Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
OPHELIA
I keep my head lowered during morning break, staying close by the lockers while the crush of students flows around me, mind reeling from Damien. His behaviour keeps contradicting his words.
Despite all his growled promises of making me do ‘whatever he wants,’ this morning he was surprisingly malleable.
Almost like he cares.
“Fuck,” I mutter beneath my breath.
Today, he tore my blouse in pieces because I didn’t strip myself voluntarily for his pleasure. He confirmed he’s a sociopath, and that means he doesn’t experience emotions in the same way others do.
There’s no empathy. There’s no caring.
I need to stop viewing and reinterpreting his behaviour through a ‘normal person’ lens and focus on my own confusing reaction.
The morning after Craig, I had curled up in bed, unable to stop shivering, even thoughts of a cleansing shower not enough to make me budge. I’d known water wouldn’t wash me clean.
Today I got ready for school like it was any other day. At least until Damien’s intrusion.
“Maybe you’re getting used to assault.”
Except that isn’t the answer and nor is my coerced, ‘Yes.’ I shove my textbooks into the locker with more force than usual.
A second later, the hallway fills with another of Damien’s expensive colognes, this one rich with tanned leather. I fix in place as he walks behind me, swallowing hard when he doesn’t stop.
A few hours ago, he rubbed his cum into my chest and now he can’t even say good morning?
I slam the locker door and head in the opposite direction.
Near the end of the corridor, a girl behind me snaps, “Watch it!” followed by a splash. When I turn, crimson liquid is dripping harmlessly down the wall, more spilled on the floor, and Alyssa’s long ponytail swings indignantly as she stomps away.
Whatever just happened, looks like I had a lucky escape. It’s not the first time Chelsea’s minion has tossed something disgusting at me, but it’s the first miss.
My third period class is lit by the glow of my phone under the desk, desperate for distraction. By midday, I’m sick of everything and eat lunch in the old bike sheds again, tarpaulin slapping in the light breeze, the mildew strong enough my sandwich tastes of mould.
Footsteps crunch in the gravel outside and I tilt my head. Perhaps someone coming back here for a quick snog or a vape, but the heavy tread and muttered curse… Damien?
I’m on my feet, already backing away. One hand on the phone in my pocket.
A figure ducks inside, too broad and too tall.
My lips go numb as the stranger straightens, squinting into the dimness. He’s huge, the kind of bulk that comes from serious gym time, shoulders straining against his school blazer.
One of the rugby players, though I’ve never been close enough to any of them to tell them apart.
The boy freezes when he spots me.
“Shit. Sorry, I—” He scrubs a hand over his close-cropped hair, laughing awkwardly. “Didn’t think anyone was in here.” He retreats back through the tarp before I can say a word, and his footsteps cross the gravel at double the speed of his arrival.
Once it’s clear he’s not coming back, I take my seat, finishing lunch without another disturbance.
When the bell for fourth period goes, I make my way to music class, taking a seat at the back. The chair beside me scrapes on the lino tiles as Damien sits, thigh immediately pressing against mine. “Miss me?”
Did he see me flustered this morning? “Nah,” I say. “I’ve been hanging around with rugby players during the break.”
“Oh, really.” He sounds amused. “Which ones?”
“The big ones.”
“I’d better watch myself then.” His shoulder bumps mine. “The eye exam tomorrow will probably take a few hours. Better warn Bryan you won’t be home until six-thirty or seven.”
His fingers brush the inside of my wrist, quick, possessive.
Van der Valk clears his throat. “Phones off, everyone.”
He assigns us into pairs for a score analysis. As the classroom buzzes with discussion, Damien leans in. “Are you ready to earn that money now?”
I’m blank for a second, then grimace. This morning’s question about my mother. “She supports me. I’m here, aren’t I?”
He shakes his head. “Not good enough. You know what I mean.”
I focus on the sheet music, ignoring him, and he blows straight into my ear until I jerk away.
“Come on. I want to know more about the girl I’m fucking.” When my eyes stay averted, he walks his fingers up my forearm. “If you answer truthfully, I’ll not only give you the cash you want. I’ll give you a pass for this afternoon.”
An offer that’s more tempting than the cash alone, but I don’t want to hand him ammunition. “Have your lawyer ask the next time he’s getting her fraudulent signature.”
“Or should I just have him fly her here?” His tone shifts, a hint of menace. “What do you think? A little family reunion.”
With a sinking sensation, I realise he won’t give up. I’m best off accepting his deal before he makes good on his threat.
“She doesn’t want me.”
“Really?” He nudges my shoulder with his. “I can’t imagine anyone not wanting you. I’ve wanted you fifteen times just this lesson.”
I roll my eyes and turn back to the task, but he snatches my tablet, holding it beyond my reach.
“She’s a narcissist, okay? I cramp her style.”
I stretch out my palm, but Damien pulls back further, the iPad reflecting the strident classroom lights as he holds it above my head. “In what way?”
“Men stopped asking if we were sisters and started asking for my number, so the last time she went overseas, she left me behind.” My facial muscles tighten and I fight the reaction, smoothing away the hurt before Damien sees. “They have an agreement, but she never pays Bryan what she should.”
“She sounds awful.”
“Yeah.” My spine stiffens defensively. “And I guess your mother is Mary Poppins, then?”
“She’s dead.” The words are matter-of-fact. “Car crash. It caught fire and took hours before the fire crew could pull her out.”
“Oh, my god.” My fingers pinch the skin at the base of my throat, tugging, twisting. “I’m so sorry. What a terrible accident.”
