Page 478 of Filthy Elites

“This must be the wrong place,” I tell the driver when he climbs out of the cart and reaches for my case. “No, wait. I need to call student services, because I’m on a scholarship, there’s no way that pays for me to stay in this place. There’s been a mix-up with my name, so this must be where whoever my file got confused with is supposed to live. I don’t want to unpack only to have to pack up and move when the person who’s supposed to be living here figures out the mistake.” Pulling my cell from my pocket, I open the packet, find the student liaison number and call it.

Ten minutes later, I step uncertainly up to the front door and slide my key card into the scanner. The man in student services assured me that this is where I’m living for the next four years and that there’s no mistake—despite the mix-up with my name, which keeps reverting back to Lockwood on the file, even though he changed it to Kennedy twice while we were on the call.

After protests that it must be wrong, I was passed over to a manager who seemed surprised that I’d been roomed in Collinswood, because apparently scholarship kids are normally put in the town houses closest to campus. When I asked to be moved to one of those, she laughed, asked me if I was serious, then told me all the housing was full and Collinwood House was the only room available if I wanted to stay on campus.

The sound of a clock ticking greets me as I step inside the palatial home. My eyes quickly roam over the space as I inhale the scent of furniture polish and lemon cleaner. Dark wood and Gothic grandeur surround me and for the hundredth time in the last thirty seconds, I consider running away and back to the comfort of mine and my dad’s apartment. As I step inside, the front door closes shut behind me and I startle, jumping forward and nearly tripping over my case beside me.

Not wanting to invade private space, I step forward and glance into the rooms off the main entrance hall. There’s a living room, with comfortable-looking couches and a large TV. A formal dining room that I doubt ever gets used in a houseful of college kids, a massive kitchen with a glass-fronted refrigerator full of beer, and an honest to goodness library with a real fireplace and wingback chairs.

Climbing the stairs, dragging my case behind me, I find suites one and two on the first floor and three, four and five on the second. There’s a scanner lock on each door, the same as the one on the front door, and I slide my card into the lock on the room marked with a number five. It beeps and the sound of a lock disengaging fills the silence.

Pushing it open, I find another set of stairs instead of the bedroom I was expecting. Groaning at the thought of carrying my case any farther, I grit my teeth and start to climb. My room is located in the turret you can see at the front of the house, it’s a vaguely hexagonal shape with a metal-framed bed and dark wood furniture that looks great against the walls that are painted a pale-blue color. Wallpaper has been hung in panels on some of the walls, and two doors lead off the room into what I’m assuming are a closet and a bathroom.

Leaving my case in the doorway, I step toward the window and stare out at the view. From this high up, I can see the neighboring couple of houses and the campus off in the distance. I might not feel like I should be living in this huge, expensive house, but there’s no way I’m going to complain about this room; it’s stunning.

Opening the first door, I find a huge closet with more space than I could fill in a lifetime, let alone with the single case I’ve brought to school with me. The second door reveals a bathroom, with teal-blue walls, white tile and a claw-foot tub.

A smile spreads across my lips. This might not have been my first choice school, Evan might have tried to mess with me today, and I might be living in a house with kids rich enough that I’m sure they’ll hate me on sight. But this room makes it all worthwhile. This place will be my sanctuary.

Grabbing my case from beside the door, I lift it onto the bed and unzip it. All of the housing at Kingsacre comes fully furnished and with a maid service, so the bed is already made up with beautiful, soft, duck-egg-blue cotton sheets. In comparison, my case looks ratty and out of place.

I lift my things out, making piles of clothes, toiletries, books and so on. By the time it’s empty, the whole bed is covered. Closing my case, I lift it up, glancing around the room, searching for a place to stash it that won’t be in my way. I do a double take when my gaze lands on the wallpaper. Dropping my bag to the floor I take a step closer to the wall, my heart beating double time as I lift my fingers up and run them over the images.

Bird cages, gold ornate bird cages, imprisoning tiny little brown birds. My hand shakes as I snap it back to my chest. It’s the same paper that was on the wall in the bedroom at Sebastian’s house. Could this be the most fucked-up coincidence in the world? Wallpaper is generic, it’s not like the stuff on the walls at Sebastian’s house was made specifically for him. That could easily explain it being here in my room, couldn’t it?

Except this, combined with the Mrs. Starling Lockwood bullshit doesn’t make it feel coincidental. It feels orchestrated. I had the audacity to run from the GAA Elites and Sebastian Lockwood. Could they still be holding a grudge years later? And if they are, would they go to this much effort to frighten and unsettle me?

The truth is, unless I want to pack my things away in my bag and go back to Maine, there’s nothing I can do other than let things play out and see what happens. There’s no one left in my life for them to use against me. My wonderful, humble, sweet father has proven that he has my back, and I don’t have any friends or boyfriends they can use to punish me with. I’m all alone, just like Sebastian wanted me to be. If they try to ruin college for me then I’ll just leave, like I did before. I’m not above embracing a strategic retreat if that’s what I need to do.

