Hi Guys. Hope you enjoy this... a little different from The Sweetest Thing. I am currently without a beta on this one, so go easy on my grammar fail. I'm doing the best I can. :D
SM owns. I'm just screwing with things.
It's only 11:18AM and I'm already doing shots in the bathroom.
Rose and I take turns throwing back swigs from a bottle of Stoli. Several girls stand by and watch us with disgusted looks on their faces. I can't tell if it's because we can shoot vodka without making faces and gagging or because we aren't following Winthrops' Code of Conduct.
Either way. I'm going to be shitfaced by the three o'clock bell.
I shoot a look at Lauren Mallory. She is currently staring at us with a gaping mouth, pinching her fists together like the spoiled brat she is. I can tell she's debating telling on us.
Go ahead. Tell on us.
She just huffs and walks out muttering some shit about being better than that.
Fuck that noise.
There's nothing better than lukewarm Stoli at 11AM. Well, maybe there is... Ice cold Stoli.
"I hope you brought more."
Rose flipped open her leather bag revealing another bottle of liquor.
Tequila.
Gag.
"Bitch, I've got a midterm exam at two. Do you really think I could handle that shit sober?" She leaned over the counter and smeared another layer of lipstick over her perfect bee stung lips. She puckered and pressed her lips together before flashing her white toothed smile in the mirror.
"Do you need to step into the stall and fuck yourself before you leave?" I asked, rolling my eyes at her vanity.
"No need. Emmett and I will most likely skip lunch. I hope you've got alternate eating arrangements in order." She ran a comb through her corn silk hair and flipped her head over to fluff her curls.
"Bitch, you can't leave me in the cesspool alone," I groaned, my eyes wide and pleading.
Lunch at Winthrop Academy was nothing short of torture. A room full of over privileged and underdeveloped idiots sitting around eating over priced organics and stoking each others egos.
Thanks but no.
"Sorry, Bella, you're going to have to handle the Horde on your own. Besides, Mike Newton wasn't in Lit this morning, so you don't have to worry about his limp dick getting all up in your personal space," she consoled as she passed the bottle back to me.
I took a long pull and wiped my mouth. "Fuck me."
"I'm sure he would if you asked him just like that. Now come on, we wouldn't want to leave the huddled masses waiting."
She grabbed her leather Chloe bag and my wrist and ushered us out of the bathroom. We stepped out into the bustling commons area and Rose sought out Emmett. She caught a glimpse of him near the exit doors.
Emmett leaned against the wall, making an obvious crotch grab as we walked over.
"Dammit Emmett, I have no fucking desire to watch you stroke your cock in my presence. Please, cut the shit while other people have to watch."
"You can ride this monster anytime you'd like Swan," he smiled, "And besides, how do you know other people don't want to watch?"
Rosalie draped herself over him and straddled his thigh. I made a gag face and walked off. I wasn't going to submit myself to their fucking nonsense this early. I wasn't drunk enough.
I stalked off to my French class and made it to my assigned seat before Dr. Fournier could bitch at me about being late. He quickly fell into his usual pronunciations and conjugations. The students around me studiously hacked and rolled their tongues in an attempt to make the perfect sounds.
I stared ahead disinterested. Just one of the few benefits of having a French mother, I could speak the language flawlessly. Fournier knew this and tried to get me into Spanish or Italian, but I bucked that. He was really just afraid that I'd correct him in front of the other shits in class.
He didn't know that I never even listened to his blather. And today was no different.
I leaned my head against the cool desktop and relished in the feeling against my flushed skin. The vodka was beginning to swim in my bloodstream and I calmed with the heavy sensation.
My arms hung limply at my sides, not bothering to cover the fact that I was on the verge of a quick nap. I looked around at the other warm bodies in the classroom. Each of us were dressed exactly the same. Girls in the approved navy pleat front skirt, crisp white button up, and hunter green cardigan with the Winthrop crest. The guys wore navy slacks, a white button up, plaid tie, and hunter green sweater vest.
We were all a fucking vision of conformity and privileged education.
Winthrop Academy, the best shit money could buy.
A forceful kick to the leg of my desk caused me to shift in my seat. I turned my heavy head towards the movement.
Eric Yorkie.
He spread his fingers into a wide V and ran his tongue 'seductively' between them. I could do little more than turn back to the front of class.
In a moment of weakness drunkenness, I'd allowed myself to be left alone with him, the unattractive son of a very rich and powerful man. After a second or two of him trying to gag me with his tongue and/or get my hand down the front of his Dockers, he decided he'd work his 'oral magic' and go down on me. He then proceeded to gnaw at my pussy for about ten minutes before I realized that we'd reached an impasse.
He was never going to get me off and I was never going to get those ten minutes of my life back.
