Chapter 26
OLLY
Ican still feel Damon's harsh, brutal hands around my neck, squeezing and choking the air out of my lungs. His hot breath on my face, and the way his eyes were filled with madness, and hate directed at me, reminded me of another time when I was weak, and someone else hurt me. My mind vividly hears the screech of the library floor beneath us, as our shoes struggle to find purchase. The feeling of the cold press of the hard table against my spine as I was shoved against it violently, and the slam of the library door when it broke our moment of connection. It replays in quick flashes, shattered frames of violence and noise, that won't stop flickering in my mind, each echo intensifying my dread. Every time I blink, I see the look in his unhinged eyes when he realized I would fight back. He seemed not only to anticipate it, but it also seemed to bring him perverse pleasure. It should frighten me, and it does, but it also fuels a growing obsession with understanding him and his friends. Why are they so obsessed with me, and who damaged Damon so severely to make him the way he is? Hurt people, hurt people, isn’t that what they say? Isn’t that why I am the way I am now?
Then there was the shout, a deep male voice demanding that I be released.
Professor Rawdon. The man who pulled Damon off me, who gave me the opportunity to run, and who saved me.
The same man who, years ago, destroyed mine and my best friend's lives, and took her from me.
My emotions are a whirlwind of contradictions, relief, devastation, and fury, war within me without an outlet, as Rawdon's intervention clashes with my memories of his past actions that still haunt me.
His presence now feels like a fragile thread connecting salvation and destruction, leaving me torn, suspicious, and utterly confused.
The school hallway seems to tilt slightly as I walk on trembling legs, my body feeling both battered and drunk, even though I've had nothing to drink.
The world around me is too sharp, vibrant, and loud, compared to the darkness and anxiety invading, and spiraling sinisterly in my mind, wreaking havoc on my senses.
My pulse hammers in my ears, deafening and relentless, almost forcing me to slam my hands against my skull to drown it out.
Terror rises within me, and causes me to keep glancing over my shoulder, certain I'll see Damon's shadow or one of his deranged friends sliding around the corner, ready to hurt me again.
I can still hear Damon snarling as Rawdon held him back during their fight, the guttural growl echoing in my ears, and I was urged to run.
He was more beast than man, and that terrifies me more than I can admit.
The oppressive silence of the hallway feels like a trap closing in, amplifying my fear and paranoia.
I shouldn’t have trusted anyone to intervene, especially not Rawdon.
He’s not the type to save anyone. He's a monster, just like those three assholes. He is the reason Cheyanne isn’t alive and here with me.
Yet, when he reached for me in that chaos, I was relieved that someone, anyone, was there.
I allowed him to take on the other monster and protect me in the library, just like a child.
Why? My brain demands with fury at my weakness.
Is it because I’m losing focus on why I came here?
Soule and some of its inhabitants are already crawling under my skin, worming their way to the thick iron walls I've hidden myself behind, and I can't allow them passage within. I have to keep myself safe.
I reach the front gates and manicured lawns of the house I now live in, without any recollection of leaving school grounds, or of the drive.
My hands shake, as I grip the steering wheel for dear life.
The mansion looms against the late afternoon sky, dark and foreboding, filled with the promise of rain and majestic oranges, purples, and gray clouds that are beautiful, but also terrifying.
I quickly glance around, looking for signs of my stepbrother and his deranged friends, but no vehicles are visible in the driveway.
I stare up at the large front door through my windshield, its dark, gaping mouth ready to swallow its inhabitants.
The enormous windows glow like watchful eyes, cold and uninviting.
I hesitate with uncertainty before leaving the car, my hand grabbing for my cell phone.
Who the hell am I even going to call? I don't know anyone here besides my mom, and.
.. Sim. No, don't think about him now, leave it be, Olly, you made the right choice when you fled from him.
My eyes notice a new text from my mom, and I quickly divert my glance away from the house, and my melancholy thoughts, to open it.
Sweetie, we are away for the night. Gerald has a meeting in Boston.
Be back soon. Please behave with your new brother.
Do it for me, Olivia. Please don't ruin this for me.
Instant anger and disgust intertwine within me, as I reread her message once more.
She has no idea the monsters she's brought us to live with, and what she's asking of me.
As usual, I'm her last thought and priority, and I don't even know why I believed anything would be different with a change of residence.
I exit my vehicle, my fear momentarily forgotten, and replaced with fury, as I slam my car door, noticing with disgust the amount of spitballs coating its surface, and stomp up to the front door.
That was a real treat to discover once I tried to leave school.
The whole surface of every window was covered in disgusting, shriveled-up paper spitballs.
Like, are we all still in junior high, instead of attending a prestigious university?
I'm positive my stupid, unhinged stepbrother has something to do with it.
I grip the heavy front door handle, its cold surface against my palm grounding me. Get it together, Olly. You need your head on fucking straight to deal with these assholes. Weakness will get you killed, bitch.
I unlock the door and push it open, stepping within the grand entranceway where the expensive marble floors gleam under the crystal chandelier's light, every reflection stretched and warped with rainbow prisms. The walls are lined with portraits of people who don't smile, and places I've never seen, mounted in thick, ornate frames. Cross’s, and my stepfather's, ancestors stare back at me with unflinching eyes, their similar features now glaringly obvious.
All of them are wearing that same composed expression, their eyes empty of compassion and warmth, and the mantle of power clearly discerned, even through the painted brush strokes.
Inside the mansion, the air feels oppressively still and unnaturally perfect, like the space was never meant to be lived in, but only used as a distraction and showpiece for the violent inhabitants, heightening my sense of unease.
I lean against the wall, breathing in the scent of polished wood, fresh flowers, and something faintly metallic beneath it.
My body aches from all the violence since I arrived here, and the stress that constantly has me on edge.
My thoughts are a rollercoaster of fear, apprehension, and dismay, as I realize I'm failing at all my tasks. My hair prickles at the back of my neck with warning, and I keep searching all the shadows, thinking someone’s here with me, just out of sight, watching and waiting to see what I'll do.
"Joffrey?" I call out, hoping that the quirky housekeeper is here somewhere, but only silence responds, and I’m instantly disappointed. I move further within the space, heading for the kitchen area, my eyes firmly peeled for an attack. Every creak of the floorboards makes me jumpy, while every shadow looks like it’s about to move, and a monster will climb out of its depths.
I swear I can feel eyes on the back of my neck, but I try to shake off my uneasiness as I whisper to myself, "It’s just a house, Olly", but it doesn’t feel like a house; it feels alive.
The events of the past two days blur together like a movie: arriving in Soule, my mother instantly disappearing with her new husband, and being left here in an unknown town with people I've never met.
The various interactions with Cross and his cronies, followed by seeing Rawdon again for the first time in years, were both significant and overwhelming, in such a short period.
Rawdon's charming smile was something right out of my nightmares, with that easy laugh that never reaches his eyes, and a professional facade to make you feel at ease.
The way he looked at me without recollection, as if I were a naive girl who doesn't know better than to trust him, and doesn't see the villain within him.
Then there’s Sim. A stranger who immediately sided with me, and was willing to put himself in harm's way to protect me.
A charming little deviant who purred, and made promises he readily fulfilled.
I let myself drop my defenses momentarily with him.
I allowed him to see me vulnerable, something I haven't been able to do around anyone, since that horrible night years ago that destroyed everything I had once believed in.