Scarred: Bullied, #5

By Vera Hollins

Three years ago, I became a shell of the girl I'd once been, left to pick up the pieces of my soul. I'd decided I wasn't going to let anyone walk all over me or bring me down, and I was surviving just fine. But then I met him. Masen Brown.

I call him Barbie, though. Or Pudding Face. Or Walking STD. The list of insults goes on and on, I hate him that much. He's rotten to the core, a bully, a womanizer, and the cockiest guy I've ever met.

I'm going to teach him his place. One way or another.

He doesn't give in without a fight. He strikes back each time, though I'm not one to give up or be intimidated. He's going to see he's finally met his match in me.

So, either he'll learn his lesson, or I'm going to make him learn it.

This book is a spin-off. It can be read as a standalone, but it is recommended to read Bullied (Bullied #1), Pained (Bullied #2), Damaged (Bullied #3), and Trapped (Bullied #4) before reading this book to get a better understanding of the story and characters. It includes sensitive themes and situations that may be triggering for some readers, so caution is advised.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vera Hollins
• Release date: Aug 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201704636

Vera Hollins

Vera Hollins writes emotional, dark, and angsty love stories that deal with heartbreak, mental and social issues, and finding light in darkness. She’s been writing since she was nine, and before she knew it, it became her passion and life. She particularly likes coffee, bunnies, angsty romance, and anti-heroes. When she’s not writing, you can find her reading, plotting her next book with as many twists as possible, and watching YouTube.

Book preview

Scarred

Copyright © 2021 by Vera Hollins

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be utilized, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or mechanical methods, without the written consent of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Warning: This book contains sensitive themes and situations that may be triggering for some readers, so caution is advised.

Edited by: Emily Junker

Formatted by: Champagne Book Design

Cover Design by: Rasha Savic

Cover Girl Art photo by: annamile from Depositphotos

Title Page

Copyright

Author’s Note

Dedication

Playlist

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Afterword

Acknowledgments

About the Author

This book is a spin-off. It can be read as a standalone, but it is recommended to read Bullied (Bullied #1), Pained (Bullied #2), Damaged (Bullied #3), and Trapped (Bullied #4) before reading this book to get a better understanding of the story and characters.

There is no time skip between Scarred and Trapped. Furthermore, chronologically, the first chapter of Scarred comes before the scene with Melissa and Masen in chapter twenty-nine of Trapped. Melissa is referring to that scene in the beginning of the second chapter of Scarred.

The prologue of Scarred comes after the fight scene between Hayden and Mateo in chapter twenty-five of Bullied.

To Pigi. You taught us so much and brought light to our lives. Thank you for everything. We will never forget you, little fluff ball.

Knife Party—Deftones

Hurt You—Phedora

Vicious—Halestorm

If These Scars Could Speak—Citizen Soldier

Yellow Flicker Beat—Lorde

You Call Me a Bitch Like It’s a Bad Thing—Halestorm

Trauma—NF

Nobody’s Home—Avril Lavigne

Listening—Tonight Alive

Love and War—Fleurie

Shadow Preachers—Zella Day

Can You Hold Me—NF ft. Britt Nicole

Deeper—Valerie Broussard ft. Lindsey Stirling

Calm The Storm—Spoken

Oxygen—Tonight Alive

Coloratura—Coldplay

Six months earlier

September

You asshole! I shouted at Hayden, my brother’s friend, as he dragged away Sarah like the caveman he was.

This night had suddenly taken a wrong turn. My parents were away on a trip, which translated into my brother, Steven, throwing a party in our house. I’d invited my new friends and we’d had a good time, but this crazy jerk was messing it up.

I struggled to believe my own eyes, hardly feeling the throbbing in my hand from the blow my fist had delivered to his face. Who the hell did he think he was, forcing Sarah to leave with him? And to say he owned her? Abusive prick.

To top it all off, I couldn’t do anything to stop him. I couldn’t help Sarah. I should’ve knocked him to the ground. And then puked on him—twice, for good measure.

Jessica and Mateo stood next to me, equally perplexed by his brutish ways. Mateo’s face was bruised and bloody courtesy of that caveman, who could now have his way with Sarah, and there would be no one to stop him.

I flinched. The all-too-familiar acidic anger bloomed in my chest at the very thought, but I tapped into it, relying on it, as always, to push any other feeling away.

