25. Sable
SABLE
We stop running the moment we can see the school.
My thighs scream, and the space between my legs burns from overuse.
Parker opens the immense door for us, and we step inside to a hallway full of people.
Of course, there wasn’t a private option.
People stare as the climate control surrounds me, and soothes the worst of my breathlessness, but not enough of it.
My lungs ache as they try to fill. There is a huge difference between running across a level sidewalk and running through a damn mountain, I realize.
I am not nearly as ready to protect myself as I believed, and that insecurity nags at me.
He doesn’t force me to run to keep up anymore.
Instead, he walks with a slow swagger that invites people to watch him.
When I catch myself considering him sweet for it, I realize that I’m a little too grateful for the basics.
Maybe that’s part of their plan—give me so little I’m grateful for scraps.
People whisper all around me, and I wonder just how many days it will take to be considered old news.
When we get to the athletic department, I’m so tired I can barely stand, and Parker hasn’t even broken a sweat.
A mix of jealousy and nervous anticipation runs through me as I think about him chasing me and how likely it would be for him to catch me.
Was he serious about fucking my ass? He seemed so.
I’ll need to train a hell of a lot harder if I’m going to have a chance at keeping myself safe at Bellthorn. Maybe I should just get a gun.
As we step into the gym, I’m once again surprised by the Bellthorn “colors.” The sports paraphernalia is all black and white, and a university gymnasium looks awfully strange in monochrome.
Giant windows into the hallway allow passersby to watch the Bellthorn cheerleading squad practices.
Their uniforms match the room, mixing the colors with the macabre fashion accents of Bellthorn with regular cheerleading style.
Why do they have lace fans instead of pom-poms?
When I notice their pom-poms are more like round feather boas, I roll my eyes.
Parker leads me along the edge near the bleachers, and I follow.
The way each girl stops and watches him is hard to ignore, and the looks they shoot me could kill.
The night before was too much, the pace he kept was too much, and the eyes on me are too much.
I stare longingly at the stone walls, wanting to lean against them and take some of the weight off myself, maybe melt straight into them and stop existing completely.
“Wait here,” Parker says, nodding to the bleachers, but all I can see is the line of cheerleaders, stretching and warming up on the other side of the gym.
“I’d really rather not,” I speak through my closed teeth, faking a big smile, like I’m not absolutely terrified right now.
“Then don’t go over there. Just wait here,” he says as if my concern is fake or exasperating.
I swallow, trying not to look as small as I feel right now. “Please.”
“You’re Sable Briarwick.” He shrugs. “I didn’t realize you begged for anything but cock.” His words and naughty expression make my stomach tremble.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I don’t think being Sable means as much as you think it does.” My cheeks are red as can be, and if I weren’t truly afraid of being left alone with them, I would preserve my dignity.
“It does,” he says. He turns around and jogs off, leaving me without a chance to complain further.
I sit because what else am I going to do, but now I’m facing the opposite side of the gym.
All fifteen cheerleaders pretend they’re not staring at me as I pull out and scroll on my phone.
Thankfully, Liliana doesn’t have any rhythm, or I’m sure she would be here, pretending I don’t exist and stepping on my heart like we never told each other our secrets or cried together.
The prettiest girl gives the impression of a Victorian doll serving cunt as she works through a few moves in her routine and shows another girl the proper way to do a move.
The more I look, the harder they ignore me.
I debate whether to break the tension myself.
I’m not looking for friends exactly, but maybe I can make things easier on myself here if I get on any of their good sides.
While I’m thinking about it and deciding the pros and cons, a beautiful brunette walks up to me with a smile.
If I were less experienced with girls like her, and frankly, how I used to be, I might believe the false friendliness oozing out of her. “Hi, I’m Arabella,” she says as she stops in front of me, looking me up and down with a long glance and a crinkle around her eyes.
“Sable, nice to meet you,” I say, making sure to infuse my voice with the proper amount of boredom to sound cool.
“I like your outfit,” she says, and one of the girls behind her laughs.
“Thanks.” I don’t offer her any fake compliments in return. She's not worth me being catty.
“You’re here with Parker?” she asks, and this feels close to what she really wants from me, but we’re still not there. She’s still pretending they’re not circling me.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“What does that mean?”
“He brought me here. I’m not really with him.” The girls around me whisper to one another, and I get the distinct feeling that if they ever got the chance, they would come for me like a pack of hyenas.
“But you’ve fucked him, right? And you’ve only been here two days?” She keeps her smile in place, and her eyes stay bright, but I know exactly what I’m dealing with.
“How the hell would you know that?”
She smiles and tips her head. “Everyone here knows what the Offering is, Sable .” She speaks my name like it’s a taunt on its own.
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“The whore of Bellthorn, but there are other relationships already going on here, and you’re not going to ruin them just because you’re fucking the guys.” Her easy tone drops just a little bit, and I see what this is really about— why she’s so mad.
I laugh out loud because this may be one of the most pathetic confrontations I’ve ever had. I don’t want these guys at all outside of how hard they make me come, and if any of these girls are dating them knowing they’re fucking me, I can’t help them.
“You’re mad at me because your boyfriends have a whore?” I ask.
“No, I’m disgusted because you’re a whore.” It’s obvious she wants to hurt me, but girls like her don’t get that petty insults hurt less when you’ve lost everything.
“You are as stupid as you look. That’s frankly unbelievable.” I look back at my phone, thoroughly done with this conversation.
“I just want to know who exactly you think you are?” she demands.
“I literally don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist. “I don’t think I’m anyone.”
“Just because you’re fucking all of those guys doesn’t mean they belong to you.”
The motivator here is clearly jealousy, but I don’t get why exactly.
Who the fuck would want these guys if this is their yearly tradition?
So what? She wants to marry one of them and let them have a mistress, like that’s perfectly normal?
I know it’s not unheard of, but my parents were never like that with one another.
“I don’t even know these guys. If they’re yours, you should be able to keep them out of my bed while I’m sleeping, right?”
She grabs my phone, but I don’t let go, and the tension builds between us until it has no choice but to pop.