Lost Paradise (The Savages of the Blue Lagoon)

3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

My phone buzzes a notification, and the last thing I want to see is another post on my online socials about how my crew in New York are enjoying their lives without me. Not one of them even bothered to phone or text to see how I’m doing.

All I have to do is step outside my circle, and it’s like socially jumping off a cliff. I know that if I go back to Manhattan tomorrow, I’ll be accepted back as if I never left.

But is that what I want?

I could forge a new circle, which is what’s going on with Emily, Maeve, and Amelia, but honestly, it's so tough to keep up and be liked by these people. The only reason I immediately gelled with them isn’t because of my bubbling personality but because of the weekly price of this single room in Whitley House, which has the same monthly rental price tag as a three-bedroom apartment in the West Village.

Money.

It forms bonds.

None that are genuine.

Affluent people can smell other people’s money, and we don’t even have to talk about it. We simply gravitate towards each other like imaginary magnets.

My phone buzzes again, and with extreme reluctance, I turn around in my bed and reach out to grab it from the charger.

Fuck, fuck, and more fuck.

I’ve been summoned this morning to the dean’s office.

That is never a good sign.

I seriously thought I got off last night. After they raided the house, they brought me, Astro, Zane, and Byron to the main room, where all the drugs were confiscated. We were asked to do a rapid drug test and had to provide a urine sample.

Drugs are something I tried years ago and wasn’t into, so I didn’t have an inch of a need to try any of Astro’s samples, regardless of how pretty he made everything look. I knew there was no way Zane would have touched the stuff either. He hardly drinks alcohol, let alone take anything that would harm his body. He’s a hardcore health nut. I guess one has to if they’re on a sports scholarship. And I have no idea about Byron. He spoke two words to me and then snubbed me for the remainder of the evening.

Byron’s cute in his own nerdy way, and if he opened up a little, he could be a lot sexier because he’s fucking handsome. There was no surprise that his drug test was negative, too.

Astro was the biggest shocker of all. For some dickhead dealer with a growing rumor on campus that he’s fresh out of prison, his test was negative, and they even had a cop present in the bathroom with him when he peed in his cup. That act alone makes me think campus security knows a lot more about Astro Doukas than just grape-vine whispers flowing among the students. Word is that he spent eighteen months in a Californian State prison and was banned from traveling to the US.

Yet, for the life of me, I do not understand how a prestigious institution like Hawthornes could allow such an individual through its doors.

What the fuck am I talking about?

There is a much bigger question pending here.

How the freakin’ hell did I let this asshole kiss me?

Sure, he forced himself on me. But let’s not kid ourselves here. I fucking liked it. My slut of a pussy was salivating from excitement. I probably would have fucked him had we not been interrupted.

OH, MY FUCKING GOD!

I find myself recoiling at the realization of my attraction to that delinquent dealer. It's a disturbing revelation that makes me cringe at my own feelings.

How could I possibly be drawn to someone like him?

I need to bury these emotions deep within me, to wrap them up tightly and dig a hole so deep that they'll never resurface. There's no way I can allow myself to revisit that place with him, to entertain the notion of being entangled with someone so toxic.

Now, Zane, I can see myself with. He’s so damn gorgeous, and those light amber eyes flicker at me with interest every time I open my mouth. But I know his focus will be on keeping his scholarship and training for the next Olympics, which will be in two years. There’s no space in his head for a girlfriend.

And maybe that’s okay.

Nope. I won’t go there with him either.

Feelings develop. They continuously develop with me, and I can’t go there.

I push off the covers, sit up in bed, and sigh as I survey the stark simplicity of the room. Thoughts swirl in my mind about what might transpire with the dean this morning. My drug test came out clean, and I pleaded I had no idea there were drugs at the party.

I’m innocent.

But then, the horror of the situation sinks in.

The thought of expulsion is not just about facing my parents' anger – truth be told, they probably wouldn't even give a shit. No, the real terror lies in the prospect of returning to New York, where my father will undoubtedly use the opportunity to forge strategic business alliances and ‘ marry me off ’ as commercial collateral. I wouldn't be surprised if he's already identified a suitable match.

In the world I come from, marriage isn't about love or companionship; it's about upholding status and wealth. Women like me are mere pawns in a calculated game to maintain our privileged position. Our lives are dictated by social obligations and the perpetuation of lineage, and our existence is reduced to a series of lavish events that we attend over and over until the day we die.

