3. Hotaru
“This is you.” We stop at the door two from the end of the hall, and I hold out the key by its ring. The Willoughby Ridge crest and the gold key dangle in the air between us.
He stares at it for a lot longer than is normal. His sharp eyes cut from the key to the lock on the door and back several times as though he has never seen a key and lock before. I’m about to do the honors to get this show on the road, but then I think about the man he came here with. Goose bumps assault my arms, and my stomach sours.
The guy isn’t used to having a lock on his door.
I don’t know how I know. Maybe it’s his shock or the utter fear in his eyes when he took his first step away from that really scary guy. I just know.
“Hold out your hand.”
His jaw works. Slowly, his palm lifts from his side, and I drop the key into the center. His fingers smooth over it. Its ridges and teeth. Its flat top and smooth length.
Fucking hell. My stomach turns toward my toes.
He had a lock, just not the key.
“Go ahead.” I point at the door, swallowing past a lump.
His gaze narrows on me.
“I won’t come in.” I take a step back and then point at my door. “That’s me.” The last on the hall. “Everyone else is in class right now. I’ll go chill and let you get settled in. Just knock when you’re ready to head to the seamstress.” I turn and head toward my room but then turn back.
“Hey, make sure you always lock the door behind you.” I let my gaze search the hall for a second, making certain I find no one about. “I haven’t dealt with any creeps just yet, but they’re here.”
The guy nods, unlocks his door, and then disappears inside. I hear the lock click into place. I let myself into my room, lock my door, and then close my side of the shared bathroom to give him privacy and as much security as I can.
I toss my backpack into the chair in front of the desk built into the wall. It has a laptop and a single picture of me and my parents. It’s a very stilted and formal thing. Makes us look like puppets with sticks up our asses. I’m pretty sure that’s the look they were going for.
My mom even hired a stylist for the shoot. Not only a photographer.
“Ridiculous.”
I give the image a middle-finger salute and hop onto my perfectly made bed with my shoes on. Inspections are random here. We’re supposed to maintain the utmost level of tidiness or receive demerits. My double middle finger rapidly fires around the room, and I silently scream. Then my hands fall impotently to my sides.
“Fuck this place,” I snarl quietly.
After my tantrum, my gaze hits the ceiling, and I stare blankly. A few minutes pass, and then I hear something through the wall.
It’s broken and chilling. It’s a sob followed by a string of them.
I blow out a breath and sit up. I stare at the wall facing the new kid’s room.
This place is hell for me. It’s a reprieve for him.
What right do I have to be so damn angry against that? None. None at all.
And that kinda makes me hate the guy.
“Ugh!” I jump down and pull the snack bin from beneath my bed. I rifle through it. The seamstress will take a couple of hours, and I don’t know how long it’ll take him to pull himself together. Now, because of that fucking guy, I look at the snacks my grandmother sent in a care package, and I’m forced to feel grateful. Hell knows that the kid’s abuser won’t be sending him any snacks.
Using my newfound irritation, I rip open a protein bar and shove it in my mouth. Then, because I’m apparently a goddamn do-gooder today, I put another one in my back pocket. I shove the stash away and start pacing as I chew.
My gaze hits my computer just as I’m finishing the bar. I continue pacing. Gray light filters in through the lone window.
“Fucking England.” Even after all this time, I miss Japan. I miss the sunshine. I miss the culture. I miss the food most of all. Hell, I even miss London. Not the sunshine. There isn’t much. Not the food. It sucks. I miss my friends.
Once more, my gaze lands on my computer. My cock stirs. Sure, the school has firewalls and search protections set up. It only took me half an hour to find a workaround.
A soft knock echoes in the room. I throw my hands up. Of course, when I’m contemplating jerking off, he’s ready to go.
“Coming,” I call out. “And not the way I want,” I grumble.
I lock up, and we head for the main stairs. There’s barely a hint of red rimming his eyes. His hands are firmly ensconced in his pockets.
“Here.” I produce the protein bar and offer it without asking if he’s hungry. He has to be. There’s a hollowness to his cheeks that isn’t natural.
Again, like with the keys, he just stares at what I’m holding.
He’s not dumb. I don’t know how I know. Maybe it’s the hyper-awareness of his surroundings. Maybe it’s the intelligence bleeding out from behind his perceptive gaze. It’s dark and sad and quick in a way that makes me wonder what it’s seen.
I toss the bar. He snatches it out of the air with sure hands.
“You play sports?”
He shrugs, and I don’t exactly know what it means. So I toss a layup.
“You used to?”
His nod is quick. If I hadn’t been looking, I’d have missed it. He rips into the bar, and it’s gone by the time we push out onto the quad. Now, I feel bad for not bringing more food. I should have brought a notepad and a pen too. I’m sure the guy has things to say.
Who am I, Angelina Jolie?
“The school has a good football team. With your long legs, you could be a runner.” He doesn’t make a gesture, so I continue, “They have lacrosse too. I’d suggest wrestling.” His gaze slides to me. There’s a quirk in his brow. “Not many schools here have it. It’s the only lucky thing about this one.” I shrug. "After you get bulked up, you could be a beast.” When his brow stays pinched, I add, “It would be useful. More useful than running. You could learn how to toss a guy. A really big guy.” Like the fucking bastard who brought you here.
He bites the inside of his cheek and nods.
We push out the double doors and into the quad. His gaze flits away, and his hands go back into his pockets. The guy scans the area like his life depends on it.
Maybe it does.
The protein bar suddenly feels like a brick in my belly.
Step by step, we make our way to the far side of campus. He slows as the main buildings get farther away. His shoulders go higher and higher.
“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you.” I jerk my chin toward the sloping hills in the distance and the line of trees that leads to a little patch of forest. “The seamstress’s studio is that cottage by the woods. I think she lives there. She’s always on campus, sewing and hemming. And I use the term she , loosely. Technically, she has a vagina, but it probably started growing cobwebs when Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister.”
The guy isn’t even paying attention to my poor excuse for a joke. His head is turned away, almost all the way around Exorcist style.
“I’m pretty sure she’s a hundred."
He shoves into my shoulder.
My mouth opens to say something when a bellow rattles the air. I can’t make out the word, but it comes from where this guy is looking.
I lean and look, and then nearly lose my lunch and snack too.
The man from the office stalks toward us. His face is mean in a way I’ve only seen in my nightmares. Nightmares that have no basis in reality. What’s coming toward us is worse than any fake-ass horror movie villain.
Two frail hands come up and push me. He pushes me toward the cottage without taking his eyes off the approaching demon. Every fiber of my being screams for me to run. My training and skills be damned.
I turn and bolt.
I fully expect the kid to run with me.
The evil fucking man is far enough away for us to escape, even if he is malnourished. We can lock ourselves in the cottage and call the headmaster or, better yet, the fucking cops to come get this guy and toss him behind bars.
My head turns to tell him so, but he’s not behind me. Well, he is. Way the hell behind me. Where I left him.
He hasn’t moved except to turn toward the man. His hands are out of his pockets and in shaking fists. They don’t shake in rage or retribution, but in what seems like an effort to make himself stay put. It takes more guts than I have to do so.
“You rat-faced little twat,” the man growls. “You think you can get rid of me that easy?” His fists are balled, and his face is drawn in fury. “I’m going to break you in two and take one part with me.”
My deepest, most ingrained instincts beg me to continue. To seek shelter and get away from this evil.
I grit my teeth and run.