Chapter 26
Mila
"Are you listening to me?" Mr. Binksy, the school principal, persists. His voice echoes through the posh, oak-paneled office, the polished mahogany desk, the gold-framed accolades, and the pristine Persian rug.
No, Mr. Binksy, I'm not. I'm thinking about the news that has spread all over campus. I'm considering what the students who found Mr. Leblanc must be dealing with right now. I'm also wondering why you are not questioning me to see if I might know who murdered my dance instructor and left his body in the studio.
I don't want to believe Dash is capable of this, but deep down, I know the truth.
Is that why he indulged me in the shower?
He did mention that, eventually, I'd never allow his hands to touch me because they would be so bloody.
After Dash left me in the shower alone and still a virgin. I fled from his dorm without taking a second glance at him. I was furious he didn ’ t sleep with me, ashamed that I begged him to. I was a complete mess after that round of mind fuckery.
When I was safe inside my dorm room trying to glue myself together again, was that when Dash did it?
A part of me feels a sickening need to stand from the chair and run to find Dash. I want to make sure he is okay. I know it is wrong. You shouldn't be asking the killer if he's okay but rather the victim.
"I want you to be assured that you will have a new dance instructor by the end of the week. We're looking for top applicants to fill the job. This won't affect any of your planned performances or your future in dance. I ’ ve already informed your father about this," Mr. Binksy says, his tone mechanical.
"Did my father ask who did it?"
"Excuse me?" Mr. Binksy looks up from his paperwork for the first time. The whole manner in which I am brought to the office and told the news is utterly insensitive. Mr. Leblanc wasn ’ t a good man, but his murder is being treated as if it is nothing more than short-lived morning gossip.
"Did my father ask who murdered Mr. Leblanc?" I repeat, my voice louder, more demanding.
Mr. Binksy levels me with a calculating look. "Why don't you leave those details to myself and the parents?"
"And not the authorities?" I snort a wicked laugh.
"You know who you are, Mila." Mr. Binksy grunts, his patience wearing thin.
I stand, unable to withstand him any longer. "Unfortunately," I reply with a nod of my head, leaving his office without being dismissed.
I first search for Dash in his dorm, but he isn't there. When I walk into the cafeteria, I see him, Dante, and Cillian sitting up on their slightly elevated table like three kings, trying to ignore the clamoring gossip of the peasants below them. My shoulders sink, and I am half-tempted to run. Whatever the three of them are discussing quickly dies once I join them.
“ Was it you?” I state, keeping my eyes firmly on the table. I don ’ t know why I can ’ t look at them. Maybe it is because when they admit their guilt, they will no longer be the victims of their fathers ’ making, but rather mirrors that resemble them.
"It wasn't us," Dante calmly states in his thick Italian accent.
I narrow my eyes at him, but I am only met with a casual shoulder shrug as he continues to eat his breakfast.
"I know it was you," I spit towards Dash.
"Then why waste time asking if you already seem to know the verdict?" He replies with a hint of hurt and fury.
"It was you." I ball my fist.
"Another statement," he glances at me, his blonde hair reflecting the light like a mountain of ice I'm unable to penetrate or climb. "Without any facts to back it up."
"Was it you?" I demand. "Stop the games and tell me the truth."
His eyes look down at my lips, as if annoyed or perhaps disappointed in my accusation. "No."
"You," I hesitate, "you had the motive to kill him."
He turns slowly, squaring his wide shoulders as if they were nails pinning me to a cross. "So. Did. You," he hisses each word like a blade being sharpened against a slick stone.
"I... I didn't kill him."
Cillian snorts, "Clearly."
I swallow, "If it wasn't any of you, then who killed him?"
"Does it matter?" Dante replies.
"Yes."
"Why?" He challenges me. "Why does the death of a monster who hurt you matter, Mila?"
I glance at Dash for support, but he remains silent. I close my eyes. "Do you know who it was?" I ask more humbly. I can't handle the mind games this morning.
"No," Dash states as he grabs his fork. "And Dante is right. Stop worrying about it. Your hands are clean and," he looks at his, "so are mine for now." He quickly looks at me with a longing I can ’ t ignore.
"Can I speak to you alone?" I whisper.
"I'm busy." He grunts with a coldness that shatters my ego. It was just hours ago that I was begging him to have sex with me, but now he can barely look at me.
I nod, feeling my throat thicken. I grab my backpack, reaching for the sketchbook. I toss it onto Dash's breakfast with a loud thump, his eggs splatter across the table like pieces of my broken mental state; I lean closer to his ear so only he can hear. "You wanted a piece of my soul, Dash King." I grind out his last name. His spine stiffens. "Here it is. Savor it because one day it will be like searching for fog on a hot and humid day." I stand, meeting his stony blue eyes.
I turn with a victor's grin. Good, he knows I can play mind games too.