I had hoped that coming here would offer a respite, a chance to find something different. But who am I kidding? I’m back in the same place as I was stuck in back in Manhattan. The same cycle, just a different location, but still trapped within the confines of the same society.

So I am very fucked either way, but three years here would at least give me some leverage to plan something before my time is up and my parents introduce me to whichever wealthy dick they choose to sell me to.

“Hi, I’m Evelyn Winters. I’m here to meet with Dean Carmichael,” I state, trying to maintain an air of composure despite the unease gnawing at my insides.

The receptionist shoots a disapproving glance at my t-shirt, and I return her stare with equal intensity.

“I recently DNF’d a book that used the word unalive ,” she vents her frustration.

Is she serious?

I look down at my white t-shirt printed with the word UNALIVE in large black block font.

Is she freaking serious?

I hadn’t given much thought to what I was wearing or even remember when I bought this shirt.

Wondering if her name is…hmm…I look at the plaque on her desk, and it says Rebecca Ward.

“It’s just a word.” I retort, unconcerned about her literary grievances.

“It's not a word. It's an unintelligent term coined from TikTok censorship slang,” she asserts with a deep frown.

“I didn’t know boomers could find TikTok,” I mutter sarcastically under my breath.

She sighs as if she’s dealing with some juvenile idiot.

“I’m not a boomer,” she mumbles irately, retrieving a file from her desk and adding it to another stack.

“Fine,” I concede. “But you're certainly exhibiting symptoms of aggravated boomer syndrome . It’s just a word, and you used a social media acronym to tell me you did not finish a book. Seems a little excessive. TikTokers are very good at making viral memes out of comments like yours. Perhaps consider taking a hiatus from social media and posting Angry-Karen-type book reviews that nobody cares about anyway.”

Rather than respond, she gestures where Zane and Byron are seated together in the waiting area.

“The dean will be with you shortly,” she assures me with one final disapproving glare at my T-shirt before returning to her tasks.

I shrug my shoulders, each to their own pain. I may order fifty-two of these T-shirts and have one sent to her every week, together with a copy of the book she couldn’t finish. Clearly, she has nothing better to obsess over, so why not indulge her with the attention she seems to crave?

As I make my way over to the guys, my mind races with apprehension. The dean's request undoubtedly relates to last night's event.

Joining Zane and Byron, I can sense the tension thickening in the air, and their faces express severe concern. Their silence speaks volumes about the gravity of the situation. I hesitate, hovering over the empty seat opposite them, unsure of how to proceed, but the weight of what we face is unmistakable. We are about to face the consequences of our actions, and the apprehension in the room is so thick it’s as if we are all silently bracing ourselves for what is to come.

As soon as I take a seat, Zane’s face softens, and he greets me with a weak smile.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and I can trace the concern in his voice.

“Yes, thanks,” I reply. He has more to lose here, so I don’t want to ask how he is because I can only imagine. “Do either of you know what this is about?”

Zane shrugs. “ It could just be a reprimand. We were cleared of any drugs in our system.”

“How’s your arm?” I ask, remembering him getting first aid on an accident he had last night.

“Just a superficial scratch, nothing serious.”

“Where’s that tosser? The criminal.” Byron asks, and I’m surprised by the irritation in his voice. Yesterday, he seemed quiet and reserved and maybe a little snobbish, too.

But I did notice the death looks he was giving Astro last night as we were kept in detention by the campus security. As much as I would have liked to kill Astro, too, there was something a lot deeper with them two.

“He’s the one responsible for all this,” Byron adds as if needing to explain his irritated demeanor.

“Look, man, I take full responsibility. I insisted you come with me.”

Byron looks at Zane and scowls.

“You know I am my own person. I can make my own decisions. Which means you didn’t make me go with you. I chose to, so for the millionth time, please shut up.”

Okay, obviously, Byron’s vexed. While I didn’t get the impression yesterday that he’s a generally angry person, maybe more of his nature is coming out as I get to know him better.

“Hello, ladies. ”

We all turn our heads to find the asshole of the hour standing and looking at us as if he’s expecting a red carpet to roll out for him.

None of us bother responding to the cocky bastard breezing in as if he’s joining us for coffee and cake.

With an air of nonchalance that borders on arrogance, he casually takes the seat next to me.

“Missed you in my bed last night,” he whispers, but it’s purposely loud enough so the other two hear him.

“In your dreams, loser,” I counter and huff a sigh, looking the other way.

“Judging by the sounds you made in my mouth last night, I think my dreams were the last place you wanted to be in.”

