Wealth, status, and beauty define the elite of Kensington Prep. Every one of them possesses the ability to get away with anything and everything they want, unscathed and remain as privileged and superior as ever.
But Amory Scout decides that tim...
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Orson and I tumble back into the comfort of his room after the wake. It's a Monday and it's a pretty grey February day in New York so we just ended up chilling by his balcony. None of his parents are around so we end up smoking weed. I hate weed because it makes me hungry and craves junk food and grease. A craving I always give in to when I'm stoned, then I'll have to deal with the consequences of what it does to my waistline.
Nonetheless, by the time evening rolls around, we end up having sex in his room. It's more passionate and less rough this time — probably since we're stoned. We ended up cuddling right after. Only one round and I could tell Orson's not in the mood for more, something I pick up on and point out.
"What's up?"
I'm resting in his arms with his Frett duvet over my body and he rustles about, looking at me with my question. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know, you seem down today."
"Well, I mean we just attended Georgina's funeral," There's a loud exhale, "And the wake."
It's hard to be the cruel, cold couple we're known for. Because in moments like this, cruelty becomes psychopathy.
I nod quietly, "Yeah, I know," and there's a weird inflection in my throat. I know what he's wondering, wondering if cruel, cold Amory Scout feels bad about Georgina. I mean, to his knowledge, it's not like I'm the one who drugged her and had an accomplice push her out into oncoming traffic. I'm just the girl who humiliated her on her birthday.
But I let myself imagine what it's like for Georgina- to die like that, run over by a car while your body and brain is slow and gushy from the pills I snuck into her champagne. I visualize being there when the push happened- hearing the ear-popping crack, head clacking against the hood of the car. Spleen splattered. Legs like barrettes bent back, her body matchstick-snapped. I close my eyes and make it go away.
"It's just..." Orson draws a long sigh, "I still can't believe we're only two-thirds through the school year. It feels like it's been an eternity."
I nod. I can barely remember a time when I'm not playing this character. When I can be myself. Quiet computer-geek Bronte Emerson. Hadley and I sneaking into Le Noir to get a drugged-out Luciana into our bed seem like forever ago. Fuck, Luciana seems like to be a world away.
"Yeah, got to admit- New York has been really crazy. But it's been good," I sigh, "I had fun, made memories I'll definitely never forget."
"Better than LA?"
"LA...is just," I pause, "I would even say more toxic than here."
Orson's hand is playing with the ring on my finger, "How come you moved here?"
I swallow, playing up my vulnerability. "My parents passed away last year." Sometimes, a grain of truth in the lie makes the lies easier to tell.