I couldn't even fake an orgasm out of pity. I just pushed his face off of me and walked out of the room. As punishment for my lapse in drunken judgment, I've had to watch him air fuck me for going on two years now.
FML.
The fucking school was going to end me.
Marketing materials tout Winthrop Academy as the premier boarding school for the rich and famous, powerful and influential. A host of accolades and learning programs enticed parents to send their children here for an 'unparalleled learning experience.' Nestled one hundred miles outside of Seattle on the outskirts of the Olympic National Forest, this educational establishment has been enriching the minds of young people for 132 years.
In reality, they've been mind-fucking us all into thinking that any of this shit matters. Don't they realize that we're rich? We can buy our stations in society. They just need to fill our heads with the trivia necessary to get us through the SAT and onto college. From there we've just got to be able to tow the line and make it look believable to the other twits who did it before us.
I know how this monster works. I'll graduate and move on to college. I'll fuck up there; probably get arrested a few more times for public intoxication or maybe public indecency, before I graduate with honors. After that, I'll go and get married to another social climbing, emotionally unavailable man who may or may not be gay. He'll have a good name and even better bank account. We'll have babies that we'll love for about 15 minutes before our parents tell us we're doing it wrong and make us hand them over to their nannies. We'll then drink and hate each other until we wise up and fuck the pool boy or the nanny or both. We'll proceed getting older and he'll trade me in for something younger and I'll draw alimony checks until I dry up and die.
This is just the way things work.
No sense in sugar coating or idealizing.
That would be encouraging delusions and fuck knows there are enough of those around here.
Life here is monotonous. The Residentials live in two bedroom apartment style dorms. We eat, sleep and breathe these hallowed halls until the weekend. Then we are allowed to leave with our parents' permission. Luckily my mom doesn't give a fuck what I do so long as I don't tell my dad where she hides her nose candy. Needless to say, I spend Friday, Saturday, and Sunday elbow deep in liquor bottles and cigarette butts.
But where do we go if we aren't allowed to partake here at the Wint?
That's where Emmett comes in. He's a Day Schooler. The group of poor unfortunate souls who have to both live with their parents and attend school here.
They populate the towns and communities within driving distance. Many of them are here on scholarship, an effort for the Wint to appear altruistic and compassionate. When in reality, they are just setting a bunch of poor schmucks up for years of disappointment and self-loathing.
Emmett isn't here on scholarship. His parents, coal magnates from West Virginia, retired here and currently pay full tuition for him to come and fuck his girlfriend on the daily. We typically squat in his guest house for the duration of the weekend. His housekeeper hates us, but we all take turns slipping her a few hundred dollars for the effort. It's a small price to pay for a few nights away.
The nearest town is about thirty miles west of the campus and about a ten minute drive from the Casa de Emmett. Forks, Washington is an idyllic Northwestern town. Waterlogged and boring. There are few eateries – a greasy spoon, a Subway, and a gas station that serves hot dogs out of a big vat of pink hot dog water. Oh yeah, and a liquor store. But other than that, pickins' are slim.
There are a few kids from Forks that we converse with. Most of them are older and a majority of them are so boring that if it weren't for them supplying us, I think we'd all just drink until we passed out and Monday rolled around. They served their purpose though, getting our booze or the occasional dime bag when we needed them to.
And so my days go.
I fill up on fresh roasted coffee from the cafeteria (spiked with copious amounts of alcohol of course), go to class, listen to the vapid degenerates bitch and moan, go back to my room and finish out the day with a glass of milk (with Kahlua, naturally) and a Tylenol PM.
I couldn't suppress a groan when the bell sounded signaling lunch. Eric leaned over and did some heavy breathing in my ear before I elbowed him in the stomach. I grabbed the spiral notebook I toted around when I needed to feign interest and headed off to the dorms.
I'd spend the hour catching up on the last episode of The Real Housewives of Atlanta. Because that shit was hilarious. Especially over a steaming mug of coffee and Grand Marnier.
I rounded the corner toward the cafeteria but veered left towards the dorms. I was halfway to my destination when I heard the click of high heels on marble.
"Miss Swan," I heard a distinctly English voice call out. I grimaced, but adjusted it into a smile before I turned to the voice.
"Headmaster Young, is everything alright?"
"Where might you be headed during lunch period?"
"Oh, well, I mistakenly picked up my notebook for Calculus instead of Biology. I was just going to slip up to my room and retrieve it," I lied smoothly, holding up the spiral notebook and praying she didn't look into it. It was like a fucking prop from Superbad – nothing but dicks and balls from an earlier artistic moment. "Silly me. I was just in such a hurry to get to Dr. Warner's discussion about The Lord of the Flies that I grabbed the wrong notebook."
I almost gagged at myself. I fucking hated being nice.
"Miss Swan, you realize you must have a pass to enter the dormitories during school hours."
