Hateful by Eden Beck

Chapter Three

Somehow,I’ve gotten it into my head that it’s not up to me whether or not I go back.

Every day I keep expecting a letter to arrive telling me that I’m no longer welcome at Bleakwood. The dean of the girls’ school may want to use me, but she has to have told someone, right? And if not her, then Jasper.

Jasper.

Every time I start to think of him again, of our last encounter, I find myself having to shake him out of my head.

I was so sure that he wouldn’t tell my secret before. The more I’ve thought about it, however, the more I’ve come to wonder … well … why? Why wouldn’t he tell?

It’s not like Jasper to have shame. Or at the very least, I don’t think it is.

The more I think about it, or try to avoid thinking about it, the more I realize that I don’t really know Jasper at all.

But no letter comes. The days turn into a week, and then those weeks turn into several, and I realize, long after an uneventful Christmas and New Years have passed, that I am going back to Bleakwood.

No one is going to stop me, not even me.

I don’t think I could if I tried.

The time to head back comes too soon. My mother and brothers wave me off for exactly three seconds before they get distracted, but I think I see Caleb glance once back over his shoulder at the car turning off down the road.

It might’ve been better if I hadn’t confided in him, but I guess only time will tell now.

I board the plane in my baggy hoodie with my hair freshly cut short like a boy’s once again. It feels strangely comforting to slip back into pretending to be Alex the boy; no one expects me to look pretty or be nice. Instead, I can sulk around the airport to my heart’s content, smelling like body odor and airplane.

I’d forgotten how invisible you are as a boy.

Almost as invisible as I was at home all those years as a girl. That thought makes me smile, makes me remember why I snuck into Bleakwood in the first place. And more importantly, it reminds me why I’m going back.

I was never not going back.

As much as happened last semester, it wasn’t enough to scare me off. Not when I’ve already invested so much into this. Blood. Sweat. Tears. Ribs. Bruises.

I won’t let that be in vain.

I have an overnight layover in Washington, DC, but I’m in Zurich soon enough. From there, I grab a train instead of a bus this time and take it all the way up to the mountainside village near Bleakwood. As soon as I step off the train, the beauty of this place steals my breath away.

That and the sub-zero temperature.

I find myself exceedingly grateful for Caleb’s hand-me-down puffy coat as I zip it up to my neck, the same neck craning upwards as I take in a good look at the mountains surrounding me on all sides.

The snow-covered cliff faces rise around me in every direction, their valleys converging here in the little village—both sheltering it and cutting it off from the outside world.

Just like Bleakwood, they act as both a protection and a prison.

I shiver, though not entirely from the cold, and prepare myself for a cold walk up to the school.

I know the way now. I took trips to the village fairly often last semester. None of my trips yield particularly good memories, now that I think of it. They always end with Jasper, Heath, or Beck—or sometimes all three—showing up and ruining everything.

I’m not even halfway through the village when I feel so unbearably cold that I wonder if I’m going to make it to the school building at all. I promised myself last time that I wouldn’t try to walk the whole trek up, but I don’t really see any other option. I rub my arms for warmth and look around, but it’s still early enough that most of the shops here don’t look open. Not any that I could pop into to warm up for a moment, anyway.

Of course, it would be just like me to freeze to death before I even get to Bleakwood.

I start to panic. I’m going to die a pathetic death out here. I’m going to freeze in the snow on my way to school.

And then an Aston Martin pulls smoothly up beside me.

It’s like a moment of overwhelming déjà vu.

I stop and stare as the backseat’s window rolls down. Jasper’s face appears there, staring flatly out at me.

“Get in, stupid,” he says with a sigh. He opens the door and scoots to the other side of the backseat.

I blink, remembering Caleb’s advice.

The easiest way to get by is to try to avoid them. Don’t be alone with them.

It’s a lot easier said than done, especially when I can feel the wave of heat coming from the car. Jasper’s even wearing short sleeves. He stares at me expectantly, and I can feel my survival instincts battling it out inside me.

Stay safe from Jasper and freeze to death? Or stay warm and risk being alone with him.

I should hate the sight of him. I should be afraid of him.

I should be … something.

But that something, it seems, is cold.

The warmth wins out. I tug my suitcase with me and slip into the backseat of Jasper’s car, shutting the door behind me.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away. I always knew.

Jasper nods at the driver, who takes off as soon as I’m buckled in. I lean my head against the headrest and let my limbs thaw out.

We’re alone in the car this time. I expected the others to be here. They usually travel together.

Or, at the very least, they did in the past.

An unsettled feeling starts to nag at the back of my mind. Did something happen over break?

Or maybe, just maybe, Jasper does feel shame after all. Now that’s a novel idea.

Jasper doesn’t look at me. I study his profile while I warm up, through the reflection in the window of course. It wouldn’t do to stare. his sharp, angular jaw is clenched, and his blue eyes are deliberately facing away from me. His shoulders are rigid. What’s he acting so weird and stiff for?

Aren’t I the one who should be nervous?

He’s the one who tried to assault me, after all.

He doesn’t talk to me at all throughout the drive, which I’m more than fine with. I find myself leaning further and further away, practically melting into the side of the door by the time we reach the top of the mountain. I fiddle nervously with the zipper of my coat, expecting him to say something any second now.

He never does.

The car pulls up to Bleakwood and Jasper scrambles out of the car before I can even grab my backpack. I struggle with my suitcase as the driver gets Jasper’s bags out of the trunk, but he’s already halfway across the courtyard by the time I shut the car door.

“Thanks for the lift,” I say to the driver, who just nods curtly.

And just like that, my first interaction with The Brotherhood is over as quickly—and painlessly—as it began. Somehow it does nothing to make that unsettled feeling go away.

If anything, it only grows.

Grumbling, I tug my suitcase up the walk toward the school. People mill about the courtyard between me and where Jasper’s made a beeline for the front doors. I recognize a few other students, but no one I really need to stop to talk to.

There aren’t many who I can call friends. There are many more I can call enemies.

Rafael, my roommate and quite possibly the only person I’ve really been looking forward to seeing, is nowhere around. I wonder if he’s here already. I should have thought to ask.

I trudge up the front steps, already frozen through again, and slip between the double doors of the entrance. Jasper’s gone. That should be a blessing. But I can’t help but feel disappointed as I lug my things up the stairs and toward the dormitory wing.

I was looking forward to going back to normal.

But just like the last time I came back from break, it seems I’m in for anything but.

The dynamic has shifted again, and this time, I have no idea where I stand.

Fuck.