With a contingency plan in place, I shove my case beneath my bed and one pile at a time, I unpack all of my stuff into my new beautiful bedroom. The next time I get off campus I’ll buy some fabric to hang over the wallpaper so I don’t have to stare at tiny captive birds, but until then I’ll ignore them, just the way I’ve ignored him and all memories of him for the last two years.

The sound of a door slamming downstairs reverberates through the house. It appears at least one of my new housemates is home. I know I should go down and introduce myself, but after the day I’ve had so far, all I want to do is sleep and hopefully dream about my stress-free life by the sea in Maine.

When I wake up, it’s dark and my stomach is growling with hunger. I have no idea what time the cafeteria serves food until, but judging by my internal body clock, it’s late, or perhaps early. Grabbing my cell phone from where I set it to charge on the bedside cabinet, I check the time.

Two thirty a.m. Fuck, I’ve slept for like eleven hours, that’s one hell of a nap. Blinking awake, I let my eyes roam over the unfamiliar room. There’s a faint woody scent that’s vaguely familiar but I can’t quite place it. I’m beneath the covers, but I remember falling asleep on top of them, I must have gotten cold at some point during my epic nap and got into bed properly

My bladder protests and I slowly climb out of bed and pad to the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on and instead just fumbling about in the dark. My clothes are clinging to me and my skin feels clammy, so I turn on the shower, quickly strip, and step beneath the warm stream of water. There’s something about showering in the darkness that’s oddly therapeutic and I sigh, exhaling. I don’t remember my dream, but the pulsing between my thighs says it must have been a dirty one. It’s a myth that women don’t have wet dreams, we do, we just wake up hot and bothered, not in a puddle of our own jizz.

Deciding to relieve a little of the tension my dirty fantasy has left behind, I slip my fingers between my thighs and run them through my slippery folds. My clit is a little swollen and I shudder as I rub my fingertip over the sensitive ball of nerves. Thanks to my entanglement with Sebastian, I’m more than a little gun shy when it comes to guys, hence why I’m still a virgin at almost nineteen. That doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to get myself off. Pushing first one finger, then two into my sex, I slowly start to fuck myself, closing my eyes and relaxing into the pleasure I’m causing.

An unwanted image of Sebastian touching me like this flashes into my mind and I try to force it away, but instead I remember the way it felt when he pinched my nipples, rubbed my clit and made me beg him to make me come. Even years later, it’s still him that makes my sex heat and pulse with desire. I’ve tried to push his image away, but no matter what I do, when my eyes are closed and I’m touching myself, it’s only him I see.

My legs buckle and my body jerks as I come on a pained cry, feeling his touch, the heat of his lips on my neck. I’ve tried watching porn, tried imagining someone else in his place, but in the end the thing that tips me into ecstasy is always him.

Needing to banish him from my thoughts, I turn the water down until a torrent of freezing cold liquid douses my heated skin. I don’t want him to be the thing that turns me on, when I’ve fought so hard to get away from him and his terrifying intensity.

When I’m chilled to the core, I turn off the water and wrap myself in a fluffy white towel, blotting the dripping liquid from my hair as I make my way over to my closet. I know I should get into pajamas and try to get back to sleep, but with my mind full of thoughts of Sebastian, I know there’s no way I’ll get any more peace tonight.

Dressing in fresh underwear, running shorts and a sports bra, I slide my cell phone and key card into my running armband and push my AirPods into my ears. I don’t want to piss off the housemates I’ve not even met yet, so I carry my running sneakers in my hand as I pad barefoot down the stairs and out onto the second-floor landing,

It’s dark and quiet, if my housemates were out partying last night, they either haven’t come home yet, or are all passed out drunk in their beds. Either way, I try to stay as silent as I can as I make my way down to the front door and let myself out.

The cool night air surrounds me and I inhale deeply. On the one and only time I’ve been back to Florida since I ran, I felt like I could never get a full breath of air, like my lungs just don’t work properly here. But this is where I’ll be spending the next four years, so I need to get used to surviving here, and that starts with learning to breathe again.

Kingsacre is still a complete unknown to me, after texting my dad to tell him I’d made it here safe, I glanced at my campus map for less than five minutes before I fell asleep. Now I’m standing in the front yard, trying to remember if the golf cart had approached the house from the left or the right?

Opening up my maps app on my cell, I add a pin on my current location, this way if I do get completely lost then I can use the pin to figure out how to get back to the house. Huge gates block the entrance to the driveway and as I approach them, I try to see if there’s a button to press or something, but as soon as I’m within about twenty feet of them, they slowly start to open as if they’re on a sensor.

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