Chloe (Made Men Book 3) (8 page)

W
alking
up to the school after Christmas break gave Chloe mixed feelings. Her father had mentally tortured her every night, and the night of his swearing in, he had stepped it up a notch. She hadn’t cried a tear since realizing her father was right: Crying didn’t erase her past. Crying didn’t make touch easier for her to take. Crying didn’t make the nightmares stop. Crying had never once saved her or made one thing easier for her.

It was as if she had used all of her tears up. Her eyes had run dry, and there was nothing left to cry for.

Yes, she was able to get away from the insane asylum, but this wasn’t any better.

“Still a freak, I see.” Cassandra giggled to her little group as they passed for obvious reasons.

But there was one silver lining. The best part about her life was here, and that was Elle. She had missed her a lot and hadn’t had a chance to visit Elle over the break due to moving and her father’s new position. She hoped, now that school had started back again, the excuse of projects and homework would help her.

Surprisingly, she found Elle waiting at the front of the school on one of the benches.

“Why is your face bruised?”

How could she tell that fast?
Chloe had thought she had expertly put on some concealer and foundation to hide it.

“I didn’t think it was that obvious,” she whispered to her.

“It’s not, but I can tell because I’ve had to do the same thing,” Elle admitted. “Now, what happened?”

“I-I uh … tripped again.”

Elle went silent understanding what Chloe had meant before she quickly got up and started heading into the school. The last time they had walked the halls, it had turned bloody, so Chloe now started walking directly behind Elle, using her as a shield. It was easier for her this way, looking down at Elle’s feet, following right behind.
At least no one will see the school freak coming right at them
.

They didn’t talk about her bruises once as the day went on, and even though Chloe should have lied to Elle, there wasn’t much of a point. She always knew when she was lying.

With her going to Art next and Elle going to Health, she expected them to go their separate ways, but Elle continued to lead the way to Art class.
What is she doing?

“Wait here when class is over. I’ll get over here as quickly as I can,” Elle told her as she reached the Art room.

“It’s too far; you shouldn’t.”

“I’ll be fine, just wait.”

“No, I can—”

“What are you going to do when Sebastian takes a book to your face or drags you outside so everyone can beat up on you? Are you going to be able to take it?”

Looking down at her hands, she started wringing them. She knew the answer; they both did. She didn’t want to say it, though.

“I’ll meet you here,” Elle told her before she whisked away.

Walking into her classroom, Chloe felt defeated. She wanted to be strong like Elle, but anything strong in her had died the day she had been taken.

Taking a seat at her table that once remained empty before her scars, she looked at the table that held Cassandra and her other old friends. The empty seat beside Cassandra had once been hers. Chloe had gone from sitting at the cool kids table to the table no one would ever dare to sit at because that was where the school freak sat.

It was strange to show up at school and lose every friend you’d ever had because of the way you looked. It was even stranger to lose the one friend you’d had since kindergarten …

“
T
hat’s mine
!” Chloe told the little boy who had just snatched away the beautiful picture book she was flipping through.

When the boy had run away with it, laughing, she wanted to run and tell the teacher, but with it being her first day of school, she was afraid they would start to call her tattle tale and begin to make fun of her.

She began to pout in the corner by herself, but a blonde girl came over and handed the picture book back to her.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes, my bubby can be mean.”

Chloe gave her a hug. “Thank you! Do you want to play with me?”

“Yes.” The little girl smiled at her. “My name’s Cassandra. What’s yours?”

“Chloe.”

Then another memory bombarded her.

“Can you believe we will be in high school next year!” Cassandra had practically squealed it in her ear with excitement.

The two had dreamed about high school for years and had endless conversations about the day they could finally attend Legacy Prep High.

“I know! I can’t wait.” She smiled, hoping it was going to be everything they dreamed of …

T
he memories made
her realize it wasn’t strange, but it was sad. Their relationship had gone downhill when her father had started running for mayor as a democratic candidate. Cassandra’s father, being a strong republican, had said many harsh things about her father, and eventually, she believed it had started rubbing off on Cassandra. Then, when their dreams had come true of becoming a freshman, she could see that Cassandra had changed during summer break. Cassandra was determined to make her high school fantasies come to life, no matter the cost, and she wanted to take Chloe with her.

Chloe didn’t want to become the most popular girl in school the way she did. Cassandra had wanted to do it dirty by bullying girls like Elle and now her. It had been hard for Chloe. She hadn’t wanted to lose her friendship at first. And then, when Cassandra had become unpredictable, Chloe had been scared to get in her way or, worse, be on the receiving end. So now she agreed that it was sad watching your best friend turn into a monster
.

Now, sitting at the freak table and looking at the cool kids table, she didn’t miss it.
Not for a second.
She had known in her heart she didn’t belong with them when they had boarded the bully train. They had drifted apart for too long, and it was only a matter of time before she was their next victim. The scars had just given her the ticket.

Brrring.

The Art closet door was flung open, and a tall, blond freshman who was way too good-looking for his own good exited the closet with a smirk on his face. A sophomore girl came out behind him, slightly embarrassed but not embarrassed enough to wipe her mouth to show the two had been making out.
Well, I hope just making out.

Vincent Vitale was every girl’s dream, and he knew it, too. His looks along with his confidence got him any girl he wanted in school, even the seniors.

He took his seat next to one of his best friends who wasn’t nearly as tall or as fortunate looking as him, Amo.

Amo was just exactly as you would think a freshman boy would look: awkward.

Looking back at her once best friend, she wished girls got along like boys did. They were simple and couldn’t care less what their male friends looked like. She was pretty sure, if one of them showed up with her scars, the other boy would have thought it was gruesome but fascinating at the same time.

Watching the sophomore girl take her old seat next to Cassandra, she saw the little sneer on her face, showing Chloe that she was rising in the ranks.

Chloe thought about the girl who would rather get a broken arm than see her hurt. She didn’t miss it.
Not for a second.

* * *

E
lle sat
down in the safety of her seat, out of breath from practically running to her class. She could see it written all over Chloe’s face what she thought of her. Hell, Elle wanted her to think that; it was the only way Chloe was going to survive the rest of the year.

She thinks I’m strong, but I’m not.

It was all a façade, because deep down, she was one scared little girl. However, Elle had a time limit in this place, whereas Chloe’s was endless. Chloe had barely mentioned the possibility of transferring schools or even becoming home-schooled, and her parents had dismissed her to her room for the whole day without lunch or dinner.

The sand in Elle’s hourglass had now drained halfway down, and it was as if Chloe’s hourglass was broken on a constant loop, the sand pouring down, only for it not to fill the bottom. That was why Elle was been protecting her—because just like her hourglass, she was broken. There was no way Chloe would be able survive without her.
She will break for good with no hope of return.
But Elle could at least postpone the inevitable or, by some miracle, help put her back together enough to survive this place.

I just hope I have enough time to fix her and not enough time to break me.

T
ick
. Tock
.

Don’t look at the clock.

One hourglass stands with barely any time left, draining so quickly the nightmare is almost over.

Tick. Tock
.

Don’t look at the other clock.

This hourglass stands still, broken, and suffering from the same loop, the nightmare only growing worse.

Tick. Tock
.

Don’t look at the clocks.