25. Stella
25
Stella
It’s not just the school.
It’s not just the school.
It’s not just the school.
Journalistic integrity would say that comments on a blog post aren’t a valid source, but there is this living fury inside me that riots when I question the veracity of those comments.
Still, I have to dig in.
Something like this will need multiple irrefutable sources.
If options are this school or prison, and prison is death, then what is going on with this school that the government is so invested in funneling supernaturals to it?
My chest tightens, my breath coming out in ragged spurts.
I did this to myself. I walked through this gate with ideas in my head about how I’d write an incredible article and make a name for myself. I served myself up for whatever their nefarious plan was on a golden platter.
Fucking stupid.
Prideful, stupid Valkyrie.
My parents warned me. But did I listen?
Of course not.
Now, I have no choice but to follow the rules and keep my head down here so I don’t get sent to prison.
Comply or die.
My face is wet with furious tears. After wolfinauthenticsclothing posted about Joseph Thomas dying, the thread was flooded with comments with similar stories of not being able to visit family in prison before they passed away in an accident. Pages of comments of the same story, the same distress.
Eventually, wolfinauthenticsclothing started a forum for the families of incarcerated supernaturals. I scrolled through page after page after page, and I could not find a single post from someone who had seen their family after they walked through the doors of the prison.
But what about selection bias?
My mind is trying to rationalize that only people with a negative experience would seek out a forum to share their stories, but this is too much. There are too many dead loved ones.
What started as a deep dive into the goings-on of Robert Sinclair’s Reformation Academy is turning into something more sinister. This isn’t only about the school; this is about the system that is feeding supernaturals to death or … whatever it is that goes on at this place.
I haven’t gotten that far yet, but I’m more determined than ever to find out.
But there’s the Yuri problem.
I need to figure out how to deal with him so he doesn’t distract me from my goal.
Stories of the dead wrap around me, squeezing my heart. They have no one to speak for them. No one to find out the truth of their demise.
I have to be the one to do that.
But I can’t if I’m joining their loved ones in prison because Yuri sells me out.
Despair grips my throat.
Am I going to have to do this?
I can’t, can I?
Can I dirty my soul like that?
But aren’t I selfish if I don’t? What is letting someone who’s already climbed between my thighs do it again if it means I can help so many?
It’s not fair.
It’s not fair that supernaturals are imprisoned for existing as we were created.
It’s not fair that I’m trying to do something good here, something that could maybe stop something dangerous and corrupt, but a fucking male has decided he wants something from me and is willing to send me to prison if he doesn’t get it.
Does he know that sending me to prison would kill me?
Fuck him or die.
Those are my choices.
Fuck him or die.
Fuck him or die.
I know my answer.
I hate the answer.
But I know what I have to do.
Comply or die.
“You made the right decision, Stella,” Yuri purrs on the other end of the phone.
I take a long drag off the forroweed and enjoy the heat of the smoke in my lungs. “You didn’t give me much of a choice, did you?” I snap back.
“Now, don’t be like that. You know we always had fun. It’s not like this is some hardship.”
“Yuri, if I could, I would fuck a squonk before I touched you with the tip of my finger. But you’ve given me the choice of prison or your prick, so this is where we are.”
“Ouch, a squonk? I’m wounded.” He chuckles in a low, dark tone. “But you do have a choice. You can still change your mind.”
“When will you be here next?”
Not that I’m eager to get him here. But I need to know what day I’m selling my soul.
“I’ll see you on Saturday.” The line goes dead.
Five days.
I have five days.
A hand grips the back of my neck and yanks me against a hard chest.
“Do you want to explain what I just overheard?” Blue’s words ghost over my ear, full of barely contained fury that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
“You’re going to want to let me go,” I snap. My wings are crushed between us, and I can feel every part of him that touches them. It doesn’t hurt, but they’ll start to cramp eventually.
“Mmm, but I love how you feel against me. And since all I need to fuck you is to have something over you, I guess I can threaten to tell how you hired me to steal from a professor so I can taste what’s between your thighs.”
His words drop a cool bucket of water on the heat that his proximity raised.
I fully extend my wings and kick back, wrenching myself from his grip. I spin on my toes and then dart, shoving him against a tree with my hand around his throat. This close, I can see the way his pupils are blown out, smell the coffee on his breath, and see the details of the gold plugs in his ears.
My fingers flex on the soft skin of his throat. “How. Dare. You.” My words come out in a resonant snarl, and my body buzzes with fury. It feels like lightning is running across my skin, wrapping around my wings. “You don’t get to judge me. You don’t know why I’m doing what I do.”
“Because you won’t tell me. I told you to let me help you. Do you have any idea how much messier this is going to be to clean up now?”
He seems unconcerned about being completely at my mercy. His hands hang limply at his sides, and he’s not even trying to fight me a little.
“I don’t need you to clean up my messes.”
“Obviously, you do! Look at this mess you’ve gotten yourself into. You don’t understand the consequences here.” For a moment, his voice trembles. With fear or fury, I cannot tell, but I don’t really care either way.
Almost against my will, one of my fingers strokes down the side of his throat. “I understand them fully. His sister is the Deputy Headmaster. He’s going to tell her that I slept with him without disclosing my spirit status. He will get me sent to prison, Blue. And prison…” I inhale deeply.
“No one comes back from prison,” he says quietly. “I know.”
“So you see? I have no choice.” I go to remove my hand, and he grabs my wrist, holding me in place.
“If you had one wish right now, what would it be, banloach? “ He sounds desperate. I try to step back, but he holds my wrist tighter. “If you had one wish, Stella.”
“I’d wish he was out of my hair. That I never had to deal with him again.” I feel tears burning the corners of my eyes, and I can’t bring myself to look at the enigmatic male who seems to be haunting my steps. “I don’t want to do this. This isn’t who I am. But what choice do I have?”
He drops my wrist, and I step back, still unable to show him the shame that brims my eyes in moist strips of silver. After several moments, when I’ve taken the time to compose myself, I look up to see he’s gone.