Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
OPHELIA
Early morning light stabs through gaps in the curtains when my Saturday alarm shrieks me awake. The iPad lies under my pillow, but the alarm rings itself out while fatigue pins my arm in place.
Seconds bleed into minutes while I stare at nothing. My abdomen throbs, deep pulses announcing my period arrived overnight, but I don’t reach for the Panadol in my drawer. I deserve the pain.
It’s only my fear of Bryan’s hovering concern that drives me into the shower. He’s scheduled for overtime this weekend and the thought of him worried, staying home with his concerned eyes following my every move? Just… no.
Hot water rains down as I lean one-handed against the tile wall, steam enveloping me. Even the most intimate parts of my body are wrong today, already tender when I insert my menstrual cup. Drops of crimson swirl around my feet and down the drain.
“Ophelia?” Bryan’s voice carries through the bathroom door. “Your pills, hon.”
My pills.
End it.
I let the thought sit, wallowing in its relief, then blink it away.
Not yet.
The bottle’s my escape, my only guaranteed control, and I want to get the timing right. But just knowing I could fuels me through the tedium of breakfast and out the other side.
Once Bryan’s car engine fades into silence I trudge upstairs, unlock the bottom drawer, and feel behind the fake panel for the bottle.
Nothing but empty space.
My fingers scrabble, but all I feel is smooth wood.
I yank out the whole drawer, upending its contents, and I’m on the floor, knees scraping on carpet, pushing the mess of socks and pantyhose wider. Breath coming in short bursts. No bottle. No pills.
Then my hand brushes over a folded corner.
A sticky note.
It takes three tries before my numb fingers open the message. Meet me in the admin office first thing Monday if you want them back.
For a heartbeat, my mind refuses to process the words, and I crumple the note in my fist, then flatten it, rereading each line. No signature but there’s only one person it could be.
Rage courses through my body. Damien’s been in my room.
Not only been in my room but he’s touched my things and searched through my private drawers, even getting past the lock. Pressure builds in my head, and my hands tighten into fists, fingernails digging into my palms.
How fucking dare he?
I jump to my feet, pacing the floor, my inertia replaced with manic energy. Damien will use this new knowledge against me, probably for something sexual, that’s been his angle so far. I need options to defend myself.
A dull blade stabs my abdomen, and I press my hand there, frowning. My period should buy me time. A few days… and then?
But I can worry about then later. Right now, I just need a plan that gets me through Monday.
My thoughts keep churning until my jaw hardens. Damien can deny his relationship with Chelsea all he likes, gossip insists they’re still an item. According to the latest, she’s plugged him into her network, providing everything from essays to MDMA.
Although she might look tough, the thing with Craig wormed under her skin, showing me her ego’s fragile. If Damien pushes me into his ‘sex as payment’ scheme, I could video something. Send her evidence.
Seeing the truth will put her into a tailspin.
I grab my phone. The side button’s still set for one-touch recording, a trick that worked once and can again.
A plan. Not perfect, but doable.
And this violation is a wakeup call. I’ve let myself romanticise Damien’s antisocial nature and get drawn into his cat-and-mouse game. Once the fallout from Monday’s confrontation settles, I’ll steer clear of him.
If it isn’t already too late.
Damien waits on a chair outside the counsellor’s office when I arrive on Monday morning. My body is a tight fist of fury and trepidation, and I drop stiffly into the next seat along, engulfed in yet another of his expensive colognes. This scent is like an old forest, moss entangled with pine.
“Pleased to see you got my message.”
It’s the same teasing tone he always uses, and today it scrapes my nerves raw. “From when you broke into my house and stole my personal possessions? Yeah, I got it.”
I fold my arms, trying to hold onto my anger so I won’t be left with the anxiety crawling underneath.
The fear he’ll tell someone and I’ll be forced onto more medication. The slow drudge of it in my veins, weighing down my thoughts. Increasing the vividness of my nightmares.
“House breaking? Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He bends his fingers in a ‘hand it over’ gesture, then frisks me and grabs out my phone when I don’t respond, holding it to my face so it unlocks.
Clicking his tongue, he stops the recording. “You’re growing predictable, Snowflake. I’m a little disappointed.”
He clicks into a few apps, probably deleting the cloud version, then pockets my device, and I clasp my hands together, so I won’t lunge for it. I’d just lose.
“What’re we doing here?” I wave at the counsellor’s door.
“Let’s just say, I’m concerned what you might be planning.”
He jiggles his inside pocket, and my pills rattle in their bottle.
My stomach drops, joining the aching cramps pulsing in my abdomen. “If you say anything, I’ll just claim they’re not mine. You’re the one with meds you shouldn’t have in your jacket.”
“A good plan if the school overlooks your old prescription label.” He sounds so amused, I want to smack him. “I even printed out the AI summary in case the guy’s a boomer. Says here,” I hear the rustle as he unfolds a printed page, “they’re Citalo—”
I snatch the page, scrunching it into a tight ball. “It’s just…”
My words falter. No idea of what lie will get me out of this one.
“Yes…?”
