Chapter Nine
Cade
T he headmistress is thin—too thin—with a form-fitting turtleneck and a sweater over top, seemingly trying to hide it. Her black hair is held in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, and it threatens to come loose as she shakes her head at me. She’s not old, mid-forties, but the last four years have seemed to age her.
Part of me is remorseful, but the other part—the stronger part—has me smirking like an asshole because I’m the cause of her rapid aging.
“One week. You made it one week.” She sighs and tightens her delicate fists over the desk.
I’m sitting across from her in a leather seat that might as well have my name on it with how much time I’ve spent in it, and I look away so I don’t risk feeling any more remorse. Yes, I made it one week. Which is one week longer than last year. And I could make it a whole fuck of a lot longer if people didn’t test me.
All Caleb had to do was complete our little bonding session in silence, but he couldn’t contain his malice. And I couldn’t contain mine. I practically gave myself whiplash the second he tugged my hood down. I spun in a one-eighty and didn’t hesitate as I slammed my fist into his jaw. There was a pop, and when he didn’t immediately retaliate, I realized I had dislocated his jaw. It hung abnormally loose.
I haven’t had someone tug my hood down since I was a sophomore, and back then, I would have had no choice but to just take it. But now? Now, I dare anyone to fuck with me. I guess I don’t know my own strength though, because dislocating his jaw was not my intent. He deserved it, but that doesn’t mean I’m proud of myself. I have a plan, one that requires patience, one better than a dislocated jaw.
“You should be expelled,” the headmistress laments. “Do you know how weak you make me look?”
Guilt passes through me like a ghost I can’t see because I know exactly how it looks. She’s in between a rock and a hard place. If I was expelled, there would be nowhere for me to go, and she knows it.
“You strut around here like you walk on water, Cade.”
The ghostly sensation dissipates quickly, and I scoff, a weak laugh in the back of my throat. I do not strut. I slink , like a shadow in a time-lapse. Strutting is what Caleb does, what Henry and Bentley do, and what Connor did . And I’m not like them at all.
She slaps the desk at my disrespect, but it doesn’t hold any weight, and I bet the action even hurt her fragile bones. I raise my brow at it.
“I’m at my wit’s end with you. Really, I am. What am I supposed to tell Caleb’s parents as to why you aren’t being punished?”
“Maybe tell them their son is a cock sucker who should’ve kept his hands to himself,” I say.
Her eyes flare, and I continue. “And maybe expel him for being a shit stain on society that prompted someone to have to defend them self. Did you even think of that?”
I could go on. I want to go on. But she’s already shaking her head, and I regret even getting started in the first place. I’m wasting my breath. She won’t understand until it’s too late. None of them will.
She purses her lips and examines my face with disdain for a moment, before her features soften, and I shift uncomfortably under her solemn gaze.
“You know, we had a deal, Cade, but maybe you need to go back to Briarcreek for a few months.”
All the hairs on the back of my neck stand up at the mention of Briarcreek Mental Institution. If Hillcrest is a prison, then Briarcreek is a hell where fire would only be an improvement.
“I’m eighteen.” I sit forward. “And the only way you are getting me back in there is by committing me. Are you going to commit me, headmistress?”
Her bottom lip falls at my address of her, but all pleasantries are out the window at her threat.
She regains herself quickly, and hugs her sweater tighter around herself.
“If I have to.” She gives me a hard stare that convinces me just might.
I stand up quickly, the chair falling back as I do, and I slam my hands on her desk, leaning forward so I can make sure she understands me.
“If you call Dr. Rutherford, if you even mention Briarcreek again, I will make sure every single person on this campus knows your dirty little secret. And if you do it anyway, if they take me, I won’t be coming back this time.”
My muscles shake with rage, and I’m grateful she knows to keep any response to herself. It takes all my patience to push off the desk, walk around the fallen chair, and get out of her office before I detonate too soon.
When I pull the door shut behind me, I don’t even get a second to breathe before my rage doubles. Sky is sitting in one of the chairs just across the hall and is covered in blood. Her eyes widen when they catch mine, but she quickly looks away, as if she just overheard my tirade. But that’s the least of my worries now.
“What the fuck happened?” I step across the hall and don’t hesitate to kneel in front of her. She’s clutching her elbow, and there are smears of red across the white shirt of her uniform. The blood seems to have dried between her fingers, and they make a cracking noise as she pulls away from me.
“I’m fine,” she snaps. “I’m just waiting on the nurse.”