I clenched my hands, imagining punching his sneering face repeatedly. There’s a special place in hell for fuckheads like you. It’s right beside a dumpster filled with piles of shit. I’m going to send you there myself, I gritted out.

Blondie, one of Hayden’s friends, snorted, and I turned my glare on him. His icy blue eyes sliced into me. Just so you know, if you mess with Hayden, you mess with us.

Instantly, my dislike for him grew from one hundred to ten thousand. If I remembered right, his name was something like Masen, but it should have been Douchebag. He had a baby face, muscles layered on muscles, and an aura of overconfidence. He was just the kind of guy I hated with a passion.

Next to him was another of Hayden’s friends, who looked to be the same kind of annoying barbarian. They were in our way like Hayden’s living shield, which doubled my anger. We couldn’t just deal with one asshole, no, we had to deal with three. I was going to have to give Steven another lecture concerning his poor choice of friends.

"If you mess with Hayden, you mess with us, I repeated in a mocking voice. Guess what? My fist and I don’t give a damn. Now, get your asses off my property and stay off it. For good."

Steven sighed as he turned to look at me. He was already stoned and too irresponsible to care about my friend being treated this way. The moron had stopped me from changing Hayden’s facial description as payback for fighting with Mateo! I loved Steven to bits, but I wanted to roast him for siding with them.

This is my property too, sis, he said. And Masen and Blake are my friends, so they’re not going anywhere.

I placed my hands on my hips. You are not right in the head. I pointed at them. They’re barbarians!

Blondie snorted again—Does he speak some snorting language only the pea-brains like him understand?—and my dislike for him grew from ten thousand to a gazillion.

Says the rabid dog, Blondie said. I’ve never seen a girl more aggressive and crazy than you—no offense, Steven. He smirked at my brother. Are you sure she’s your sister and not adopted?

Steven—that idiot—actually sniggered. Why do you think we don’t own any guard dogs? My sister is more than capable of kicking ass.

Blondie didn’t look impressed. In fact, he looked as though he couldn’t be more repulsed by me.

I bet she punches when she fucks, just for kicks. Or maybe it’s her tic, he said. Sex with handcuffs takes on a whole new meaning with her.

I winced. The world narrowed to him as my blood pressure soared, and the others stopped existing. My body was too small and tight for this fury as it swallowed all of me. I saw a vision of me landing countless punches on his face until it became a gory mess, and it was that addictive image that dragged me a step closer to him, my hands fisted and ready to bring it to life. Only that would calm this raging storm within me. Only that.

Steven placed a hand on my shoulder and pulled me back, breaking through my bubble of rage.

Self-control, remember? he said out of the corner of his mouth so only I could hear him. Chillax.

I gritted my teeth hard as I fought against the need for violence that burned so deep inside of me. Self-control. Right. That wasn’t something I excelled at. My rage-induced high blood pressure and I were best buddies.

I took some deep breaths through my teeth and approached Blondie, hoping for his own good that he would heed my next warning. Stay away from me. Or you and I are going to have a big problem.

Satisfied I had the last word, I turned to leave, but that jerk actually had the audacity to smirk and say, Don’t worry. I have no intention of wasting even a minute on someone as crazy or ugly as you. Good luck finding a boyfriend. He nudged his friend and turned around, dismissing me. Let’s get back inside and find some hot pieces of ass.

Steven caught my shoulder again before I could lunge at Blondie, knowing me too well. My fingers hurt from fisting my hands too hard, and the throbbing in the knuckles on my right hand increased as I watched Blondie and his brooding friend leave, but that was okay. Physical pain was ten times better than emotional pain. It lasted for only a short time. It hurt less. It could be forgotten.

Blondie better stay away from me. Or I’d show him exactly how crazy I could actually get.

Present

Beginning of April

I pushed through the students that crowded the school halls, picking up the snippets of their eye-roll-worthy spring break stories. It was almost like listening to frogs—annoying and repetitive. I tuned out the irrelevant stuff, instead on the lookout for any shenanigans.

East Willow High was, to put it eloquently, a nuthouse, just like my old school, Rawenwood High, with its endless gossip, irritating stares, and bullies. As the vice president of the student council, I felt I had to be a mother hen all the time and make sure this place was free of chaos. Steven said I was like Batman because I was always vigilant and solving messes that weren’t mine to solve, but if not me, then who?

