Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DAMIEN
I’m waiting outside when Chelsea’s English class pours into the corridor, students chatter turned lively now the final Friday bell has gone. Her face brightens for a split second, then darkens into a scowl.
“Come with me,” I say, seizing her arm when she tries walking past me. “I need a word about your plans for the senior dance.”
“Why?” She wrenches herself free and stops a few feet short of the exit door. “Unless you’ve changed your mind, we don’t have anything left to say.”
“No.” I keep my eyes steady on hers. “I haven’t changed my mind. But I heard a rumour about Basil that—”
Chelsea turns on her heel, heading in the opposite direction, and I grab her around the waist, manhandling her along the corridor and out the exit door.
She struggles, even after I stop beside concrete steps, my palm pinning her shoulder against the wall.
“Get off me.” She lashes out, her fist catching my ear hard. Before she can swing again, I grab both wrists and push them against the rough bricks.
Her teeth snap at me, the muscles in her neck pulled tight.
“Calm down.”
Instead, she shrieks and I cover her mouth with my hand.
Students are milling, the weight of their stares is on my back, but I don’t turn, don’t bother to confirm. Let the gossips have their field day.
Her teeth try to gain purchase against my palm, but I adjust position so she can’t get leverage.
I stare into Chelsea’s widening eyes and let my features settle into something flat and empty. The same face Ophelia embraces while everyone else runs screaming. “You’ve been planning a prank for the dance.”
She shakes her head, movement against my hand more than a visual. I inhale the musk of her perfume, tainted with ash from the cigarettes stubbed out against the wall. Everything grey. Everything flat under the shadows.
Her struggles are already weakening. I adjust my hold, feeling the suction as she breathes in through her nose.
“Why are you so fixated on her?”
I drop both hands, stepping away but poised ready for another scream.
At first, I think she won’t answer—she has no incentive to—then she gives a little shake. “I told you.” Chelsea folds her arms, pouting. “She fucked my boyfriend.”
“He drugged her.”
She snorts, shaking her head like I’m a fool.
My voice grows harder. “If you hadn’t gone in the room, he would’ve raped her.”
“Well maybe that’s what she deserved for stealing my soul mate!”
Her lip curls and I can barely look at her, struggling with my temper.
“But of course, you’d take her side,” she scoffs. “That’s the real reason you didn’t want to continue our relationship, isn’t it? Because she poisoned you against me with her lies. Same as she always does.”
I’m stunned by her strange leaps of logic. Enough that I’m not watching her carefully.
There’s a burst of movement, and I grab her wrist again, slamming it against the rough brick wall. A weapon clatters on the hard ground.
I kick it away from her, then grab it.
“A knife?” I shake my head in disbelief, then jam the switchblade against the wall until the blade retracts, tucking it into my pocket.
Like father, like daughter.
I tug down my polo neck and her nostrils flare at my bruises. My forefinger jabs against the healing wound her dad gave me. “You see this?”
She nods, pout growing more pronounced with every second.
“This is a gift from your father.”
Chelsea shakes her head again but doubt flashes in her eyes.
“The night I took you home from Dad’s party, Vincent pulled a knife on me.
Said he’d kill me if I hurt ‘his little girl.’” My mimicry of his phrase drips with sarcasm.
“If you have trouble getting laid, it’s nothing to do with Ophelia.
Your darling daddy’s the one reverse cockblocking you.
Every date you bring near him is probably terrified, including Craig. ”
I pull out her knife, tapping it against her forehead. “I’m keeping this. Come near Ophelia at the dance, and I’ll bury it in your skull.”
I push away from the wall, vigilant for sudden movement until I reach my car. When I’m in the driver’s seat, I grip the wheel, fishing the knife from my pocket and pressing the button.
Its blade gleams, refracting the glow of late afternoon sunlight into jagged shards. I rehouse it, sliding its cold lethality into the glovebox.
Ready for tomorrow night.