Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (9 page)

“What was this about?” Ezra hisses out.

“This skan-” Flora’s mouth refuses to move when Ezra looks at her with his scary-assed glare.

“They’re just upset about my daddy
stealing all their money. It couldn’t be helped. I knew it was coming. I’m Faith Simpson,” I introduce myself. I hold my hand out for a shake, and for the second time in a week, I’m rejected. Ezra eyes my bleeding hand. I snatch it away, blushing like a bride on her wedding night.

“We better get you cleaned up,” he softly murmurs under his breath. Ezra’s voice is unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. It’s quiet, but with a deadly edge. You don’t mess with a person that has a voice like that. “Back off,” he warns the crowd, and they do. “We all have parents we’re not proud of. We aren’t our fathers.”
I don’t know who Ezra’s birth daddy is, but his adopted daddy is a real good young man. I’ve seen Marcus a few times at social gatherings. I was surprised when I found out that he’s only twenty-two. Must be Ezra’s real daddy is like my real momma- someone you don’t want anyone to know about.

I start towards the bathroom, not looking behind me.
I don’t want my alone time witnessed. I need to get this makeup off and my clothes puts to rights. I’m thankful that I wore an undershirt because my blouse is torn wide open. Fate’s sexy thigh highs are shredded. No need to worry about showing the goods when I cross my legs at my desk, because my ass was on display to everyone watching. I’m never wearing lacy underthings again.

I scrub my face free of makeup and drying blood. Last week’s bruises are yellowing around the edges. Sadly, no new bruises are cropping up. I hope that everyone here isn’t used to wounds and won’t notice the difference. My hands are the worst of my injuries. They will take weeks to heal. Acrylic
nails against skin, not a fair fight. Next time, I’m yanking their nails off and shoving them down their whining throats. They shouldn’t get to fight with weapons.

I go bare-legged. I tuck my ripped blouse into my skirt. Since I’m smaller, the blouse overlaps, covering my body. I unroll the waist of my skirt. No need to show off my legs, they’ve seen the show. I finally look my age and I’m pleased with that.

I look into the mirror and the person gazing back isn’t me. I refuse to be this person. I won’t seduce. I won’t dress in a way that makes me uncomfortable. I won’t lie down and take a beating ever again. If Wil don’t like it, he can slap me around some more. I ain’t guaranteeing that I won’t strike him back, either.

From this moment on, I’m behaving in the only way I know how. I will pretend I’m my sister around Wil, but my behavior won’t change. And I don’t give a flying fuck if Wil likes it or not.

~Chapter Seven~

Unlike last school year, I’m not invisible
anymore. Everywhere I go, they’re all staring at me like I’m a bug under a magnifying glass- waiting for me to get fried by the Sun. Just like last school year, they avoid me like the plague. Everyone winces when they look at my face. Hate to tell them, it was Wil that marked me up real good.

I’d hoped to have a class with Cortez, but no such luck
for first and second period. He’s in a bunch of language arts courses, obviously not my strong suit. I’d rather learn things that will help me in the future. I listened around, Cort fancies himself a writer. Well… we officially have nothing in common. I do like to read, so that’s a positive.

I’m smart. I know why something is the way it is; I just can’t seem to put
it into practice. I have an impressive 4.3 grade average. During English, my essays are perfect. If I could only get my mind and mouth to agree before the ignorant words erupt. Practice makes perfect. I’m never going back to West Virginia, so I might as well fit in with the natives. I
will
overcome this huge obstacle.

One constant during the first half of my day was Boyd. The boy was everywhere I went. When I’d look him in the eyes, he wouldn’t look away. I think he has a perverse need to have staring contests with me
- contests he always lets me win. I’ve looked at him so much today that I swear when I look in the mirror, I’ll see his face staring back at me. I may be smart, but not smart enough to be in senior classes. I don’t know what Boyd is up to, but no way is he in my sophomore classes. Not one single teacher batted an eyelash. He walked in every class I have and sat right next to me. I was his sole focus. It was unnerving as all hell.

