Page 2 of I Don't Need Your Romance

Back in the dorm, I hurry to my room on the second floor and burst inside, leaping onto my bed where I left my romantasy. My other best friend and roommate, Raven Mitchell, sits on her bed with her guitar as she writes lyrics. This is one of the few times she’s actually taken out her guitar, which she usually stashes in her closet. Most times, she just sits with her notebook and her pen.

“Hey, how did it go?” Raven asks as she pushes her blonde hair out of her face to jot something down. Her parents thought she would have dark hair like them, which is why they named her Raven. I think it suits her perfectly.

“She’s making me tutor the devil,” I mutter as I open my book to where I’m up to.

Her head snaps up from her notebook. “What?”

“You know the guy we saw at the dance? Harrington’s son?”

“Yeah.”

“She asked me to be his tutor.”

“Okay…what’s wrong with that? I thought you love helping other students.”

“I do, but not when they look at me like they want to snap me in half like a toothpick.”

Her brows shoot up. “Is he really that bad?”

“I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “He was a jerk to me and knocked into my shoulder—which really hurt, by the way—but I don’t want to judge him or anything. Maybe he’s a good guy but is just going through a hard time. There are clearly issues between him and his mom, and I really don’t want to get in the middle of it. He even called her by her first name! Did you know her name is Beatrice? She looks like a Beatrice, doesn’t she?”

Raven thinks for a second as she rubs her pen across her lips. “Yeah, I totally see it. Beatrice Harrington. Fits her perfectly.”

I sigh again as I focus on my book. “I just hope he doesn’t make my life hell. Harrington wants me to tutor him every day after school.”

“It’s great that you’re giving him the benefit of the doubt. I’d say you should at least have a few sessions with him to see what he’s like. If he turns out to be a monster, you’ll have to tell Harrington you quit. Why should your high school career be ruined because of another student?”

“Yeah, you’re right. I have to at least give him a chance, right?”

She nods. “Right.”

She continues with her lyrics and I continue reading my awesome book. If I do indeed experience hell tomorrow, at least I’ll have this wonderful story to get me through it.

Chapter Two

Damian

I storm to my room, slam the door, and climb onto my bed with my sketchpad and pencils. I don’t know why I’m fuming this hard. Maybe because my dear mother made me look like a complete moron in front of the smartest kid at school? My grades are fine. My old school wasfine.It sure as heck beats this place with its fancy buildings and fancy people and fancy everything.

In case you can’t tell, Idon’tlike this town or the people in it. Never have. That was why I moved in with Dad in Texas when I was ten years old. Things were good, I was happy. It was just the two of us, living our lives and having fun, with me not remembering the mother who pretty much abandoned me for most of my childhood.

Then Dad died a few days ago from cancer and everything changed. I was forced to move back here with Mom. I don’t know why I thought things would be different now, especially after everything that happened. But just like when I was younger, she put the school before me.

Heck, she put her precious school before Dad. When it was obvious he didn’t have a lot of time left, he asked her to come see him, but she didn’t turn up. She refused a dying person’s request.

I’llneverforgive her for that.

Sighing, I stop drawing. It was wrong of me to take my anger out on my new tutor. I shouldn’t have slammed my shoulder into hers. I feel bad about it. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. I let my anger and frustration get the better of me. I’ve got to work on that.

Footsteps sound outside. Mom has a nice apartment on the school campus, with a few rooms. One is my room. It was either move in with her or room with some guy in the boys’ dorm. As much as I don’t like my mom, it beats sharing a room with a stranger.

The sound grows louder until Mom stands in the doorway of my room, hands on her hips, a frown on her face. I don’t look anything like her. Some would question if I’m even a Harrington. Being the sole heir to the Harrington Empire, a lot is expected of me. But I don’t care or want any of it. And I certainly amnotinterested in inheriting responsibility for this snooty school and the rest of the Harrington Empire.

Because I’ve rejected the Harrington side of me, I dress like a common person instead of royalty. Mom nearly lost her mind when I turned up here on my motorcycle.

She still watches me with judgment in her eyes. I grunt and brush my pencil across my sketchpad. Does she seriously not get it? I don’t want anything to do with the woman who ruined my life and my dad’s.

“Damian, didn’t I ask you to stay behind?” she says.