Page 44
Story: Princes of Chaos
I scramble off his lap, lunging for the door. Pace catches me as I topple out, his biceps bulging under his T-shirt, keeping me from face planting in my attempt to get away from Wicker. I stare up into his dark eyes, swallowing at the spark of malice in them.
“Never run away from your Princes,” he growls, righting me with tightly controlled movements. There are people already watching, and Pace tracks them with spiteful glances.
Nervously, I try, “I’m sorry. I didn’t–I wasn’t–”
When Pace meets my gaze again, the heat of anger has been replaced with something impossibly darker. It’s magnified by the way he touches my face, tender and dragging. “You see, Rosilocks, the only thing we really get out of this is you,” he says, grazing a knuckle along the curve of my cheek. “Your sweet lips. Your pink cheeks. Your smooth legs and perfect tits. If you want to know the truth,” he pitches closer, voice dropping to a deep rumble, “nothing has ever made me harder than watching him fuck you bloody over that table.”
I lurch back, sickened by the wicked grin that quirks his mouth. “You’re a pig.”
“And you’re our bitch.” His smile hardens, the corners of his eyes growing tight. “You remember that when I call for you later, Rosilocks.”
I’ve never been special.Sure, my entire life had been centered aroundbecomingspecial, but in reality, the position of Duchess was a pipe dream. To the outside world, at school or around town, I didn’t register. Inside West End, I was barely a cutslut, the expectations on my purity higher than the needs of horny frat boys looking to blow off steam before and after a fight. And it’s not like I had the freedom to rebel. My mother was everywhere, always watching, always protecting, always dealing…
It didn’t matter if the guys thought I was cute, not with her hovering presence. None of them, not even the slutty, impulsive ones, would have dared to make a move. Not if they wanted to live another day with their balls attached to their bodies. No, it was known in West End that I wasn’t there for them. I might have been their adorable mascot, a devoted cheerleader, a little sister, but at the end of the day, I was off limits, forbidden from becoming anything more.
I think that’s why the attention I receive walking across campus feels so heavy—thick and smothering, like one of those weighted blankets. I’d waited my whole life for this moment, to be wrapped in the security of a title, for everyone to know what I’d accomplished, that I was special.
But I’m not walking with the familiarity of bruins at my side. I’m walking with the Ashby brothers, popular and intriguing in their own right, but now elevated to Princes.
“Is it always like this?” I ask. A group of girls share a badly veiled whisper when we pass. My heart pounds in a slight panic. I feel exposed, as if everyone can sense I’m a fraud.
“You get used to it,” Wicker says, arm draped over my shoulder. One girl stops dead in her tracks and gapes at him. I look up at him, just in time to see him wink at her. I swear to god, her legs clench. “And learn to reap the benefits.”
Lex sternly corrects, “Your days of reaping co-ed cunt are over, Wick.” With Lex on my right, Wicker on my left, and Pace’s long, lithe stride leading the front, I feel trapped in, no place to go but back.
But every searing stare from a West Ender makes it very clear that’s not possible.
There’s no going back.
I almost feel confused until I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored windows of the English building. For the first time, I see what everyone’s staring at. Stella’s hair and makeup is a transformation, Cinderella style.
I look amazing. Elegant. Refined.
I look like an East Ender.
Pace stops at the fountain, the most visible spot on campus other than the student union, and turns to me and his brothers, raising his chin.
“Father said to give her five minutes.”
I look between them, clutching my jacket close. “Five minutes? For what?”
Wicker sighs, sliding onto the concrete retaining wall. “For our fan club,” he says, leaning his head back, eyes closed, not at all unlike a snake basking in the heat of the morning sun.
When I turn, my whole body stiffens. There’s a line of men–PNZ members–leading all the way back to the Language Arts center. Some of them look eager and bright-eyed, while others look impatient and tired. They look like Stepford soldiers, all forty-plus of them arranged in a perfect, uniform row.
Each is holding a single white rose.
“They’re here to make their public offerings,” Lex mutters, joining his brothers on the fountain wall. He opens a textbook, clearly bored by what’s unfolding. “Participation is compulsory.”
It clicks in my memory. I’ve never seen it personally, but I’ve heard about it–the Princess getting her weekly presents from the frat. I never realized it was such a spectacle, and when I turn to them, it’s clear they’re awaiting my signal.
“Oh,” I drop my jacket and bag, and then, dusting my hands off on my skirt, give the first guy a nod. “Uh, okay. I’m… ready.”
He bounds forward, thrusting the rose toward me. Taking it, I begin, “Thank–” but he’s already striding off, the next guy taking his place. They work like a conveyor belt, one man after another, and I struggle to balance the roses in my arm, not to mention the cards they all come with. Each one bears a note that looks exactly like Lex’s had–a small, cream card folded in half.
It isn’t until the sixth guy, a bit slower than the others, that I have an opportunity to glimpse what’s written inside.
To my beautiful Princess. May she reign. -HJ
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120
- Page 121
- Page 122
- Page 123
- Page 124
- Page 125
- Page 126
- Page 127
- Page 128
- Page 129
- Page 130
- Page 131
- Page 132
- Page 133
- Page 134
- Page 135
- Page 136
- Page 137
- Page 138
- Page 139
- Page 140
- Page 141
- Page 142
- Page 143
- Page 144
- Page 145
- Page 146
- Page 147
- Page 148
- Page 149
- Page 150
- Page 151
- Page 152
- Page 153
- Page 154
- Page 155
- Page 156
- Page 157
- Page 158
- Page 159
- Page 160
- Page 161
- Page 162
- Page 163
- Page 164
- Page 165
- Page 166
- Page 167
- Page 168
- Page 169
- Page 170
- Page 171
- Page 172
- Page 173
- Page 174
- Page 175
- Page 176
- Page 177
- Page 178
- Page 179
- Page 180
- Page 181
- Page 182
- Page 183
- Page 184
- Page 185
- Page 186
- Page 187
- Page 188
- Page 189
- Page 190
- Page 191
- Page 192
- Page 193
- Page 194
- Page 195
- Page 196
- Page 197
- Page 198
- Page 199
- Page 200
- Page 201
- Page 202
- Page 203
- Page 204
- Page 205
- Page 206
- Page 207
- Page 208
- Page 209
- Page 210
- Page 211
- Page 212
- Page 213