“Almost?” I shouted back, glancing over several of my new peers that I had barely even imprinted into my brain since getting to St. Mary’s. They looked like they were having fun. Was this what I had been missing out on during all those years in the basement?
She huffed a laugh over my shoulder but didn’t say anything else to me.
It was obvious that Sloane and Mercedes—and probably almost everyone else that attended St. Mary’s—felt that it was kind of like a prison. There were curfews set in place, no one was allowed to have a vehicle, and we couldn’t leave the school grounds. But to me, it was freedom in the form of castle-like walls with chains hanging from iron-clad doors. St. Mary’s was better than home. Home was my rendition of prison.
This boarding school was so much better than feeling like your very flesh was being eaten away as someone stared at you from across the dinner table, taking their longing eyes and dragging them down your arms and back up to your face again. Every bone in my body would break, and my stomach would recoil when the word Daddy flew effortlessly from my lips, as if it didn’t fucking kill me to call him that.
Survive, Gemma. Just survive.
I tasted the bile in the back of my throat but clamped my teeth together and calmed my pulse as I was brought back to the present, still gripping both Sloane’s and Mercedes’ hands. I’d realized my palms were squeezing theirs when they both glanced over to me with suspicion.
My fingers flew open, releasing theirs. “Sorry,” I mumbled, hiding my embarrassment.
Mercedes tucked a wavy piece of hair back. “It’s okay. It’s a lot to take in.” She paused, glancing out to the open area in front of us that was packed with everyone moving and shaking their hips.
I’d never been to a school dance, or party, for that matter. The only social gatherings I’d ever been to were the ones that Richard would take me to with his closest and most trusted colleagues to save face. Here is my niece that I took in when her mother went off the deep end. She’s a good girl. She’s polite and smart. Isn’t that right, my dear Gemma?
The only indication that this entire scene was normal for people my age was from some conversations I’d eavesdropped on at Wellington Prep or du
ring the rare occasion that Auntie would let me into the group home for an hour or so, where I gulped up as much information as I possibly could without seeming too interested.
I was technically supposed to be a member of the group home that Richard’s mother ran after my mother had left, but Tobias and I stayed in the main house with him because the group home was for girls only, and Tobias and I threw a fit when they had tried to separate us as young children. Who could blame us? Our mother had been ripped away at such a young age—so young that I could hardly remember what her laugh sounded like. If it weren’t for the old photograph of her, I don’t even think I’d be able to visualize her face. Or maybe I didn’t want to. The only thing I could remember for certain was that I’d never felt safe again after she left. Ever. Not even when Tobias and I would sneak into each other’s beds late at night because we were both sad and scared. Seeking comfort with each other didn’t last long, though. Richard grew more furious each and every time he found us together.
He hated Tobias. He hated him so much.
Richard’s mother didn’t mind Tobias much. In fact, I think she may have favored him over me, along with most of the girls she took care of, but after her stroke a few months ago, leaving her basically brain dead, the group home diminished in its entirety.
That was when things began to get interesting.
Judge Stallard suddenly had to explain why there was a random girl living in his house that wasn’t on record and had no ties to the group home—none that anyone was aware of anyway. From what I’d gathered over the years, it seemed that my mother had been one of the girls at the group home. Maybe even one of the first. I’m not sure how or why my mother ended up living in Richard’s house, but that didn’t really seem to matter in the grand scheme of things.
What did matter were the rumors of me and Tobias that started from the girls who attended the group home before Auntie had her stroke. Social workers flooded the home, having to place each and every girl into a foster home or a different group home. I’d even heard talk of sending some of the girls to jail, which never made sense to me, but that was where they learned that there was a teenaged girl—me—living in the main house.
Judge Stallard was favored in the court, obviously, and had many—too many—ties with police, lawyers, and even social workers, but you couldn’t buy everyone. (His words, not mine.) There was one social worker in particular that continued to poke around, thus landing me in Wellington Prep and now St. Mary’s.
It seemed things just got messier after he sent me to school to save face. Richard could no longer trust me, and I could no longer trust him.
“Have you taken it all in yet?” Sloane asked thoughtfully.
Swinging my eyes away from hers and back around to the ocean of bodies swaying, I really let myself look. Mercedes was right; we were definitely in the basement of St. Mary’s. There wasn’t a single window that I could spot, which made me a bit itchy to think about, the floor beneath my boots was hard and dirty, and there was a smidge of dampness lingering in the air. Huge pillars were standing upright around us with glowing lights winding around the durable stone almost as if the stone pillars were holding up the entire school above our heads. There was a long table beside the curved door that we’d walked through that had various sizes of glass bottles on the top that I recognized as alcohol from Richard’s bourbon addiction.
But my attention was strictly on the bodies jiving and thrusting along one another as an upbeat song came through the speakers. They were sweaty. Girls’ hair stuck to their foreheads, their dresses and skirts pushed up high, showing off their legs. Most of the guys were off to the side, watching the floor with likely the same amount of awe that I currently had in my expression.
A door opening across from the dancing bodies snagged my attention away for a split second before I went back to watching what was happening in front of me. It was like a drug, watching people dance and just be. My stomach hollowed out, jealousy surging through my limbs, causing them to twitch. I stepped a foot forward, wanting to let loose just like they were. Everyone looked so free and happy, and I craved that. I could almost taste it on my lips.
I wanted that. I wanted to feel that euphoria that I’d only ever felt when I was sketching, too lost in my own world to realize that I was actually living in my own version of hell.
“Now the real party can start,” Sloane said, a sultry tick in her tone.
“What?” I muttered, still unable to look away. One of the guys came up behind a girl. It was Callie, the girl that had taunted me on the lacrosse field the other day.
“The Rebels are here.”
My attention was whipped away when the words left her mouth, and almost instantly, I locked eyes with Isaiah. He was taller than mostly everyone in the room, easily able to look over the dancing bodies and pin me to my spot.
A rush of heat swept through me, causing my breathing to quicken. I watched with bated breath as his thumb came up and swept over his bottom lip, never once looking away from me. His friends had moved away, but he didn’t step a toe in either direction.
He was staring at me, and I was staring at him.