“Accident?” He tilts his head, eyebrows knitting together as he studies me. “A few months before, she’d hired a divorce lawyer smart enough to overturn the prenup. Dad had her killed so he wouldn’t have to pay.”
There’s no air in my lungs. Around us, the class continues as normal—pens scratching, students softly talking—but I’m frozen in place.
Nothing about him betrays any horror. No trembling lip or haunted eyes. He recites the story with the detachment of a newsreader.
“I… I’m so sorry. I…”
“Don’t be.” Bored now. “She didn’t like me much, and the feeling was mutual.”
His words smack of bravado and with anyone else, I’d offer comfort, a hug, holding them while they wept. Nothing about Damien says he’s upset, but it’s his mother. He must feel something, even if it’s buried deep inside.
He’s still human.
My fingers wrap around his and squeeze. His skin is warm against my palm, his knuckles smooth, and I don’t let go for the rest of the lesson.
When the bell rings, we head to separate classes, and my English lesson passes in a blur. I can’t concentrate, the teacher’s voice fading beneath the echo looping in my head. Car crash. Dad had her killed.
The day ends and I’m still unsettled. Rather than catch the bus, sitting still for the forty-minute journey home, I walk along the cycle track, connecting with the path through the park.
Each step revitalises me, breathing fresh air deep into my lungs and exhaling the tangle of emotions his whispered confession awoke.
My muscles tense as I near the site of Chelsea and Alyssa’s last attack, and a rustle of clothing makes me turn. The path appears empty, but anyone could be standing in place behind me, fading into the blur.
Prickles run across the back of my neck.
Something moves in the corner of my eye.
I bolt for the Scout’s shed, ducking behind and around the corner, cheek pressed against the flaking paint. The unmistakable noise of poorly disguised footsteps follows me.
They’re heavy. Too deliberate for Chelsea’s predatory grace.
Fighting the tremble in my fingers, I extend my phone beyond the corner, filming blind for a few seconds, then playing it back.
A hulking figure fills the screen, his shoulder brushing the wall, tiptoeing towards me.
The rugby player from lunchtime.
Call Damien. He’ll help.
Sure. I nearly snort at the panicked idea. He’d help, and I’d pay the cost.
Closing my eyes, I inhale a deep breath. Phone in one hand, folded cane in the other, I jump out right in front of him.
“Why are you following me again?”
My voice comes out strong, demanding, and I’m gratified when he gives a strangled yelp and backpedals.
I swipe my phone screen. “I’m calling the police.”
“No!” He sounds petrified and lunges for my phone. He misses.
I hold out my folded cane like a truncheon, and back away, wishing I’d replaced the pepper spray. “Hel—”
His calloused hand clamps over my mouth, smelling of sweat and freshly cut grass. “Shh. Please. I’m not going to hurt you, just… You can’t—”
I drive my foot into his ankle and swing my folded cane into his midsection.
He doubles over with a guttural wheeze, his grip slackening enough for me to wrench free.
I skip out of range. “Help!”
“No, it’s…” Tears glisten in his eyes, and he gulps in a ragged breath.
I hold up my phone, showing him the screen ready with 111. “Tell me why you’re following me or I’ll dial the cops. I’m serious.”
“Please, I…”
My thumb hovers over the call symbol.
“Damien hired me, okay? I’m not… Jesus.” He collapses against the shed wall, cradling his abdomen. “What did you hit me with? Is there blood?”
“Hired you to do what? Steal my phone?”
“No. He hired me to make sure you’re safe.” A pained laugh escapes him as he straightens, hands braced on his hips. “Got that the wrong way around, didn’t he?”
“Safe from what?”
He gestures at a nearby bench and, at my nod, collapses onto it with a sigh. “From your bullies.”
I remain standing, muscles coiled. “Like a bodyguard?”
“Yeah, exactly like that, except you weren’t meant to know.” His palm rasps over his buzzcut. “I really fucked that, didn’t I?”
“Bumping into me twice in one day? Yeah, I think so.” Another memory stirs. “Did you stop Alyssa this morning?”
“Yeah.” He pulls down his mouth. “She had a balloon full of crimson paint or lube or something. Girls are fucking disgusting.” His lips twist in revulsion.
I take a seat, maintaining a careful distance. “Don’t they teach rugby players how to take a punch?”
“No, they teach us how to take a tackle because it’s not boxing, and there’s no way that was your fist.” His eyes flick to my cane, then he thrusts his hand towards me. “I’m Cam.”
“Ophelia,” I say, returning his shake. “When did he hire you?”
“Last Wednesday. He said you’re bullied a lot.”
An electric chill spreads across my skin. Damien organised this a full week ago. Days before he broke into my house, before I uttered a single word about Craig or accused him of being in league with Chelsea.
“I don’t have much standing here, but I’d really appreciate if you didn’t tell him, you rumbled me.” Cam gives a sheepish grin. “The money’s really good.”
“You’re on a sports scholarship?”
“Yeah.”
I shrug. “Then what Damien doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.”
He’s still grinning when I wave goodbye, and my pace on the walk home is slower than normal, needing the extra minutes to untangle everything in my mind.
Damien’s actions don’t align with the indifferent persona he projects, and that dissonance gives me pause, especially since my sympathy’s already engaged from the story of his mother. My palm tingles where I held his hand.
I wrap my arms around myself as the afternoon breeze whispers through my hair, but they’re not responsible for the strange warmth spreading across my shoulders.