"I do, but I was just hoping to slip up there and grab my notes. I would have made it back to lunch before the lines even died down."
The bitch was testing my patience. I could only play sweet for so long.
"I understand Miss Swan, but Rules of Conduct require that you have a pass. I'm sure you could ask your teacher this period to excuse you with a pass. Now please, go back to the lunch hall." She swept her hand in the direction of the cafeteria and waited expectantly for me walk away.
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from responding. Instead, I ground out a smile and tip toed back to lunch.
I was going to need that tequila soon.
---------
"Fuck you Rosalie Hale. Fuck you hard." I slammed my purse down on the countertop and hoisted myself to sit beside it.
Rosalie just smirked and proceeded to apply a fresh coat of mascara.
"Where's your purse?"
"I left it in Emmett's car." Her mouth was open and her eyes wide. I briefly considered stabbing her eye out with the mascara wand.
"What the fuck? I need to get drunk. You owe me… I had to eat lunch with Jessica Stanley!" I choked on the words. She was the worst. A ho-bag in every sense of the word. A low class, walking twat.
She just laughed and ignored my whining.
"Did you really? Leave it in the car I mean?" I kicked my legs petulantly.
"No, here." She produced her purse and flopped it into my lap.
"My preeecious." I smiled and clutched the bottle of Patron close to my chest.
"You hate tequila," Rosalie reminded.
"I do, but I love getting drunk at school. So I will love this bottle of tequila so long as it does what it was created to do."
"What get you fucking bombed in a matter of minutes?"
"Exactamundo." I twisted the cap and tipped it back. The thick liquid burned my throat and tasted like tequila, but it was getting the job done. After a few pulls, I was pleasantly pink.
"You need to comb your hair. Or were you trying to look bad?"
I glanced at myself in the mirror, I did look like shit. She handed me her comb and I pulled it through my dark hair.
"Well, I had to create something of a hair curtain. Eric Yorkie was in fine form during French."
"You fucked up major when you let that asshole near your twat. He's got the coochie fever," she laughed.
"I know. Trust. I am paying for it."
"Are you riding with us to Forks tomorrow or are you taking your car?"
"Can you assure me that there will be no road head?"
She rolled her eyes hard. "Yes, we will behave. You act like we fucking have sex every second of the day."
It was my turn to roll my eyes.
"You're right; you two are the picture of abstinence."
"Are you riding or not?"
"I'll probably take my car."
Rosalie pushed her makeup bag in my direction.
"Fix yourself. I don't associate with the ugly." She pushed me off of the counter and took my place with the Patron.
I would have ignored her, but I knew she was right.
Rosalie Hale, the genetically blessed spawn of a former Miss Universe and a European aristocrat. Her family had money going back as far as Mary and Joseph, probably further if you bothered looking. She had joined me in my quest to drink my way through high school our sophomore year. It wasn't long after that she met Emmett. A few heated arguments and a near beat down later, they started fucking and I've been fighting their public indecency ever since.
She was a rude bitch, but we stood up for each other. I didn't let her bitchface bother me too much and she put up with my near constant cynicism and all around complaining. We were good together. She made sure I came home at night and I bought her pregnancy tests when she inevitably wound up late.
So far we'd dodged that bullet, but that didn't mean Em didn't give getting her pregnant the ol' college try. He said that there was something sexy about a woman being barefoot and pregnant that turned him on. I think it had something to do with his roots in the genetically misguided hills of West Virginia.
I had seen Deliverance. I knew what that shit was all about.
Ok. So maybe Deliverance was set in Georgia, but they are geographically proximate.
"Come on whore, we've got class to get to." Rose gathered up her makeup and tequila and shoved it into her bag. "You've got a cello to press between your thighs. We don't want Mama and Daddy Swan to be disappointed by a poor performance."
I just rolled my eyes and followed her out of the bathroom.
Mama and Daddy Swan.
More like Mommy Dearest and Daddy Distant.
Maxine Renée Desmarais Swan. The daughter of an old French family who made much of their money in energy, my mother has been given everything her teeny tiny heart desired since conception. She met my father in the 80s and they joined together in holy matrimony following the appearance of two pink lines on a pregnancy test. Careful timing and considerate hemlines allowed for the only gossip surrounding their marriage to be over their considerable age difference.
Renée is selfish, self-absorbed, and more temperamental than any human being should be. She doesn't work. Instead she spends much if not all of her time shopping, drinking, and playing dominos with a circulating group of rich men. She is an alcoholic and recreational drug user, but she keeps her shit together and doesn't embarrass the family too much.
Her approach to parenting has always been hands off. I was raised by three nannies. She can flip her shit in five different languages and has locked me in the maid's bedroom as punishment for misbehaving on more than one occasion. When I was finally old enough to attend boarding school, I was shipped off with a hug and a handshake.