Boyd’s
not a big guy for an eighteen-year-old. He’s five and half feet tall and kind of scrawny. If genius had a specific look, Boyd would come to mind. He’s not unattractive- muted and unassuming. A mop of brown curls, huge blue eyes, and a soft face greet you when you see past his invisibility.

Never touching me, he’s taken my books, my bag, walked me to the bathroom, and even outlined the fading bruises on my face. Not one word has been spoken between the two of us. After second period, I accepted that Boyd was my shadow. Even now, he sits at the end of my cafeteria table, not eating- his graceful arms crossed over his chest. The six foot circle feels immense with him on one side and me on the other.

I scowl into my bisque, feeling uncomfortable. The food makes me miss public school. Yes, I said I miss shitty food. I don’t want to eat soup that is the color of vomit. I spoon the substance and allow it to plop back into my bowl. We’re not allowed to bring bag lunches, not dignified enough. I’d kill for a peanut butter and pickle sandwich right about now. Give me a cup of chocolate milk and a bag of plain potato chips and I’d be a happy girl. Nope, Hillbrook gives you vichyssoise or bisque with a pretty cup of fresh fruit and bottled water. I already ate the fruit.

“Dreaming of pizza, are we
?” a charming voice croons as Cortez sits next to me on my quadrant of the table.

“Or macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets, tacos, anything that doesn’t resemble baby puke,” I groan. A moment
later, I realize that I listed everything little kids love to eat. Well, I promised to be myself but bite my tongue against those words that drive Wil’s ears to bleed. No going back now…

“Have you seen baby puke?” Ezra joins Cortez and me at the table. “How’s the face?”

“Will you gentlemen be staying for the duration of lunch?” Boyd makes himself known, speaking for the first time in almost three hours.

“Yup, not going anywhere,” Cort replies while Ezra intensely checks out Boyd.

“Good,” Boyd says in satisfaction. His deep voice is at complete odds with his body. “Faith,” he acknowledges me for the first time… like ever. “What is your next class?”

“Um… P.E.” I stammer out.

“Fourth period?”

“Geometry,” I reply, looking him dead-on. Most people
would flinch away, not Boyd.

“Us
, too,” Cort excitedly chirps.

“Will you sta
y with Faith, please,” Boyd asks Ezra, completely ignoring Cort. “I have to catch up on my classes. I’ll drive you home… unless you guys would take her.”

“No problem,” Ezra drawls, suspiciously
eyeing Boyd.

“Thank you,” he politely says, and stands. “
Sorry to interrupt your conversation. Ezra asked if you’ve ever seen baby puke,” Boyd teases, “and how your face feels.” He gives me a peculiar look, and I can see that he knows these marks didn’t come from today. Intuition zings in my blood, but I don’t know where it’s leading me.

Boyd silently walks away, and all I can do is gape. “What the hell?”

“It’s Boyd. Basically, it’s always what the hell with him,” Cort sounds as confused as I feel.

To change to subject, I answer Ezra’s earlier questions.
“The face looks smushed, but is pain-free. Yeah, I’ve seen it, and it looks just like this,” I plop another spoonful of the soup. Cortez grabs my bowl and digs in. I scowl at him, and I’m rewarded with a glass sundae cup of fruit. I try to hold back my revolting stomach as Cort eats the entire bowl of soup and then starts in on his own.

“An acquired taste,” Ezra murmurs, eating his cold pureed soup. “How come you have an accent and Fate doesn’t?”

“My daddy’s family is from West Virginia. I wanted to live with my aunt, so I did,” I make it sound better than it is.

“Taking care of your family is a noble thing to do,” Cortez says. “I don’t have any family left.
” Cortez turns his face away and Ezra’s features harden. They lost Cort’s mom to cancer last school year. I remember how they both walked around like zombies for many months.

“I’m sorry about your momma. I lost mine, too. Well, I never knew her,” I decide to tell the truth. I need them to let me in, and the only way I can think to do that, is to tell them the God’s honest truth.
“Fate and I have different mothers.”

“Ah,” Ezra
exhales. A rare smile curves Ezra’s lips and his gray eyes turn a light blue. “Tell us your story and we’ll tell you ours. Outward appearances are such utter bullshit,” he grumbles.