Only recently, this school had started changing for the better. We had a new principal and a school administration that actually cared about the students’ safety, and now there were dedicated efforts to fight bullying. It was far from perfect, as most of the bullies were still undeterred, but at least some of them were aware heads would fly if they got caught. I was going to deal with them personally, if needed. Knock out a tooth or two. Leave a few bruises.

Some people just didn’t understand that making others miserable didn’t earn them brownie points. So, I employed my fists each time they refused to listen, and it had worked well so far.

They learned a lesson, and my ever-present rage was tamed. It was a win-win situation.

Did you hear about Brooks? I heard someone say just as I was about to turn the corner.

I halted, straining to hear over the noise of the hallway.

Hear what?

I pressed myself against the wall and peeked around the corner, clutching the student surveys we had to go over at the council meeting today. Two seniors stood next to the lockers a few feet away. I whipped my head back before they spotted me.

He bought drugs from a junior in the restroom.

I ground my teeth. What the hell?

"Really? Damn. At school?"

Red. All I saw was red.

Yeah, and did you see the way he looks? I’m totally freaked out, man.

I wanted to march over to them and give them a piece of my mind for their stupid gossip, but I had someone else to confront. Right this second.

I rushed in the opposite direction. Spring break was barely over, and Steven had already managed to fuck something up. Buying drugs at school? He was pushing it. He’d been pushing it for quite a while now, but this? I gripped the papers tighter, thinking about the last few weeks—no, months—that represented my brother’s one-way ticket to something darker than dark.

I was freaked out myself over the way he looked. He was the poster boy for the worst possible drug addiction, with his bloodshot eyes, constant aggression and anxiety, and his previously muscular body turned skeletal. He was a disaster waiting to happen, and as much as I fought to get through to him, it was pointless. Unless I chained him to his bed and put bars on his door and windows, I couldn’t keep him away from drugs. I couldn’t even convince him to give rehab a chance.

Still, I couldn’t just stand aside while his addiction was becoming so bad that he had to buy drugs at school. From a junior, no less. That idiot. Did he want to get expelled that badly?

I tossed the surveys into my locker, took my Samsung out of my pocket, and opened the app to track Steven. I’d secretly installed a GPS tracking app on his phone two weeks ago, after he made a brilliantly stupid decision to not return home for days. I didn’t trust him not to do it again.

Or to not leave for good.

I clenched my phone so tightly at this thought that the case creaked in protest. Since he was eighteen, he could go wherever he wanted, so if he decided to leave, neither Mom nor I would be able to stop him. No one would.

I feared it all the time. I feared he’d actually fulfill his threat to leave home and we wouldn’t be able to find him again. We wouldn’t be able to help him.

I slammed my locker shut, angry at him for being such a pain in the ass, and at myself for stressing this much over him. The app showed Steven in a restroom on the second floor, so I headed there, not caring at all if I was late for class.

I rushed into the restroom with an insult on the tip of my tongue but stopped short because the place was empty. I checked my phone again. Yep, he was definitely here.

Someone snorted in one of the stalls, and the hair on the back of my neck bristled. He snorted again, and then again, and one didn’t have to be a genius to know what he was doing. Unless he had waterfall snots no tissue could solve.

Not good.

I glanced at my phone again. There was no doubt this person was Steven.

It was time for some roasting.

I crossed to the stall. Steven?

He stopped snorting, going completely silent.

Steven, I know you’re in there, so come out before I knock down this door and drag you out myself!

The fuck is she doing here? I heard him mutter to himself.

My nostrils flared, and I banged my fist against the door, making it shake. Steven, don’t make me repeat myself.

Judging by the sounds of plastic crinkling and his jacket zipping, he was stashing away his drug. That piece of goat shit. My fist connected with the door again. I was getting my hands on those drugs and flushing them away if it was the last thing I—

He whipped open the door and stepped out with a glare that could make anyone cower in fear—anyone except me.

I took a moment to study him and saw exactly what had those seniors creeped out. He was a six-foot-five pile of eww. His dark hair was disheveled and greasy, as though he’d never heard about the existence of combs and shampoo. His pupils were unnaturally dilated in his bloodshot eyes, which, along with his hollow cheeks, dark undereye bags, and vampire-pale face, completed his super-creepy appearance. And, as if that weren’t bad enough, he’d been wearing the same wrinkled clothes for days, even though my mom made sure all his clothes were regularly washed and ironed.

But what really made my stomach sink was the trace of white powder on his nose. Too late, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

What are you doing here? he asked with a sneer. This is the boys’ restroom.

