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CHAPTER17
Monroe
Being back at school sucks.Watching Nixon parade around Holly like she was his queen made everything inside of me ache. I slam my locker shut, making my way to the bathroom. If I see them making out beside the lockers one more freaking time, I was going to snap. I make my way to the mirror, pulling out my lipstick. I chose a deep red today. You know, blood thirsty and all. I’m swiping the shade on when Holly emerges from behind me. How she got in without me noticing is beyond my imagination. Monroe, you’re trained for this. My voice was right, I am. So how did she sneak up on me?
Holly’s brown eyes narrow as she crosses her arms, studying me. “What is it?” I snap, clipping the lid to my lipstick back on.
She cackles. Yes, like a witch, as she gets closer to me. I’m too busy watching her to notice the knife she has in her hand. If Justin, our trainer, could see me now, he’d have a coronary. She sweeps my hair off my shoulder, and I clench my fist. It’s always best to look weak so your opponents think they have the upper hand. She glides the knife down my neck.
“Stay away from Nixon,” she whispers.
“And if I don’t?” I challenge. No provoking! I can practically hear Justin’s sharp Russian accent scolding me.
“Honestly, it doesn’t matter. In the end, you’ll be dead while I suck, fuck, and eventually marry him. You’ll be nothing but a memory,” she hisses by my ear.
It takes everything in me not to show my colors. To snap her arm and shove that knife straight down her throat. You can suck on that. I laugh. “You’re crazy. There’s nothing going on between Nixon and me. He’s all yours, sweetie,” I bite the words out through my teeth. They taste metallic on my tongue. Bitter and coppery. Like my mouth literally bleeds from the lies.
She brings her eyes to mine in the mirror. They’re dark and sinister and her smile resembles the Joker’s. “You think you’re so smart and I’m so stupid, don’t you?” I can’t reply because she’s right. I do think she’s stupid. “I’m always one step ahead of you, Monroe.” I feel a sharp pain enter my arm. I fight back the gasp. Show no weakness, give no mercy. I feel wetness drip down my arm. Slowly. “Stay the fuck away,” she whispers, voice cold and detached, before stalking off.
I grab paper towels, creating a pressure over the wound.
Bitch fucking cut me. I take a deep breath as I lean against the counter. Why was I chosen for this life?
* * *
“Five, six, seven, eight,” Emerson yells.
I’m covered in sweat. My arm aches and I don’t have it in me. “I can’t,” I whine as Emerson scolds me.
“Again, Monroe. Now.” Sighing, I get into position, and she gives me an eight-count. My toes are sharp on the ground as I spin, gliding across the floor as if I’m floating. This fucking tutu is about to meet a pair of scissors if it gets in my way again. I axel, then pirouette. Landing, I leap, pointing the toes of one foot to the floor as I arch my back and bring my other foot to my head. “Freeze, hold that for two eight-counts.” Today, I hate my teacher. She is pushing me harder than normal. “Break.”
I growl, moving on with the dance. No music today, only the eight-counts in my head. We work strictly on ballet today and my feet are bleeding. Not metaphorically, physically. You’ll get used to it. Lies. I’ll never get used to my feet bleeding. It was unnatural. And it never stops, no matter how long you do it. I sit on the studio floor long after practice is over. Staring at my swollen, bruised feet.
“Hey, ma fille.” Nixon crouches down in front of me.
“I hate ballet,” I bark.
He chuckles. “But damn, aren’t you amazing!” he praises me, but then his eyes narrow. “What happened to your arm?” He lightly brushes the wound.
“Your girlfriend stabbed me in the bathroom today.”
He growls. “She what?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please, it’s fine. That’s child’s play considering what we’ve been through.” We’d been beaten, stabbed, bound and gagged. You know, normal kid stuff to get us ready for any threat. He picks me up, cradling me to his chest. “Thanks, Nix. Wasn’t sure how I was going to get home, considering I’m too sore to walk. Your mom was on edge today.” I sigh. I knew she was stressed. Our showcase was coming up as well as my Juilliard audition.
He walks me over to my house, carrying me up to my room and leaving a soft kiss to my forehead before he storms out. I wanted to chase him, but I’m literally bleeding from my feet. So instead, I take a nap.
Nixon
“Yo, East!” I shout as he jerks in his gaming chair. “We got a problem.”
He sighs, throwing his controller down before facing me. “Don’t we always?” He looks tired. Dark circles under his eyes. He’s been this way since we got back from Christmas break.
“Holly stabbed Monroe today. She’s getting gutsy. We need to move in before she does some real damage.”
Easton thinks it over. He shakes his head. “It’s not time.”
I grunt. I hate that his stupid ass is the leader.
Just then, Ezra walks in. She has on black shorts with fishnet stockings and a flannel over her crop top. I sigh. “Ezra, could you please wear real clothes before we have to beat men’s assess? For fuck’s sake, you’re only fifteen.”
She smirks. “Nope. I like looking like a gothic slut.”
“Don’t say slut!” Easton barks.
“So, I have a plan to move things along quicker,” Ezra says as we turn to her.
“I’m listening.”
