[The Mr Series #1]
❝oh, you silly girl. didn't they ever tell you?...
rich boys don't have hearts.❞
Don't speak to them.
Don't go near them.
Don't breathe within 3 feet of them.
The prestigious Attwood Academy was home only to the richest and most...
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"WHAT IS WITH YOU?" Miles asked, having noticed and grown tired of me looking behind us every five seconds, terrified a certain boy would jump out. No matter how hard I tried to calm myself, to keep my hand from shaking, I just couldn't.
"It's nothing."
"That's a lie."
"Honestly, it's nothing too bad..." at the sight of his raised eyebrow and crossed arms, I continued, "I just may have thrownadrinkatsomeboy."
"You didn't!" He exclaimed in surprise. I had no idea how he managed to figure out what I'd even said. "Did he deserve it?"
"Yeah, I guess." Truth be told, I couldn't really remember all that much about it.
Had he deserved it?
All I did recall was brown spreading across and through his shirt, sticking so perfectly to his refined body underne— That was a big, fat fuck no. I would not, could not, go down that road, ever.
"Why are you being so weird?" He asked, noticing how I wasn't laughing like he was. He paused, "Who did you do it to, anyway?"
We had continued walking, him taking sneaky bites of his snickers bar, whilst I tried not to gnaw on my nail.
"Archer Redwood?"
He deep throated the chocolate bar.
"W-what?" He choked, after having to cough several times. "Shit. Babe, you're done for."
"Yes, yes I know, but I don't really want to talk about it or think about it, alright?"
"Alrighty," he said, mumbling something about having a death wish. I couldn't exactly disagree with it, but it wasn't something I was particularly willing to admit. "Come on, we better get ready."
I glanced at the grandfather clock next to me and agreed.
***
Despite having given myself the time to get ready, I was currently not, and so was rushing around my room, throwing open the gold detailed cupboards and drawers a little too violently. I couldn't find any of the other shirts I'd been provided, and so was entirely reliant on Autumn having the miraculous ability to clean a wine stain, or the people she gave my shirt to, in under twenty four hours.
I started thinking of excuses that wouldn't get me thrown out in a sack, quite literally.
I looked towards the clock in my room. With a resigned and slightly (very) panicked sigh, I knew I had no other option, but to ask Robert.
