downstairs. It's only when I'm out the front door that I feel able to breathe again. I don't stop moving, though. Atlas is an athlete, one of the top at Welhurst, so I'm sure he can catch me if he wants to. Would he want to, though?

I glance over my shoulder and see him standing in the front door, watching me as I head around the corner, running like I'm in a race. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I can feel my pulse through my entire body. I'm not sure what's happening, but I'm not okay with it. This is definitely not part of the plan.