"No shit. Thank you for enlightening me about this ultimate mystery of life. The real question is—what are you doing here? And, no, don’t bother answering, because it’s totally obvious. You have more coke under your nose than in that bag you’re hiding in your jacket."

His glare intensified as he wiped his nose again. How did you find me? His eyes dropped to the phone in my hand. What’s that?

I looked at my phone. Shit. Part of the screen was visible, showing the tracking app.

He grabbed my phone before I could stop him and looked closely at the screen. His eyes widened.

"You’ve been tracking me?"

I snatched my phone back and stuffed it in my pocket. Of course I’ve been tracking you! After you took off last time, what did you expect would happen? And as if your last vanishing act weren’t bad enough, now you’re buying drugs at school. From a junior!

He kicked the side of the stall. That doesn’t give you the fucking right to track me!

I have every right! I’m your sister. So, if I have to track you to stop you from making an even bigger mistake, I’ll do it a thousand times more, and I’ll do it with pleasure!

His face twisted with revulsion. That’s it. I’m done.

What?

His lips curled in contempt. "I said, I’m done. I’m tired of you following my every single move. I’m tired of you lecturing me all the time. I’m tired of you. You’re a crazy, overprotective bitch."

I winced, growing cold at the venom in his words. They cut too deeply. He’d never talked to me like this, but now . . . now he was just a stranger who was breaking my heart piece by piece.

He darted out of the restroom and I rushed after him, hardly aware of the students in the hallway gaping at us. He didn’t get to leave like that.

I grabbed his shoulder. Wait!

He shoved my hand away and spun around to face me. Leave me alone! This is my fucking life! And I can do whatever the hell I want.

No, you can’t! Think about your family, you idiot. Think about our mom. She’s worried sick about you. Stop being selfish for once in your life and think about someone other than yourself!

His frown grew deeper; hostility radiated off him in waves, which only fed my own. We were standing so close to each other, but we could have been miles apart and it would have felt the same. I couldn’t reach him. I couldn’t make him see there was nothing for him but destruction if he continued acting this way. He would hurt us all.

He got in my face. You know what, sis? You and our stupid mother can go straight to goddamn hell and fuck yourselves—

A white-hot rage blew up under my skin. No one talked about my mom like that. I drew back my fist and punched him in the nose, relishing in the sound of it cracking. It was like music to my ears, but I didn’t stop to think why I reveled in it, and swung my fist to hit him again, despite the raging pain in my knuckles.

Miss Brooks! Stop right there, Principal Aguda shouted.

Someone wrapped their arms around me from behind and pulled me back. A well-known sense of dread and fury spread through me, sending my heart into overdrive.

Let go of me, I shouted, writhing and kicking.

Calm the fuck down, Masen Brown growled in my ear, tightening his grip on me.

Calm down? Now that he was here? He only made everything worse.

It just had to be him who got to witness this. It had to be the person I hated the most. And I hated even more that he’d put his nasty, filthy hands on me.

Let. Me. Go! I jerked my head back, managing to catch his jaw enough for him to release me.

He staggered back. Son of a—

I swiveled around with my fist raised in the air, ready to punch him, too, but Principal Aguda stopped right in front of me. Miss Brooks, you will stop right now, or there will be consequences!

I grew still, breathing heavily. Fuck. I looked around. Everyone’s eyes were on me, their faces surprised and confused, but what really bothered me was that I hadn’t been able to control my anger and the principal had had a front-row seat to it. Great.

I lowered my hand as I stepped back and looked over my shoulder at Steven, who stared at me with hurt and disgust written all over his face. His now prominently crooked nose was bleeding, and I was pretty sure it was broken. A pang of regret nestled in my chest.

I’d told myself I would never hit him again.

Yet, here we were.

Steven, I— I started.

Stay the hell away from me, Melissa.

My heart stopped.

I don’t want to see you ever again, and I mean it. He spun on his heel and marched away.

My pride told me to stay right where I was and let him sulk as much as he wanted, but his words sounded too . . . too final.

No, I couldn’t let him leave like this.

I started after him. Steven, wait!

You’ll stay right here, Miss Brooks, the principal said in a tone that left no room for argument, and I halted. Mr. Brooks, you too!

Steven paid no attention to her, disappearing around the corner without a word or glance. I swore silently and faced Mrs. Aguda.

This is outrageous and unacceptable, she said and then looked at Masen. Are you all right?

