A Gorgeous Villain (St. Mary's Rebels 2)

“No, not right now, okay?” She hugs me again. “Right now, you just need to save yourself.”

And then I can’t stop crying.

I can’t stop sobbing as I cling to my friend.

I cling to her like she’ll save me like I want to save his car.

But the truth is that no one can save me.

I’m already dying.

I’ve already fallen in love with a villain.

To be continued in…

A Gorgeous Villain

Please Note that it is highly advisable to read the prequel first in order to enjoy the full-length book.

Heart (n.):

A muscular organ with four chambers that beats in a rhythm

Broken Heart (n.):

A heart with cracked chambers that still beats but every beat is arhythmic and hence, painful

In the middle of the woods in the town of St. Mary’s, there is a school.

It’s a school only for girls.

Actually, it’s a school only for bad girls.

Girls who break rules.

Who cut classes or steal and totally do not respect authority.

Some of them are violent and have anger issues.

Like punching a teacher in the face because they asked to see your homework and they kinda asked loudly. Which was not appreciated because you were hungover from all the alcohol you’d consumed the night before, illegally, and at a party that you should never have been at in the first place.

There’s a girl here who did that.

People tend to stay away from her because she likes to break things.

I like her though. She’s been good to me.

But anyway, not all the girls are this violent. Some girls are tamer.

Like, there’s a girl here whose only crime was to steal a credit card because she saw a really cute dress at a store and she wanted to buy it. And she knew that if she asked her mom, her mom would say no. Because for some reason, her mom has this crazy idea in her head that her daughter is a spendthrift and hence should not be allowed to shop without parental guidance.

So yeah.

We’re the bad girls and we’ve been sent here for reformation.

Because this school is a reform school and it’s called St. Mary’s School for Troubled Teenagers.

It was established years and years ago. Probably when dinosaurs roamed the earth.

Okay, fine.

That’s an exaggeration.

It was established in 1939. All dinosaurs were long extinct by then, but still.

Anyway, if you stumble upon the website of this place or happen to pick up a glossy mustard-colored brochure at the principal’s office, you will see that this prestigious place has a history of excellent education and iron-clad discipline.

More than that, it has a history of producing some very well-behaved and socially adjusted girls who go on to do great things in their lives.

As opposed to the not-so-great things that they did which landed them here.

I, for one, love this place.

I love the fact that I live here now. That I’ve been living here for the past two years, ever since my sophomore year.

I love the rules. I love the restrictions.

I love that there’s a set time for everything.

Like, when to wake up, when to take a shower – every morning between 6 and 7AM. When to do your laundry – there’s a laundry room located in the basement of the dorm building and you go wash your clothes on a schedule so it doesn’t get overcrowded. When to do your homework or eat dinner or relax. And finally, when to go to bed: lights out at 9:30 every night.

They even tell you when you can or can’t leave campus.

You need a special little pink permission slip signed by a teacher – sometimes they can be white, but I always cheer up when I get the pink ones.

Oh, and in order to receive those signed permission slips, you need to have enough good girl points, more commonly referred to – by teachers – as privileges.

And who keeps track of your privileges? The guidance counselor assigned to you, whom you meet with every week and who has a thick file of all your sins and occasional good deeds.

There’s a girl here who hasn’t gotten a permission slip to go out in a year now, not even for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Because she keeps showing up late to her classes and rumor has it that she’s failing math and chemistry, hence her privileges have been revoked.

See? How wonderfully strict and suffocating.

On top of that, I absolutely adore the stern-faced teachers who hardly ever smile. But that’s okay because they only want good things for you.

I adore the cinderblock buildings and cement pathways and iron bars on the windows.

Oh, and the big tall gates in the front that are made of iron and are painted black? They are to die for.

Not only are they architecturally sound and capable of keeping all of us inside, they also boast the motto of St. Mary’s School at the top in large, wrought iron letters: Tradition. Education. Discipline. Rehabilitation.