“Yes, do tell,” Cortez eagerly coaxes me.
He offers me Ezra’s fruit as an incentive.

“My daddy had an affair on Fate’s mom and I was the product. I spent the majority of my life
living with my aunt, unless they needed to keep up those outward appearances of utter bullshit,” I snarkily say, raising an eyebrow. “Y’all already know why the infamous Thomas Simpson is sitting in jail.”

“Hmm… should we include her in our clu
b? What do you think, Cort? Faith would fit right in with the entitled misfits.” Ezra eyeballs me with a smirk on his face.

“What club?” I look between the
mischievous pair, and I can’t help but laugh. The rapport between them is infectious.

“The club that looks good on the outside. We’re from rich families. We go to the best school
s. Our futures are ever so bright,” Ezra sings.

“We’re spoiled. Have hefty trust funds,” Cort adds.

“We’re already betrothed in arranged marriages to girls that will benefit our families,” Ezra groans.

“
Speak for yourself, Ez. I’m not a catch.” Cort gives a shit-eating grin. “I’m rich by association, and that huge trust fund is thanks to Marcus. I’m just a lowly orphan,” Cort whines, making himself look pitiful. His bottom lip quivers and his gray eyes are huge.

Ezra, ignoring Cort’s self-
deprecation, says, “But… when we enter our mansion-”

“Do
n’t you mean enter Hell on Earth, Ez?” Cort finishes Ezra’s sentence.

“Yeah, when we enter H
ell on Earth, things are not as they seem. You are looking at the only two in our little group. Every other kid at Hillbrook is from a pair of parents that dote on them.”

“Kiss their asses is more like it!”
Cort shouts, causing heads to turn in our direction. He charmingly smiles at them and they all smile back.

Jesu
s- I mean jeez. I bet Cort gets whatever he wants when he smiles. If he bats those impossibly long, black eyelashes of his, their knees weaken and their panties drop- boys too. Wild- it’s kinda affecting me, too.

“Yeah,
they kiss the asses of their coddled little bastards. But when we go home… My mom hates me as much as she loves me.” Ezra scowls, his mind taking a vacay. Moments later he blinks out of his mental torture.

“Cruel bitch,” Cort hisses. “I love the woman, though.”

“Because you can do no wrong,” Ezra whines.

“Slow up.” I put my hand out to stop their dizzying conversations. “Back up a bit and explain, please,” I beg, mind swirling in chaos.

“Is she in?” Ezra asks Cort, a smirk flirting with his lush lips.

“Yeah, we
’ll let her in,” Cort agrees. He tilts his head to the side, checking me out. He nods his head a few times, humming to himself. “I got ya beat. I never met my dad. Julian Abernathy was just some guy my mom had a crush on, and then ended up getting knocked up. He was going to college on a student visa. Julian was sent back to Brazil before I was born. Never met that man, and never felt compelled to locate him either. Only reason I’m not living in a cardboard box is that Diane,” he nods towards Ezra. “Ezra’s mom and mine were best friends. They met here at Hillbrook.”

“Celeste never married. She was my mom’s lifelong companion. But I got you sob-story bastards beat,” Ezra chuckles. “
My father, Raymond Hunter, he raped my mom- eight months later, a premature Ezra is born. That’s why my mom hates me. She loves me because I’m her son, and hates me because I’m Hunter’s son. Win-win,” he sarcastically sings.

“Same for me, Ez. Diane hates me because I’m Julian’s kid, but loves me because of Celeste.”

“The difference, my man, is that Diane is
my
mom,” Ezra stresses, holding Cortez’s penetrating gaze. “Your mom was an incredible person- beautiful woman and a loving mom. It’s why you’re so sweet.”

“And charming… don’t forget charming,” Cort chirps.

“Pretty sure that’s Abernathy’s contribution.” Ezra blushes a pretty pink high on his cheeks. “I wish we had a picture. I bet he was spectacular. He made your mom crazy,” he softly laughs.

“Shut it,” Cort points at Ezra and snickers. “So we’re pretty shitty at home. But Marcus comes in and adopts this ingrate.”
He hitches a finger in Ez’s direction.