Page 9 of Ramsay

Even worse, although I fight it, I suspect I’d fall all too easily if he gave me a chance. I know he likes to fuck. His reputation as a savage but exacting lover is just one of the stories that flow through this school like wildfire.

What would it be like to be on the receiving end of his lust? Probably like getting burned by that damn stove, better to learn to stay away from the heat.

I’ve not seen Ramsay since his offhand comment about period sex, and Diem has gotten into his fair share of fights, but I’m always trailing in after the fact. Oliver, well, he advanced past me last year, and for all I know, is too smart for the classes he’s actually in.

All of this means I see them far less than I’d like, but more than is good for me.

This year, for homecoming, I’ve settled on a simple short black dress that hints at my generous cleavage but covers the goods. Last year, I was new and trying to fit in, desperate to shed the stink of my past but this year, I don’t give a fuck, my soul shriveled into a sad raisin.

I don't want a single football ass to ogle me, nor a cheer bitch to look on with envy and it’s days like these that I don’t know why I still bother. I know the dark side, I’ve lived it, and it would be so easy to go back and wallow, but at this point, I think it's sheer stubbornness.

If I can’t keep a promise to myself, who can I keep it to?

I’ve left my long dark hair loose around my shoulders and painted my hazel eyes with heavy dark makeup. It’s been years since I saw this look and the shadowed parts of my psyche approve.

With a little gloss to my lips, I pull on stilettos that make my feet hurt like a bitch and grab my keys.

Mom is at the dining table when I shuffle down the steps, and she gives me an absent smile, murmuring, “Off to the dance, sweetie?”

Grunting in response, I stop before her until she looks up, noting the typical vacant expression when she does. Why I don’t know, but I wait for something—anything, and when I get nothing, I turn away with a snarl.

When my parents pulled me from the streets and into what they considered safety, they ignored the very same signs they missed before. As it turns out, rich dicks aren’t much different, but that's my parents, they want me to conform without the need for parental intervention when all they needed to do was see.

Parking near the gym, I sit outside and stare at the facade contemplating skipping the whole damn thing because my presence won’t change the outcome any more than my absence will.

Only the specter of Sabrina’s displeasure on Monday gets me moving, that and the possibility of seeing Ramsay, although that is a long shot. I can’t imagine he’d attend, because why would he? He doesn't care about the typical high school rituals.

I’ve heard through rumor, and speculation that Ramsay is set to inherit a billion-dollar fortune. Oliver is smart enough to be a fucking astronaut, and Diem doesn’t care for party’s unless he’s fucking some random chick at one.

Still, I yearn to see Ramsay up close because my black soul flares to life when he’s around, and despite what I’ve hidden beneath the docile surface, seeing him is like a hit of crack singing sweetly through my veins.

To my disappointment, when I enter, I spy none of them but plenty of my fake as fuck friends. They’re gathered around the table Sabrina’s claimed near the dance floor.

She’s gearing up for the first of the year’s court crowning’s, dressed to impress and with her sweetest expression in place. For tonight, she’ll be whatever it takes to get nominated queen, tomorrow though, watch out because it’ll be open season all over again.

Jensen weaves in place beside Sabrina, typically shit faced. I’m not sure if he knows how to enjoy himself without liquor, but just as well, because when he’s not in a cruel mood, he’s easier to handle.

Patrick gives me the eye, which I ignore as I sidle up, pretending a lighthearted mood. I’m so tired of the antics, and for once, I’d like to look forward to a normal teenage night, although honestly, I don’t know what typical teenage nights are like. I skipped normal and went straight to fucked up before I had the chance to experience it.

With the sharks I call friends, I’m always in need of vigilance, and it’s the truth I’m just as tired amongst this group of middle-class jerks as I was around the kids my parents deemed trouble.

But who am I to tell them otherwise? Put on a sharp cheerleader outfit and speak all bubbly, and they assume the shine they pretended existed in the first place is back where it's supposed to be.

Never mind that it’s all a front for the real shit behind the mask. They’ve never bothered to look anyway.

Hailey’s here, on the arm of Jaxon Hart, who’s not as bad as the others, but that’s not exactly a ringing endorsement. I think Hailey often picks him because she thinks he’s safer, but she’s foolish to believe so, because any of these boys would eat her alive if they were so inclined.

After all, they’ve never heard the word no unless the Sinners speak it. This is why I both obsess about their existence and go out of my way to avoid being seen. The Sinners hold all the power and it's easy to see they’re closer to the dark side than I ever want to be again.

To be fair, I’m not sure the Sinners have ever heard or paid attention to the word no either, but they are far more direct in their perfidy. No backhanded insults after you refuse to blow them. No light-hearted banter to cover their nefarious intentions as they corner you and think to force you.

The Sinners are not good guys, but they're not bad guys either. How do I know?

Last year, a sophomore girl was attacked after one of the dances. She was beaten so brutally that she had to have reconstructive surgery. Rumors circulated about who the culprit might be and one week later after another pathetic football game, Jared Hopkins was found broken and bleeding in the parking lot.

He too, had surgery to mend his bones but he never came back to Sterling and his fate became a lesson for us all. This is the Sinner’s territory and vigilante justice is the name of their game.

Even the teachers give them a wide berth. If rumor is true, the very bricks upon which Sterling High were built was funded by a Yates ancestor, some dude who wanted his wayward community of children to learn about god. From this, the Sterling High Saints were born and so many years later, the Sinners came, no doubt aptly named as a play on our ignoble name.

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