Yeah, he replied, glaring at me with the intensity he saved for, I assumed, his worst enemies. He rubbed at his jaw, clearly pissed off by my move that, unfortunately, hadn’t even left a bruise.

I curled my lip and let my eyes slide down his designer white shirt and dark jeans. They hugged his muscles too tightly and provided a truly ostentatious display that worked on so many girls around here. However, that effort was wasted on me because I loathed everything about him. No, loathing was too weak a word for what I actually felt.

Masen Brown, aka Barbie. Aka Walking STD. Aka The Lowest Organism That Walked On The Earth. Aka More Irritating Than The Worst Diarrhea. I got hives just thinking about him. He was one of the most popular and sought-after guys at East Willow High, but as far as I was concerned, he was just a bag of shit, STDs, and utter human stupidity. He was sleazy, arrogant, and promiscuous, and if I could purge him from this planet, I would. Gladly. Preferably by farting in his face repeatedly.

I demand an explanation, the principal said.

What’s there to explain? Masen responded before I could say anything. She has serious aggression issues. She punches students all the time.

What the . . .? My blood roared through my veins. That’s not true! He’s lying.

Of course I’m not lying. You saw it yourself, Mrs. Aguda. I’m lucky she didn’t break anything, which I bet her brother can’t say. It’s obvious to everyone she has serious issues—the ones that can be solved only with a straitjacket.

I balled my hand and took a step closer to him without thinking, but then I glanced at Mrs. Aguda. She was looking at my fist with a deep frown.

I uncurled my fingers immediately. Dammit.

Calm down, girl. Just calm down for a sec.

I took a deep breath. Then another. I could be civilized, all right.

He’s lying, I repeated calmly.

She met my gaze. Based on what I’ve just witnessed, I find it hard to believe Mr. Brown is lying. My office. Now.

But—

No buts.

You see? She can’t even listen, Masen goaded.

My eye twitched.

And you wish I was lying. You preach all the time about bullying, but the moment something doesn’t go your way, you go Hulk mode.

Motherfucking piece of rat shit. He just had to be here to add fuel to the fire. He just had to.

You lying piece of shit, I said through clenched teeth.

That’s enough, both of you, Principal Aguda said.

Masen smirked, as if he were amused by me, and this infuriated me even more. Keep proving you’re not right in the head—

Shut up! I lunged at him and shoved his shoulders. He didn’t move an inch, his stupid smirk growing even bigger.

That’s enough! the principal repeated.

I can’t stand you, I shouted.

Miss Brooks!

I shoved his shoulders again. Stop smiling!

Miss Brooks, you are suspended!

I’m going to— I began, but then her words sank in, and I froze. Masen’s grin grew larger than China.

Suspended?

I turned my head to gape at her. What sorcery was this?

She raised her eyebrows. Got your attention? Good. Now, I suggest you change your attitude and follow me to my office right this second if you don’t want a worse punishment.

I chuckled, but I wasn’t amused. At all. April Fool’s was the day before yesterday.

She stared at me, dead serious. I’m not joking. She glanced at Masen. You may leave.

Masen nodded, his stupid smirk still plastered on his face. Bye-bye, he mouthed, saluted me with two fingers, and left.

I HATE HIM.

I opened my mouth to curse him, but Mrs. Aguda raised her hand. I don’t want to hear a word from you. She pointed in the direction of the stairs.

I clamped my mouth shut. Goddamn Masen Brown. I wished he would fall down the stairs and break his neck. Three times, just in case.

I followed Mrs. Aguda quietly, but inside, I was screaming. I was screaming at my brother for being a pain in the ass. I was screaming at Masen for existing and getting on my nerves all the time. I was screaming at myself for not doing better.

And now, I was suspended.

I took out my phone and checked the app. I couldn’t find Steven anywhere, and I didn’t want to think what that meant. I only hoped he was responsible enough to see a doctor to fix his nose, at least.

Guilt churned in my belly. I’d overdone it. That idiot deserved it for speaking that way about our mom, but . . . breaking his nose was pushing it too far.

I sighed. Mom wasn’t going to take this well.

"I’m sorry," I texted Steven quickly and slid my phone back in my pocket.

Mrs. Aguda ushered me into her ridiculously small office, which remained unchanged from the time when the previous principal, The Uneducated Swine And Pain In The Ass Anders had occupied it. The desk was filled with two seemingly never-ending heaps of papers and a stockpile of pencils and notebooks. What was she hoarding these for?

