Chapter 8 Briggs
Briggs
She’s got a weird hair up her ass today. Even more than usual. Normally, she ignores me—or pretends to. But I know she’s fighting me, even if it’s only in her own mind. Forcing herself to act like I don’t exist. I know damn well there is no hope of ignoring me. Not really. She only pretends.
Which is why the way she’s acting today has me paying closer attention. She’ll normally glance at me and either quickly roll her eyes before looking away or keep her head down like some scared little bird who doesn’t want to make eye contact.
Today? I stood in her way outside sociology, and she only looked up at me, stared for two or three seconds, then walked around me and kept going. No fear in her eyes, no dread, nothing. Like she had come up against an obstacle and sidestepped it.
“Hello…” I mutter behind her once she walks past me after class, where I’m waiting. “I know you’re not bothering to pretend I’m not here. I know you wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that, would you? Do you think just because there are people around, I won’t punish you for ignoring me?”
The only response she gives is hunching her shoulders and folding her arms over herself. There’s something gratifying about that, anyway. But it’s not enough. Not even close.
“You got a few minutes after class?” one of the guys tossing a football in a group on the lawn calls out as Wren walks past. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I heard you get results fast.” Their laughter is music to my ears.
I make it a point to laugh with them so they know to keep up the good work.
I’m determined to be the person who controls every aspect of her life, but that doesn’t mean there’s more than twenty-four hours in a day. I can only do so much.
For the first time since I started following her, she decides to break her routine and go to the administration building instead of to the cafeteria.
“I hope you don’t think you’re going in there to complain about me,” I call out loud enough to make her flinch, but still, she keeps going without acknowledging me.
By the time we reach the office, my blood is boiling and I’m ready to make her regret this fucking attitude she’s giving me today. Have I not been clear enough? Does she still think she’s got any control over her life?
For now, I’ll stand back and watch. It could be interesting, witnessing her trying and failing to make any difference in the way things are for her now.
As if anybody around here is going to let her have her way, no matter what it is.
Not with her reputation, and definitely not with me standing here, arms folded, keeping an eye on her.
The woman behind the desk glances my way before she clears her throat and looks at Wren. “What can I do for you?” she asks.
“I was… I was hoping…” Finally, Wren can’t ignore me anymore, throwing me a look over her shoulder like she doesn’t want to talk with me behind her. Too fucking bad. When I arch an eyebrow, her head snaps back around.
“Please, I’m busy here. What do you need?” the woman asks.
Wren takes a deep breath before blurting it out. “Is there any way I could rent a dorm room? I mean, how much would that cost?”
Weird request. I know she doesn’t live with her whore mother—I did my homework a while back. I sort of let things slip, though, and didn’t track Wren to whatever place she calls home. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do but haven’t had the chance yet. I only know where she doesn’t live.
The woman shakes her head. “There aren’t any rooms open right now.”
Wren’s shoulders go up and it looks like her body is vibrating. “Are you sure? Can you check?”
“We don’t leave empty dorm rooms sitting around. Usually, we end up having to turn people down if they take too long to fill out their paperwork. There’s not some endless supply.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Wren’s head hangs low when she turns away from the desk. Instead of doubling back and passing me, she walks to the other end of the room and leaves through that door. So now she thinks she’s slick.
All she’s doing is pissing me off. Obviously, the girl is either too stupid or too stubborn to know I’m not fucking around.
I follow her out to the hall, then outside, with a million questions banging around in my head.
Why would she decide after classes have already started that she wants to live in a dorm room?
I guess she doesn’t know any better—it’s pretty obvious you don’t decide out of nowhere to rent a room like it’s a hotel.
I doubt her whore of a mother would teach her about shit like that.
“What happened?” I ask as we cross the quad. “Did the shack you were living in burn down or something? Maybe the homeless shelter ran out of beds? Do you think you can just walk into the admin office and rent a room?”
“Please, stop.” I can barely hear her, she’s whispering so softly. “Stop yelling about stuff you don’t understand.”
“Make me understand. I’m curious. What makes you think anybody around here would share a room with you, anyway? Do you know how much money the school would have to spend on disinfectant to clean it up after you left? They probably couldn’t afford it.”
I’ve had enough of her bullshit. Acting like she has the right to ignore me.
“Little bird, I’m talking to you.” All it takes is a hand on her shoulder to stop her and turn her around.
When she tries to break away, I grab a hold of her arm to pull her in close.
It’s time to remind her who she’s fucking with.
“Ow!” She hisses and flinches and squeezes her eyes shut, all because I touched her arm.
“Since when are you such a fucking baby?” Except when I grabbed her, I pushed her sleeve up a little, and now the dark purple bruises are clear.
Something strange happens to me. Something I sure as hell couldn’t have predicted.
The sight of those bruises on her thin arm turns my stomach.
Suddenly, I’m hot inside, boiling hot, ready to tear somebody’s fucking head off.
“What happened to you?” I growl, staring down at that ugly purple stain on her creamy skin.
“Could you please let me go? It hurts.” I hear the pain in her voice, and it would normally make me happy. I would consider it a good day if I could make her sound like that.
But I’m not the one making her sound like that. Somebody else decided to take the pleasure away from me. I need to know who it was.
I loosen my grip but don’t let go, since I know she’ll just try to run away if I do. “Who did it?” I ask again.
“Nobody.” Her long hair falls across her face when she hangs her head. “I just fell.”