She slipped in a bottle of diet pills and a carton of cigarettes just in case I started to get fat or stressed out.
It was one of the mostloving gestures she'd ever displayed and I almost shed a tear. Almost.
General Charles Fitzsimmons Swan. A now retired four-star general for the US Marine Corps, my father specializes in being the most overbearing and dysfunctional father figure to result from the Baby-boomer generation.
His family can trace their military service back to the Civil War. There is nothing more important to the Swan legacy than giving your absolute all to a cause. Fortunately for Charlie, he has been devious/fortunate/manipulative enough to hold the highest rank out of the group and with that comes a new level of ass kissing. Trust me when I say that his position and power has gone to his head. He throws around more weight than Kirstie Alley at a Jenny Craig convention. It comes in handy though. Like when I inevitably get picked up by the Forks PD for any number of misdemeanors, he can always manage to get me out of trouble.
Currently, Charlie serves as the Chief Security Advisor for a handful of energy and technology corporations worldwide. His sights are set on a National Security Administration position pending the inauguration of the newly elected President. Should he snag that position, he and Renée will move their permanent residence to Washington, D.C. and I'll get a firm reprimand for my uncomely behavior.
What this really means is that I'll be getting a new car and an increase in my 'allowance.' Because if Charlie knows anything, it's that he'll have to grease a few palms to keep up appearances.
But that sort of paints me in a poor light doesn't it…
I'm not terrible.
Just terribly bored.
Terribly under stimulated.
Terribly inappropriate.
Terribly attracted to the fast life.
Too bad for me, the Northwestern Peninsula has nothing by way of fast paced. Unless of course you count the speed of gossip.
That travels at the speed of light.
Even without the internet in every home.
Or cable.
Or even a fucking satellite dish.
How these people can function without copious amounts of alcohol I'll never understand.
And now me.
Isabella Marie Swan. I've been pampered since I was born. Grand-mère Desmarais had me swaddled in the finest French silks and fed with the proverbial silver spoon. She stayed with Renée until she felt confident that she wouldn't drop me on my head or leave me in the dressing room at Neiman Marcus. It was downhill from there.
I began my educational career at the age of one and a half. Renée was tired of trying to communicate with a baby, so she sent me to a speech therapist. Following the wild success of that venture, I was enrolled in prep school after prep school depending on our location around the world.
I like to think that my exposure to different types of people has attributed to my cynicism and overall disinterest. Many teens pine for a time when they can get away from their tiny social circles and find a group that actually 'gets' them. What I've found is that people everywhere suck. There are no surprises and no perfect fits. Just a more comfortable rapport with someone almost as awful as yourself.
I would like to make it all my parents fault, but it's not. It's just the way it is and this is just the way I am. My therapist once said that my parents 'love language' was giving gifts. They had shoved shiny toy after shiny tennis bracelet after shiny car in my direction for as long as I could remember.
But it works for us.
I make sure my grades don't slip below a solid B.
I go to whatever school they send me and don't get kicked out.
I make sure to practice and excel on the cello so they have something to brag about.
I show up for major holidays and pose for pictures.
I make sure to do something ridiculous and criminal every now and again just to keep them on their toes.
All in all I love my parents. I love them as much as the next person. I mean come on. They have suffered at my expense.
My mom did birth me. Thirty-eight weeks of being unable to drink or smoke or pop pills was unbearable for her, or so I've been told by her personal assistant Charlotte. She was forced to walk around with horrendous stretch marks for months following my grand entrance into this fucked up world. She did undergo a tummy tuck and tit lift to repair the damage that I'd done.
Hell, she even joined the PTA for a half-hour when I was seven.
That was until she was asked to disassociate following an incident where cussed out the Room Mom in Portuguese and French in front of my entire class. The situation was sparked by a bit of bitchtastic attitude from Sandy's mom, Mrs. Kepler regarding Renée's choice of blue cupcakes for the St. Patrick's Day party.
After that, I resolved to the fact that Renée just wasn't one of those moms.
And I wasn't one of those kids who needed her around all of the time.
Now Charlie has most certainly suffered in different ways. He had to get married. He had to pretend that he didn't want to be off toting large weapons and bossing around subordinates in other countries. He had to watch Full Metal Jacket on mute with the closed captioning on so that I couldn't repeat R. Lee Ermey's famous lines. That lasted until I was six and I asked Daniel Weintraub if he was born a fat, slimy, scumbag puke piece o' shit, or did he have to work on it?
From that point on, my father suffered from being forced to constantly rescue me from either my mouth, my fist, or my spending habits. Only once did he have to rescue me from all three. He is a shit for not being around like a normal father, whatever that means, and for shipping me off to fucking boarding school, but I can't blame him entirely. He never signed on for fatherhood. He just stuck his dick in the wrong coochie.
But that is all I'm going to say about that.