I slumped in the chair across from hers and started counting the pencils to calm myself down, running my fingers over my aching knuckles absentmindedly. I wasn’t shaking anymore, but I was high-strung and still had the urge to break something in two.

Mrs. Aguda took a seat and planted her elbows on her desk, entwining her fingers together. She looked stern, her glasses perched on her nose, and her piercing dark-brown eyes held no sympathy at the moment. Her umber skin looked flawless and wrinkle-free, giving her a much younger appearance, and I wondered if she had good genes or if she was a vampire.

I first have to say that you can be quite blunt, Miss Brooks, and while I appreciate when people don’t beat around the bush, there is a fine line between honesty and rudeness. Do I need to remind you who you’re talking to?

I had a lot to say that would be considered downright rude, but I decided to play along. Being suspended was already bad enough.

I shook my head, fighting against the urge to bite my nails. I always did that when I was nervous—meaning, all the time—but I’d already bitten them all to the quick.

I should start bringing my fidget spinner to school.

Good. So, watch your tone and tell me what happened there.

I glanced at my red knuckles. Punching my boxing bag later would hurt like a bitch. What’s the point? You’ve already decided to suspend me.

And my decision stands, but I want to hear your side of the story.

I let out a deep sigh. My side of the story? It would take us eons, countless boxes of tissues, and a therapist. My brother insulted my mom. I lost it. That’s all.

She raised her eyebrows. "That’s all?"

I nodded. That’s all.

And your altercation with Mr. Brown?

Just a daily occurrence, because he’s the world’s biggest asshat, I wanted to say, but then she would kick my ass all the way to Antarctica. Or even worse—make me team up with him for some project as a way for us to reconcile our differences. I shuddered.

I’d rather drink bleach.

Irreconcilable differences, I said.

She tipped her chin down. "Irreconcilable differences?"

Was she going to repeat everything I said? Was she a parrot?

Irreconcilable differences. I crossed my arms over my chest.

All right, but irreconcilable differences or not, violence is not acceptable.

I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Of course. World peace and all that.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "You’re leading the anti-bullying campaign and you’re the vice president of the school council. You should know better than to use violence to solve your problems."

I started tapping my foot. I know.

No, Miss Brooks, if what happened today was any indication, you don’t know. I’m not sure you understand the ramifications of your actions. You have issues that can’t be brushed aside, especially not when you have your future to think about. Our counselor will have to notify your chosen college about your suspension.

I tapped my foot even faster. I’d been accepted into the department of sociology at the local community college, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t withdraw their offer. What does that mean? Will this affect my college admission?

I’ll be honest will you—it may affect it.

I clutched my seat. What? But—

We are not talking about some minor issue here, Miss Brooks. This is about aggression, coming from the school council’s vice president. I saw your records from Rawenwood High, and while there were instances that aren’t necessarily in your favor, they weren’t exactly a representation of anti-social behavior.

Of course they weren’t. All those times, I got into trouble because I was defending students from bullies, and more often than not, one of those bullies was Steven himself. It was the least I could do as the sister of a bully. I refused to feel guilty for punching a couple of bastards here and there, even if it cost me my college admission.

They weren’t.

She nodded. But they do represent aggression, just like today’s incident, which isn’t something we could remedy only with a suspension. This is why I’ll be including you in a new program we’ve rolled out recently.

Uh-oh. A new program. Why did that sound like a metaphor for brainwashing kids and sending them to work as secret agents in different countries around the world? Or turning them into zombies?

I gave her a crooked smile. Is this the moment you tell me you’re going to cut off my body parts and analyze me like I’m some alien?

She cocked her eyebrow. It’s nothing out of a sci-fi movie, I assure you. It’s a program for problematic students, called Student Code.

Oh, this was getting better and better. Cue the maximum level of sarcasm.

There were real bullies out there, and she was including me in this program? Logic at its finest.

The way you put it makes me sound like I’m every teacher’s worst nightmare.

She let out an exasperated sigh. You may think you don’t belong in this program, but you will thank me later.

I snorted, which earned me a scowl. Sure. So, what is it about?

It’s about cultivating dialogue, understanding, and empathy through helping people in need. The students in this program are assigned as companions to those who are either mentally or physically disabled.

So basically, she’d decided I was a brute who needed to do community service. I balled my hands, thinking how ironic and unfair it was that I was being treated like a bully when I’d spent all these months fighting against them.