I watch as Zane's gaze flits between the two of us, and a wave of self-loathing washes over me as I feel my cheeks flush crimson. The last thing I need anyone suspecting is that I’m attracted to this asshole.

“You forced yourself on me,” I manage to spit out, my voice trembling with anger. “Those sounds you heard were me cringing from your foul mouth.”

Astro lets out a chuckle, seemingly unfazed by my comment.

“Did he assault you?” Zane demands, his voice brimming with protective fury as he starts to rise from his seat. But before he can lunge forward at Astro, Byron reaches out and firmly prevents him from escalating the situation.

“It’s not worth the hassle, not here,” he urges.

“Little smart one,” Astro mocks.

“You’re an asshole,” I interject angrily. “Byron isn’t small by any means. In fact, I find him much better looking than you.”

“Not what your pussy was screaming about last night while my tongue dug deep.”

As Zane rises from his seat, determination etched into every line of his face, not even Byron's attempt to restrain him can hold him back this time. With a sense of urgency, I swiftly move between them, pushing against Zane's chest to create a physical barrier.

“Stop trying to fight my battles. I can do just fine on my own,” I implore, my voice tinged with urgency and fear.

I turn back to Astro. “We kissed. I’d like to say it was a moment of weakness, but that would imply I’m attracted to you, and I’m not. It was a pathetic mistake, and I tend to learn from them pretty quickly. ”

With a sense of relief, I watch as Zane reluctantly sinks back into his seat, the tension in the air slowly dissipating. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I reclaim my own seat, grateful that the confrontation has been averted, at least for now.

“For the record,” I declare, addressing everyone, my tone firm and resolute. “I’m not interested in being with any guy. So consider the shop closed and out of business.”

“You prefer girls, then?” Astro quips, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He, predictably, can't resist adding his two cents.

“No. I like cock. But at the moment, I’m giving myself an indefinite break from sex and any kind of relationship.”

“Bullshite, your fanny was begging me,” Astro says quietly.

I shoot Zane a meaningful glance, silently urging him to stand down and let the matter drop.

“I have one question,” Astro interjects, his tone laced with sarcasm, and I can't discern whom he's addressing.

“Who let you out of the basement?”

Before I can even process the question, Byron lunges at Astro, fueled by a surge of anger. Zane reacts swiftly, pulling Byron back before the situation escalates further.

“Man, it’s not worth it. He’s nothing but a low-grade thug.”

“Low grade, eh?” Astro scoffs. “You must know enough to grade them?”

I turn my gaze to Byron and see the fury burning in his eyes, and suddenly, his earlier outburst makes perfect sense.

“You locked Byron in the basement?” I confront Astro, incredulous at his callousness.

He simply shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. "It was funny," he retorts, his tone devoid of remorse.

“It wasn’t funny, you freak!” I retort angrily. “What the hell is wrong with you? Did your mother drop you as a baby? Or did she not hug you enough? There is something not right with you.”

I rise from my seat, intending to distance myself from the repulsive ass, but as I move, my heart skips a beat. A dark, hooded shadow blends seamlessly into the black fabric of the chairs, sending a shiver down my spine. Nearly gasping in shock, I freeze in place, my mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The others seem to be just as shocked and surprised as I am .

Intrigued yet apprehensive, I peer closer at the figure because I’m not sure it’s even alive.

It is a male by first impressions.

His skin appears almost ghostly pale against the darkness of his hood, but it's the piercing blue of his eyes that captivates me, standing out starkly against his raven-black, shoulder-length hair. Despite his stillness, there's an intensity about him that sends a shiver down my spine, leaving me uncertain and unsettled.

“That’s Jackson,” Astro says casually as if introducing an old acquaintance.

“Jack,” the dark figure corrects, his voice sending a chill down my spine.

And I swear to god, I thought these three men had deep voices, but Jack just took it a notch lower. It’s as if he’s growled out the last letter of his name.

“You weren’t at the party last night,” I say, knowing I would have remembered him. His striking presence would have definitely had my attention.

He shrugs his shoulders. “I might have been.”

“You weren’t part of our group that security caught last night,” Zane confirms.

Jack ignores Zane's remark and instead turns his gaze to me. His intense blue eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that I feel a frightening chill run through me. His stare feels like it's peering right into my soul, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny.

“My mate, Jack, is a man of few words. Best leave him be in his own world,” Astro explains.

“And how do you know him?” I ask curiously as if Jack isn’t even in the room.