My ass. “You just fell?”
“That’s what I said. I fell.”
“Where did you fall?”
“I don’t even remember.” She’s breathing pretty fucking fast for somebody who doesn’t remember, and she sounds upset in a way even I can’t normally make her sound. Like she’s really, deeply afraid.
“Wherever you fell, they left fucking finger marks on you,” I mutter, dropping her arm. I’m insulted that she would bother lying, especially since it’s such a pathetic lie.
Somebody wrapped a hand around her arm tight enough to leave finger marks, and now she’s trying to get a dorm room.
Is somebody at home hurting her? As far as I know, she doesn’t have a dad in the picture—how could she?
No self-respecting man would stick around a woman like her whore of a mother, even if there was a baby involved.
Maybe especially if there was a baby involved, since that’s at least eighteen years of association.
It would take a man with a death wish to subject himself to that kind of torture.
What the hell is wrong with me? I should be glad somebody is out there when I can’t be, putting her in her place, making sure she remembers she’s nothing.
But damn it, I’m supposed to be the one doing that.
If somebody is going to leave marks on her, it’s going to be me.
I’m the one who lost my mother. It would’ve been bad enough if she’d just died, but that’s not what happened.
She would be alive now if it wasn’t for the fucking affair with that filthy bitch, who could never be even half the woman Mom was.
Just some wet hole for Dad to stick his dick into, that’s all.
He probably doesn’t even remember what she looks like.
But I do, just as clearly as I remember Mom. I won’t let her be forgotten. I won’t let her death end up meaning nothing.
If I have to remember my dead mother—and the reason she died—every goddamn time I set eyes on Wren. I’m going to make sure Wren pays for that. I’m not leaving her punishment up to some random asshole.
“Are you finished asking for details of my personal life that are none of your business?” Somehow, she still has the nerve to say shit like that to me.
She shakes her head and turns around. Only instead of going to the Liberal Arts building, she walks to the parking lot instead.
“Calling it an early day?” I ask. I’m parked a few spots away from her car, where a big, ugly patch of ruined paint running the entire driver’s side is a reminder of whoever spray painted it.
I should find out who did it. I would like to buy them a beer.
“I just want to go home, okay?” The problem is, she doesn’t look like she actually wants to go. Not with her head hanging the way it is. Not when she sounds so defeated.
“You know I could follow you, right?” I ask as she gets behind the wheel of the piece of shit that somehow still gets her around town. I can’t imagine how it does, but it got here. “I could also have this trash towed out of here. It’s a fucking insult, having to see a car this ugly sitting around.”
She slams the door, shaking her head, then jabs the key into the ignition.
And nothing happens when she turns it, beyond a flat clicking noise.
I can hear her in there even with the window closed. “No. Not today. Come on, baby…” She tries again, then again, but all she gets is the same clicking noise.
“Looks like you’re going to need a ride,” I call out, propping an elbow on the roof of the car and watching while she tries again and again. “You’re wasting your time.”
She didn’t lock the door, so I throw it open now and lean in until she has to lean away from me. “Let’s go. I’ll take you home if that’s where you need to go so bad.” I want to see where she lives—no, I need to. I need to see for myself.
“No. You don’t have to do that.” She’s holding onto the wheel with both hands like that’s going to help her. Like I couldn’t rip the fucking wheel off the column if I felt like it.
She yelps when I pull her out of the car—not that it’s hard to do, since she weighs practically nothing. “Stop! Why are you doing this?”
“Shut up,” I mutter in disgust, throwing her on my shoulder before kicking the car door shut. “You’ve wasted enough of my time today.” I must be feeling merciful because of those bruises. I can’t believe I let myself feel sorry for her even for a minute.
She tries to fight as I carry her to my truck, but it’s a waste of time. “Now. Here’s how it’s going to happen.” Once I have the passenger door open, I throw her inside. Right away, she makes like she’s going to kick me because she has obviously lost her mind.
With both hands, I slam her against the seat hard enough to make her yelp again. “Either you’re going to sit here and behave yourself, or I’m going to tie you the fuck up. And I’ll decide when you’re untied, got it? Which way is it going to be?”
I can see the wheels turning in her head. Weighing her options. She’s stupid enough to think she has any. “Fine,” she whispers. I could become addicted to the sound of her resignation.
“You’ll have to show me the way,” I tell her as we pull out of the parking lot. “I don’t spend a lot of time on the poor side of town.”
“Who said that’s where I live?”
The fact that she can ask me that makes me laugh. “I’ve seen your car. Your clothes. You can’t afford to live in the dorms.”
“Fine, whatever.” She’s chewing her lip when I look at her from the corner of my eye. “Turn right at the light, then left three blocks up.”
I knew it would be bad. I didn’t think it would be as bad as what we eventually pull up in front of.
If nobody told me people lived here, I would assume the apartment building was abandoned.
There are three boarded-up windows, weeds all over the place, overflowing garbage bags lining the front wall maybe a foot deep.
I can smell it from inside the truck even with the windows rolled up.
“This is it?” I’m having a hard time believing it. She’s trash, everyone knows that, but it looks like somebody bombed the place. Like it shouldn’t be legal for somebody to pay for the experience of living here.
And she must, since the second I’m in park, she jumps out of the truck and runs across the broken sidewalk. I watch in shock as she runs inside and disappears into the shadows.