I whip my head around to the infirmary door that is closed, with a little sign hanging from the knob that says with a patient , and I think I know who is being taken care of before Sky.
Caleb.
I growl and look back at the mess of blood. She’s not fine, but I should take her at her word and leave. I don’t need to fawn over this girl. I don’t need to be upset that she’s covered in blood. She’ll look a lot worse by the end of the year.
I put my arm under her legs and scoop her up.
“What are you doing?!” she hisses and wriggles.
I haven’t a fucking clue, so I ignore her and clamp her against my chest like a feral cat that needs to be subdued.
“Cade!” she manages to whisper and screech at the same time as she peers over my shoulder, but her arms wrap around me anyway, and with the confidence that she’s not going to jump from my arms, I raise to my full height. She stiffens in my hold.
Fuckkkk. I can do whatever I want with her now that I have her. Drop her, steal her, kiss her. She’s at whatever whim I possess, and the possibilities make my dick hard. It’s intoxicating to have her clutching onto me for dear life, her delicate form clinging to me like I’m a lifeline, like I’m something to her, as if I alone possess the power to condemn her or save her.
And in this moment, I do.
I begrudgingly use my boot to kick open one of the other patient rooms. I may be corrupt, but not with power. I set her down on the exam table and watch as she shimmies to tug down her skirt. It’s practically around her waist, and I catch a glimpse of black lace and soft inner thighs.
Maybe I should have run with her.
I drag a hand through my hair, resisting the urge to pull out the strands, and ask her again what happened, if not to just distract myself.
“I fell, but I’m fine. I just need to rinse off the blood,” she says, craning her elbow to get a better look.
In the light, I can see just how bad it is, and I grit my teeth. “You fell, huh?”
I used that excuse a couple of times. I’m more convinced someone pushed her, but I can’t figure out why. What would enigmatic Sky be bullied for? Unless being too pretty has put a target on her back. I wouldn’t put it past this place.
I grab her wrist in a vise grip before she can pull away, and stretch her arm out to examine the damage.
“Ow!” she cries.
“I thought you were fine?” I deadpan and look around for something to clean the wound with.
“I am!”
“Sure,” I say, and snag a bottle of peroxide. I flip the cap with my teeth, hard pressed to let her out of my hold, and squeeze the bottle onto her arm. It splashes and soaks the paper on the exam table, mixing with the blood and creating rivulets of pink.
“My skirt!” she complains.
“You want to take it off?” My eyes whip to hers in a dare.
Her lip falls open for a second, but then she narrows her eyes.
“That’s what I thought,” I say a little harshly, and set the bottle down to grab some gauze.
She huffs, but lets me clean up the astringent and blood. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Treating her wound is pointless when she’ll eventually succumb to a worse fate. It’s like mopping up water without fixing the leak. This is stupid, but I can’t help myself.
She watches me quietly, and I hold my breath while I slide the gauze up and down her skin, not missing a single drop. I’m aware of her soft breaths on the side of my face, and I try to hide behind my hair to avoid feeling her eyes on my skin. I feel exposed without my hood on, especially so close to someone.
When I finish, I grimace.
“You’re going to need stitches.” I finally let her go and step away to pull open a drawer and get some needed air. The needles are around her somewhere.
“You aren’t… You aren’t giving me stitches,” she says, but she doesn’t sound confident, and instead her voice is laced with fear.
“Just three,” I estimate. I had to give myself twelve while hunched over a youtube video. She can handle three.
I hear her shift on the paper, but she doesn’t make to leave.
“Cade,” she warns.
“Sky,” I sigh, and spot the sutures.
“Cade, I’m serious.”
“Me too.”
“You can’t just give me stitches.”
“Why not?” I turn around with a fresh needle.
Her eyes widen, and I smirk. She was so tough last night when I held a knife, but a little needle has her shrinking?
“Because you aren’t a doctor.”
I shrug. Doctors are just people who have a piece of paper. I gave myself stitches and I’m fine. Besides, I trust my own solid hands with her skin before I would trust Mrs. Cathway’s brittle and shaking ones.
I pull the little steel table closer, and peel open the needle.
“Do not come near me with that,” she says.
“It doesn’t even hurt,” I lie, a sick part of me excited to see her squirm under my pierce. She’s a thorn in my ass, and a dose of her own medicine seems like a fair punishment. And if she was really against it, she would run… right?
“Just be still.”
“I’ll scream.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“You’re sadistic.”
I flick my eyes up to hers. “You have no idea.”
I don’t know what she sees, but she instantly starts to hop down, and I have to put an arm out to stop her.