Let’s suppose I go through with this program. What do I get from it?

It will cancel out any effect your suspension may have on your college admission. And most importantly, it will help you to gain a new perspective on life and be more patient.

I wanted to roll my eyes so badly. Do I have a choice?

Would you rather be stripped of your vice president duties?

And have the council fall apart without me? Poor Shreya Wilkins will cry tears of blood if I’m gone, and believe me, that girl can cry a lot. All right. Where do I sign up?

Her lips remained pursed as she stared at me. She opened her drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. Here are the details of the program. Call one of the coordinators today or tomorrow to get your assignment. You’ll find their phone numbers at the bottom of the page. She handed me the paper. I will talk to your mother, as well. I also have to get hold of your brother.

I folded the paper and put it in my pocket, hardly sparing it a glance. Sure. And when can I come back to school?

Next Monday.

My eyes bulged out. Next Monday? But that’s a whole week!

What you did today was drastic and serious. I can’t just let you walk away with a slap on the wrist.

Of course not. Only Barbie and his friends could get away with things easily. It made perfect sense.

But I’ll join this program. So, can you like, I don’t know, reduce it to two or three days? I’ll miss a lot of school if it’s five days!

You should’ve thought about that before you punched your brother. I won’t change my decision. Now, if you don’t have any more questions, you may leave.

I had questions. Like, what if the Mandela Effect was real? Why was Nutella better than peanut butter? And what was the best way to kill Masen Brown and hide his body?

I should have been glad I didn’t have to go to school, because viva la freedom and all, but I couldn’t be glad when I was being punished unfairly. Furthermore, I was sure Barbie would throw a party to celebrate my suspension.

I hated that son of a Chupacabra from the bottom of my butt.

I strode out of her office, anxious to blow off some steam. Maybe by throwing darts at Barbie’s face. Yes, that would be wonderful.

But that would only partially satisfy me after what he’d done today. I should come up with something really good that would put him in his place.

Soon. Soon, I’d make him see he couldn’t mess with me and go unpunished. I would get back at him for everything, one way or another.

I parked in front of the limestone mansion I now called home and leaned my head against the seat. As I looked at the house, my gaze averted to the stone statue of a winged woman out front that felt so out of place. I imagined grabbing a hammer and smashing it to pieces as a way of relieving my tension. The thing was so ugly I would be doing the world a big favor.

I unfastened my seat belt and climbed out of my Ford Fiesta. Everything about this place felt wrong to me. It was a bitter reminder that my parents’ marriage had fallen apart and Steven and I were the casualties. It was a symbol of failed vows of eternal love and respect. It showed how easy it was to utter words of profound love and then stomp on them. Nothing was eternal. Good times didn’t last forever.

My mom had said she’d bought this estate because she wanted me and Steven to have a normal home, ignoring the fact that all Steven and I wanted was a normal family. And I wouldn’t call a colossal Cruella de Vil mansion purchased during a divorce a normal home. It was unnecessarily lavish and over-the-top in every way, flaunting its nine bedrooms, greenhouse, and indoor pool. It was like a neon sign for my dad that read I’m over you, fuck off.

Sure, she was doing much better; she worked her ass off at her real estate firm and hung out with her friends every Friday and most weekends, but the same could not be said for me and Steven. We were getting worse.

I vividly remembered the old days when Steven and I were conquering the world. With there being only a ten-month age gap between us, people often thought we were twins. We surely acted like twins, always together and supporting each other through our highs and lows. We even looked like twins, and people often got us mixed up. Our parents even enrolled us in school starting the same year.

We had the same blue eyes. The same somewhat crooked nose. The same heart-shaped face that earned Steven a lot of taunts because it looked too feminine on him. The same tall and skinny body that earned me the nickname Tomboy. The same loud laughter and shrill voice. The same tendency to get into trouble.

That time had been the most awesome period of my life, and I’d loved him more than anyone in this world.

But then, three and a half years ago, that Halloween night had happened, and I’d spiraled down the path that led me further and further from the happy, normal girl I’d been. Soon after, Steven had met the crowd that led him closer and closer to the wreck he was today.

Our relationship wasn’t the same after that.

I pushed the bittersweet memories away and checked my phone once more for any messages from Steven, but all I found was a big fat nothing, and it was difficult to ignore the sudden chill of disappointment and fear. This better not be another episode of Houdini Steven.

