Page 480 of Filthy Elites

The sun is high in the sky when I walk out of the gate again, my backpack slung over my shoulders. I glance down at my outfit and decide there’s nothing wrong with my denim shorts and cropped tank top. It’s casual, and came from the only outlet mall near my dad’s place, but it fits nicely and shows off my toned stomach and legs.

Dad’s day starts about three a.m., so I know he’ll be up as I dial his number and lift my cell to my ear. “Hey honey, are you excited for your first day?”

“Hi, Dad, I’m not exactly excited, but I got a good run in this morning and I’m feeling more optimistic than I was yesterday.”

“How’s your dorm room? And your housemates?”

“When I got here, they had me registered under Mrs. Starling Lockwood.”

“Lockwood,” Dad says, “isn’t that…” he trails off.

“Sebastian’s surname, yep. I’m guessing it’s Evan’s attempt at a fucked-up joke. But I got it sorted out. My room is ridiculous. The scholarship kids normally live in the town houses that are on the website, but my room is in the turret of this enormous Victorian mansion. I’m pretty sure I’ve been put there by mistake, but when I asked to be moved to one of the town houses they said they’re full, so it’s either stay where I am or move off campus.”

“Could Harry or your mom have paid for a better room for you?” Dad asks, his voice laced with concern.

“I guess they could have, I hadn’t thought of that, but it makes sense, wouldn’t look good for Harry Morris’s stepdaughter to be slumming it in the cheap rooms,” I mock derisively.

“What about your housemates?”

“I haven’t met them yet. There’re five rooms in the house and judging by the refrigerator full of beer, I’m going to guess that at least one of them is a guy. But there was no one there when I got there yesterday, and then I fell asleep and pretty much slept from yesterday afternoon until this morning.”

“Well I’m sure you’ll get a chance to meet them this afternoon after your classes.”

“There’s no classes today, it’s all meet and greet orientation stuff, then there’s a big party tonight to welcome all the freshmen.”

“Sounds fun, but be careful if you’re going to a party. Don’t take a drink from anyone, always make your own and”

“I know, Daddy, I’ve seen all the teen movies where girls get their drinks spiked, and I have those Rohypnol testers you gave me. I have no intention of going tonight anyway, you know parties aren’t my thing,” I assure him.

“Honey,” he sighs.

“I should go, you need to get back to work and I need to eat, I slept through dinner last night and I’m starving.”

“Okay, have a good day and call me later.”

“I will. Love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, honey.”

After ending the call, I feel both better and worse. I miss him already. He’s become my safe haven and being this far away from him and knowing I won’t see him again for months has me on the verge of a panic attack. Inhaling sharply, I concentrate on walking and will the rising tide of anxiety to fade.

Rationally, I know that the short two and a half months I spent with hurricane Sebastian shouldn’t have had as big an impact on my life as they did. He didn’t rape me, or really physically hurt me. But in an instant, he took over my life completely and it scared the shit out of me. He refused to acknowledge my wants or desires unless he could use them to manipulate me into doing what he wanted and what was worse is that no one questioned him. Not my mom or my friend, not his parents or the kids at school. No one ever considered that I wouldn’t want him, so the idea that I was unhappy and overwhelmed never even crossed their minds.

I hate him for destroying my trust in people, because that experience fundamentally changed me and I’ll never get to be the person I was before him ever again.

Despite the early hour, there’re still plenty of other kids spilling from the houses as I pass, some look hungover, but others have an air of excitement over a new school, or new year.

“Morning,” a gleeful-looking girl says, sideling up beside me with her hands holding on to the straps of her backpack.

“Morning,” I reply, not wanting to be rude, but wishing I’d already put my AirPods in so I could pretend not to hear her speaking to me.

“I’m glad I’m not the only person up this early. I was so excited I just couldn’t sleep. I’ve been up since five trying to decide what to wear. Do I look alright? I didn’t want to go too preppy, but then I was worried I’d look like I was trying too hard if I wore anything dressy or like a slob if I wore anything too casual.”

“You look fine,” I say, taking a cursory glance down at her white tennis-style pleated skirt and pale-blue polo shirt. She looks incredibly preppy, but I don’t say anything.

“I’m Samantha, but most people call me Sammy.”

“Starling.”

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