“He’s my roomie,” Astro winks at him but Jack remains silent and continues to eye me carefully as if scrutinizing me. If he’s sharing a room with Astro, then I can only imagine he’s another asshole in the making.

As I watch Jack from across the room, I find my gaze drawn irresistibly to him. While he may have initially blended into the background, now that I've noticed him, I can't seem to look away. There's something about him that demands attention, a magnetic presence that refuses to be ignored. Despite his attempts to fade into the shadows, he now stands out vividly in my mind, an enigmatic figure I can't ‘un-see.’

His raven black hair falls effortlessly over his pale skin, framing a face that seems chiseled by an artist’s hand. Deep blue eyes, like sapphires in the night, hold an intensity that draws me in to want to know his deepest, darkest desires. His jawline is sharp, accentuated by a perfectly sculpted face, and his full lips….geesh! His lips are perfect! This man is gorgeous, and I wonder if he knows it or if he tries to hide himself because of it.

Dressed in entirely black, he does, however, exude an air of mystery and a certain defiant confidence in his own choice of lifestyle. His fitted leather jeans, black hoodie, and black leather biker jacket make him more bad boy goth than emo. A black leather necklace adorns his neck, holding a dark stone that seems to mirror the depths of his gaze.

But it’s the tattoos that peek out from beneath his jacket sleeve that he has pushed up that intrigue me the most. Black ink etched onto his skin, trailing from his wrist up his thick, veiny forearm and sneaking out from beneath the fabric to the side of his neck. Each design seems to tell a story, adding to the layers of mystery that surround him.

As our eyes meet and he reels me into a lock hold, my heart races with anticipation. Time seems to stand still between us.

“You don’t scare me,” my voice betraying my nerves, and my words hang in the air, regretting every syllable I’ve just uttered.

“I’m sorry if you think that’s my intention,” he says unexpectantly, his voice so freaking deep and commanding. But it’s the simplicity of his words that catch me off guard, leaving me at a loss for what to say next.

There's an undeniable aura surrounding Jack, something that transcends his subdued gothic appearance. Despite his quiet demeanor, there's a quality to his presence that draws me in. It's as if there's a depth to him, a mystery waiting to be unraveled beneath the surface. I can't shake the feeling that there's more to Jack than meets the eye, and I'm oddly intrigued by the enigma he presents.

Desperate to break the tension, I scramble to find what to say next to this obviously beautiful person in front of me.

“Why are you here?” I finally blurt out, yet my voice barely a whisper.

He shrugs a nonchalant gesture that only adds to his mystique.

“I had nothing better to do,” he replies, his tone casual yet tinged with an underlying complexity.

I realize that there is so much more to him than meets the eye. Despite his silence and his aloof demeanor, there is a depth to him that I can’t quite grasp. As I sit down, entirely captivated, I can’t help but wonder what secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of his attractive facade.

He had nothing better to do?

What a weird thing to say.

Does he realize we’re going down the rabbit hole with possible disciplinary action for what we did last night?

“He’s a bit of a basket case,” Astro interjects before I can say something. “Best not question his actions.”

And suddenly, Jack breaks his stare to turn to Astro. His smirk suggests that he agrees with that description.

“So, do we have a story for the dean?” Zane's gaze flicks between Byron and me, dismissing Astro's presence.

“Yeah,” Astro interjects sharply, “we should lay it all on Four Eyes here. It's his damn fault we're in this mess.".”

“How the fuck did you come to that conclusion?” I ask before Byron has a chance.

“This is what I reckon,” Astro continues, animated. “I was upstairs busy getting it on with you. Zane was on a wild goose chase roaming the house looking for you with that Emily tart trailing him, hoping for some jock cock. Meanwhile, everyone else was partying it up. Except for Byron, who was left fuming in the basement and ended up calling campus security out of sheer spite.”

“Minging twat,” Byron mutters through gritted teeth. "I never made that call. I didn't even have mobile reception down there!"

“Yeah, you were the one who snitched on everyone,” Astro insists with a smirk.

“Did not!”

“He didn’t,” Zane cuts in. “I was down there with him when they raided the house. There was no cell reception. Someone else did report the party, probably a competitor because, I’m sure, with the way everyone was consuming your candy, this wasn’t their first party. There’s probably another supplier on campus whose feet you stepped on and was pissed.”

“The dean is ready to see you,” the woman suffering from Agrivated Boomer Syndrom calls us from the doorway .

I’m the first to stand up, ignoring everyone who silently follows me out the door down the hallway to our impending doom.