“They make me sick, so I…” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “So, I don’t take them.”
“Mm. That’s what I first thought, but then, why save them? Why not just rinse them straight down the sink?”
I don’t have an answer except for the truth. I keep quiet.
“My second thought was dealing. Selling them to needy teens. Practically a public service if you think about it, except they’re awfully sticky. Not sure even a desperate teen would go for that.”
“And what are you going to tell the counsellor then? That you stole them from a locked drawer while trespassing in my house?”
“I’ll tell him nothing if you agree to my kind offer.” He pulls at the collar of my blouse, straightening it, then smoothing the edges so they lie flat. “Plus, a little extra for my trouble, something in line with your plan. Call it a new kink.”
“What extra?”
He doesn’t have time to answer before the door behind us opens, and the counsellor steps out, frowning at the two of us. “Damien?”
“Mr Aleffo.”
Damien stands and shakes the man’s hand while my mouth slackens. I thought the seating arrangement was a threat, not that he’d actually booked an appointment.
“And this is my girlfriend, Ophelia. I hope you don’t mind giving us a couples session. Sorry about the short notice.”
I bolt upright. My feet point towards the exit but my head swivels, watching Damien walk into the office.
“I’m always happy to make time for students who need me,” Aleffo calls after him, then stands back and waves me through the door.
All weekend, I prepared for a private confrontation, expecting our usual tussle. If I go in there, it’s just playing into his hands, and Aleffo is trained. He might see straight through my act.
I call Damien’s bluff and slam through the outer doors, pausing on the top step. Heads turn as curious students pass by and I wrap my arms tightly across my chest, feeling exposed.
Will he really tell him? Were all the months I spent hoarding pills for nothing?
I close my eyes and I’m back in the hospital bed, the bitter taste of failure coating my tongue.
Then home, Bryan’s gaze growing heavier by the hour.
Sitting in class with every giggle, every whispered conversation making my back prickle.
Sleep offering no relief, phantom hands touching me while I lie paralysed.
Nausea swells, and I grip hold of the iron railing, opening my eyes.
I can’t go back to that.
I can’t.
Damien saunters through the double doors a minute later, radiating smugness as he joins me on the concrete steps, sitting and tugging my arm until I sit too. “You didn’t want a conversation with our helpful therapist?”
“Did you tell him?” My voice sounds ragged.
He frowns, then bumps his shoe against mine. “I can. Depends on whether you’re accepting my proposal.”
“Of course I’m not accepting it.”
“Pity.” He gives a long sigh. “Maybe I will have to inform the school about your intentions, then.”
My lips are numb. “If you say anything, I’ll go to the police and tell them you broke into my house. I’ll play the recording of you threatening me.”
He clicks his tongue. “Bit harsh, but you’ll need this.” He passes back my phone. I’d forgotten he had it. “Unfortunately for you, I deleted that recording already.”
“I have backups.”
“Yeah?” His voice is soft. “I really don’t think you do. But I suppose I’ll find out, won’t I?” There’s a rustle, then he pushes some papers into my lap. “Either way, you should probably read through these before you make a final decision.”
There’s no way my eyes will focus enough to read. I shove them back at him with trembling hands. “What are they?”
“A petition my dad’s lawyer drew up, asking the court to hand your care over to a welfare guardian.”
The term’s unfamiliar, but I can guess. A conservatorship by another name.
“You can’t do that.”
“Unfortunately, there’s a rather large gap between shouldn’t and can’t, and I think it’ll be fairly easy to prove you’re a danger to yourself.”
“No court’s going to hand my care over to a total stranger.”
“Of course they won’t. But your mother…?” He flashes his phone screen at me, nothing but a white blur. “Priscilla Boehm. That’s her, right?”
The world lurches. I can’t catch my breath. “How d’you know my mother?”
“Used to hang in the same circles as my father, apparently. And I know what you’re thinking”—he chuckles—“him being your dad too would be dramatic irony at its finest. But honestly? Even back then she was far older than his usual age range. We’re safe on that score.”
Dots swirl in my vision. “Good luck getting her to submit any paperwork.”
He rolls the papers into a tube and taps my head. “Luckily, she doesn’t need to. All we needed was her signature and we’ve got that.”
Each heartbeat is a punch. The edges of my vision darken. “You told her—”
“I didn’t tell her a thing. Our lawyer said it was a dividend release.” He bends nearer my ear, whispering, “And I won’t tell her… if you agree.”
This time, his smugness doesn’t bother me. It’s earned. I’m appalled at my naivety, thinking a recording would make this entire disaster go away.
Even if I get around his current plan, Damien has inexhaustible resources. He’s probably got a dozen others. Each more diabolical than the last.
“What was the other thing?” My voice barely audible.
His fingers brush my face, almost tender. “It’s almost time for class. Let’s leave it there for the time being. You know where the car wash café is?”
The service is a few minutes’ walk from school, on a busy corner. “Yeah.”
“Good. Meet me there after school, and Ophelia?”
“What?”
His thumb rasps over my cheekbone, then he releases me. “Don’t be late.”