CHAPTER FIFTY
Ella
J ory, my student for the rest of the school year, throws his usual tantrum when he has to wait his turn to pick his paint.
It’s tough for any five-year-old to learn this kind of patience. For Jory, though, it’s downright excruciating. I feel for the little guy. We sing songs while the six other students in Melissa’s developmental learning class debate over which color they want today.
She also only lets them have one color to teach decision skills.
That and to figure out who’s guilty if a kid ends up with a different color smeared on their face or tangled in their hair.
Thoughts of Balor and the things he does to my face and hair with his cum heat my core. But I push that away to stay present with Jory.
I particularly loved dancing with little Lia on Saturday afternoon. I stayed the whole class and told Katya I’d like to help out again. Balor’s sister-in-law is the sweet, gentle music that tames her beast of a husband.
Spending time with her, I see a future where she’s my sister-in-law, too, and it feels solid and right. As an only child, I always longed for a big family. But I also knew kids who grew up in mega-sized families and hated it. They would have preferred to have their parent’s attention all to themselves.
Grass is always greener, I suppose.
Little Lia from the dance studio comes to mind, and with a few minutes left during the lunch break, Jory and the others go off with the lunch aides. I head into the admissions department to speak to a counselor. Fredricks Elementary offers several spots a semester to eligible students for free. I don’t want to insult Lia’s mom, but Jory will be moving up to another grade next year, and I would love to work with Lia.
Sure enough, two spots are open, and the counselor holds one for me. I’d worked here for three years while getting my special ed certification. I’m so grateful they didn’t hold it against me for quitting after the Wesley debacle.
My phone rings before I leave the office, and with no kids in my charge at the moment, I reach for it.
But as I leave the office, I slam right into someone.
Even before I look at his face, I tremble in fear.
“Hello, Ella,” Wesley says my name roughly, and the emptiness in his eyes reminds me of the monster he tries to hide. “Still clumsy I see.”
I shiver at the reference, an excuse I’m sure he mentioned when someone caught sight of my bruises.
My phone is still ringing, and I glance at it.
Balor
One click to answer. One word from my mouth: Wesley and this man dies.
Power is...intoxicating.
“I’m talking to you.” His loud voice turns heads.
Those eyes search the office secretaries watching us and he cracks a smile.
“Did you get your clothes? I figured you’d want them.” He’s all menace and delusion.
“You figured I’d want clothes I wore while you...”
His jaw ticks. “Care to finish that? We had our troubles.”
“Trouble?” I laugh nervously.
“Yeah. You. You were trouble. For me .” He bares his teeth like a wolf.
“Then let me and my troubled ass get out of your way.” I back up and skirt around him .
Until he grabs my arm, stopping me.
I stare at the ugly, violent hand holding my arm.
You’re a dead man for touching me. I belong to Balor O’Rourke, I think with satisfaction, even though I’m shaking.
“It’s good to see you again,” Wes says, his gaze holding mine.
“I’m late for class.” I yank my arm from him and walk away, hearing that sickening sentiment in my head over and over.