I went inside and disarmed the security system, welcomed by echoing silence. It was as quiet as a tomb.

Steven? I called. Nothing. Steven, are you home?

More silence. I could almost hear crickets.

I checked the GPS app again, but there was no trace of him. He could have his phone turned off, but I was sure he’d already deleted the app I’d installed on his phone. I’d have to up my secret agent skills to find him if he decided to disappear again.

My footsteps echoed off the marble floors as I crossed to the split grand staircase. The front hall was spacious and adorned with crystal chandeliers that cost a small fortune, and paintings from some of the world’s most renowned artists hung on the wall above the landing. My mom was a sucker for art.

She was also a sucker for wasting money, proving addiction could come in many forms.

Steven’s room was in the east wing, next to mine, and I headed there now. Our mom slept in the west wing to give us some privacy, but I loathed that privacy, as it allowed Steven to smuggle in drugs. It allowed him the freedom to destroy his life a little more each day, and I alone wasn’t enough to make a difference, no matter how many times I raided his room and flushed his drugs down the toilet.

Mom had ignored his addiction until only recently, when she finally recognized his problem was real and wouldn’t magically vanish, but by then it was too late. Now she had no parental authority over him.

I walked into his room without knocking. I expected to see him passed out on his bed or sitting hunched over his laptop, but the room was empty.

Steven?

I looked over the unmade bed and piles of dirty clothes strewn around, scrunching up my nose at the stale smell. He could use his room as a gas chamber, it was that bad.

Where are you, moron?

His bathroom was empty too, and a jolt of panic rippled through my chest. What if he’d come home only to pack his things?

I rushed over to the closet and wrenched open the door. His clothes and suitcase were still there, which meant he hadn’t left home. Yet. So, where the hell was he?

I dialed his number and tapped my foot as it rang through to his voicemail. This was a familiar scenario. If I only had a dollar for every time he ignored my calls. I felt sorry for his future wife. She would need to have nerves of steel to handle him, especially if we took into account his constant farting and verbal diarrhea.

Answer the goddamn phone. I hit the end button and called him again, tapping my foot faster with each ring. You’re avoiding me, huh? What else is new?

I tapped the screen forcefully to end the call.

"I don’t want to see you ever again, and I mean it."

Shit. I punched the wall, welcoming the explosive pain that surged through my hand. Everything about today sucked, from Steven snorting coke in the bathroom, to me getting suspended, and to top it off, at lunch, I’d found Barbie sitting at my table, talking shit about me to my friends. If I had my choice, there was no way I would let him sit there. Over my dead body—no, over his dead body.

I strode out of Steven’s room and into mine, impatient to get out of my clothes. The fabric of my shirt and jeans felt tight and constricting, like they were suffocating me. I dropped my backpack to the floor and yanked off my clothes, appreciating the cool air as it skimmed over my heated skin.

My room was like a cave. It was cool, huge, and dark—dark wood furniture, black bed sheets, skull-pattern black carpet, navy-blue walls, and dark-gray curtains, which were currently drawn over the floor-to-ceiling windows. I liked to joke that this darkness reflected my soul. Steven liked to joke that my room was worse than a coffin.

Better a coffin than his gas chamber.

Idiot.

Irritated, I crossed to my punching bag in the corner and put on my hand wraps. The punching bag was my buffer against destructive emotions. It helped me convert something totally damaging into something less harmful and to chase away my demons, although they were never really gone.

My demons were like my shadow. They stayed close by me, tearing me down little by little, and now it was as though the sun had never existed and all there would ever be was darkness. It was an endless black void that stole my real smiles and replaced them with those weak versions I used when I wanted to mask my real feelings and show myself as carefree.

So, I punched. I punched over and over again, and when that wasn’t enough, I would do countless laps in our indoor pool, train in Krav Maga, or read, which was why I had a huge-ass bookshelf containing over a thousand books. I was surprised I hadn’t gone blind from all that reading, spending hours upon hours in fictional worlds to help me drown out the scary voice that always reminded me I wasn’t whole anymore—I wasn’t really living.

My fist slammed into the hard leather, and I mumbled, Chaotic thoughts, be gone. I followed that up with a series of quick punches, glaring at the punching bag like it was the source of all my troubles, and that only spurred me on.

My muscles burned, but I punched harder and harder. I lost track of time, feeding my body with the much-needed pain and exhaustion, and I could finally feel myself relaxing.

By the