Chapter 2
BIANCA
I was sick to my stomach the rest of that day, finishing up my classes. It should have been because Angela insisted we were in trouble as we sat at the commons area outside my English lit course with Cora wringing her hands together.
But it wasn’t.
And when the dean called me to his office to be interrogated about the incident, there wasn’t even a sheen of sweat across my brow.
I wasn’t sick about the prospect of repercussions at this university at all.
Instead, I texted Bane because the only thing that made my gut swirl in my stomach was knowing he was able to walk away so casually from me. He’d had his hand up my skirt, and I could still feel it, still long for it, still want it.
Me: The dean is about to ask me for a statement. What should I say?
Bane: Tell him to keep his eyes above your neckline when you go in there.
Me: Bane… I’m serious. What’s the story?
Bane: It won’t matter what you tell him if he looks down your shirt again, Bianca. I’ll remove his eyes from his fucking sockets.
I crossed my legs and bit my lip as I stared at that text, not sure what to respond when my physical reaction was so twisted. His violence felt like a burst of truth and raw passion when Bane was otherwise so damn strategic in everything he did.
It made me feel special in some sort of ridiculous way.
Bane: Stop biting your lip and sit up straight. Or do you want to tempt the man into blindness? It turn you on?
I snapped my back up straight and pouted out my bottom lip immediately as I glanced around.
Me: A man who’s tempted by his students should be blind anyway.
Me: If you’re watching me, you should just come talk to the dean yourself.
He didn’t respond for a minute or so and I growled in frustration before slouching back down and then lowering the cut of my shirt. Screw him if he thought he was going to act like a damn stalker and tell me what to do. I’d get out of this meeting myself.
And just a moment later, the dean called me into the room. His eyes dropped to my chest within seconds of sitting down.
Perv. And then in a monotone, never looking me in the eye once, he asked what happened with Vinny. “Bane didn’t do anything wrong other than defend me,” I told the old man.
Of course the dean knew nothing could be done to Bane. Still, he went through the procedures of telling me, “Bianca, you’re a smart girl. You grew up around them. You know Bane can’t control himself.”
“Actually he can. He’s very good about that.”
“So his actions were intentional?” The old man stood and rubbed his large belly as he looked down at me through his glasses. “He has compulsions, fits of rage, and shows signs of alexithymia. Not to mention the OCD tendencies with the last incident.”
“His medical record should be confidential—”
The dean walked around his desk so that his gut brushed my arm as he said, “It’s basically confidential between the two of us, isn’t it?” His smile was too white, the veneers too big for his mouth.
Just as I was about to answer, though, the office door swung open. And in it stood the topic of our conversation.
Bane’s eyes were full of hate, and the dean stumbled back, stuttering out, “Mr. Black, you … We … the university would like us to have a conversation about—”
Bane cut him off. “You look nervous, Dean. Is there a reason why?”
“Of course not,” the man answered quickly.
Bane hummed, and the vibration wormed its way around the room and then settled deep in my bones. “Bianca, my brother called you an SUV so you can take the rest of the day off after witnessing Vinny pass out like that.”
“Oh?” I stood quickly as the dean grumbled under his breath that he didn’t pass out, but I was willing to corroborate any story to get out of here.
“Well, that makes sense. I’ve been feeling lightheaded myself.
My blood sugar might be off.” It was a legitimate excuse.
I had fainted a time or two before not that it was a big deal.
I hurried past Bane, but he grabbed my elbow before I could leave and leaned in to say, “Make sure you eat something, Bianca, especially if you’re feeling lightheaded.”
I barely registered the words with his skin on my arm, with how I felt the callouses of his fingers, with how they instantly reminded me of what he could do with them.
I tried not to think about my encounter with Bane the rest of the day, but my phone buzzed with a message that afternoon and my heart leapt, seeing it was a text from Ezra. Had Bane told them? Was that his goal in all this?
Ezra: Well, not sure whether or not Vinny is going to make it to your birthday, Bianca. He got carried out on a stretcher.
I breathed a sigh of relief. At least for now he wasn’t telling them that I had some uncontrollable crush on him, and I’d been willing to whore myself out just to satiate it.
Bane: Good. I hope he’s dead.
The fact that he still had no remorse for Vinny or for what he did in the locker room with me after had me shooting off the next text message fast.
Me: Have you no shame? If he’s dead, you’ll be expelled and go to jail.
I worried about that more than Vinny’s life. See? That proved I had a problem. I was probably worse than all the Blacks combined.
Bane: Jail can’t hold a Black and you know it.
Nope. Bane was worse than me. His ego was out of control.
Me: Your actions are unacceptable. Truly. You disappeared for a month and then you come back to raise hell because a guy was leaning over me.
Bane: Worried about where I am?
Me: Not like you worry about where I am.
Bane: Bianca, I don’t care about you. My family’s reputation is on the line because you step OUT of line all the damn time. You and that guy were disrespecting our name.
Rafe: I’m fine with men flirting with her, Bane. Play all you want until we’re married, Bianca. I know I do.
Ezra: I’m ready to play at your birthday with that friend of yours, Cora. Invite her next week for me, Bianca.
I hearted Ezra’s message, but Bane and I were quiet after that. Rafe bringing up the marriage was enough to extinguish the anger from my chest and bring dread instead. But Bane’s words cut me deeper.
He didn’t care. What had happened between us wasn’t a secret love affair. It was a lesson on how to act. It was a lesson I wanted to forget.
And yet when I got back to my room that night, I found a small black box in the middle of my bed.
And when I opened it, one lone eyeball, bloodied and with the same color irises as the dean, stared back at me.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t even throw it.
Instead, my hands shook as I closed the lid, carried it to my vanity, found a sticky note, and wrote:
Take this away.
I glanced around the room, looking for other signs of him, and sighed before I went to my bathroom and took a shower.
When I came back out, the box was gone.
And in it’s place a sticky note with a response:
He won’t look down your shirt again.
I should have been completely and utterly frightened for my life.
He’d broken into my room. He’d mutilated a man for looking at me wrong.
And yet, even still, before I went to bed that night, I touched myself roughly, the way Bane had.
I imagined Bane between my legs even though it was wrong and sick when I had to marry his brother.
And then I wrote in my diary how much I hated him, hoping I could erase what I really felt instead.