20. Ophelia
OPHELIA
I’ve been deliberately trying to avoid both Malachi and Cain.
I can’t get the image of that room in the tower out of my head.
That dream I’d had about the Preachers, of being sandwiched between the two of them, while their friend stood by and watched, has been haunting me, too.
Every time I think of it, heat tingles between my thighs, my clit pulsing, and I find myself squeezing my legs together, a part of me willing the sensation away, while the other part wants to explore it further.
I’m battling the guilt as well. I can tell myself I’ve done nothing wrong, but the truth is that I kissed Malachi first. I initiated this.
I’d wanted to kiss him again, too, and I would have, if I hadn’t found that strange little room.
I’ve also still got his leather jacket in my closest, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to give it back.
Every so often, I open the closet door, lean in, and press my face against it, inhaling the scent of leather and his cologne.
Ever since kissing Malachi, then having that dream, it’s taken all my mental strength to fight off the voice of the man who took me.
He’s in my head so often now, telling me how I’ve sinned for kissing a man, and how I’ll burn for all of eternity.
I tell myself it’s not real and it’s not true, but that doesn’t stop the words from echoing over and over in my head.
I sit through the classes on my schedule, but I can barely follow along.
My parents hired a tutor for me when I came home, to try to bring me up to speed on where I should be with my education, but I’m still so far behind.
At the commune, we weren’t taught most of the subjects.
We were taught how to be faithful wives and mothers, how to make a home and mend clothes and cook a good meal.
Ironically, I discovered some of those options available on the curriculum for the girls here, too, though they’re disguised by other names—nutrition and wellness, and interior design.
It doesn’t escape my notice how only the girls are encouraged to take these classes, and it makes me wonder how different this world is from the one I escaped from.
My thoughts drift back there and to all the people I left behind.
I know my name won’t ever be mentioned there, not even in passing.
When others disappeared from the commune, there was a strict ban on ever mentioning them again.
It was as though they no longer existed.
Sometimes it was the men who went missing—husbands and fathers—and the missing men’s families were simply handed over to another man and forced to act as though their husband or father had never been in their lives.
It was a special kind of cruelty, but cruelty was the norm in that place.
My hand instinctively lifts to my scar, my fingers tracing its ridges and seams. Yes, they knew all about cruelty.
I’ve got an hour until my next class. I’m tempted to hide away in my room, but the weather is lovely, and my therapist said being outdoors, in the fresh air and sunlight, is good for my mental health.
I bump into Camile as I navigate the hallways.
“Hey, how did it go the other night?” she asks.
My cheeks flush with heat at the memory.
She arches an eyebrow. “That good, huh?”
I shake my head and stare at the floor. “I didn’t stay long.”
“No more kissing?” she teases.
I shake my head. “No more kissing. You were right. They are kind of freaky, and I’m here to learn how to be normal.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know… they might be a step too far, for sure. But I like you how you are, and anyway, normal seems kind of boring to me.”
“How can you say that?” I gesture at her perfect hair and clothes and makeup. “You’re as normal as they come.” Then I realize that sounds insulting. “In the best way, I mean. As in, you fit in.”
She gives a soft laugh. “No one is normal in this place, trust me.” She checks her watch. “Shoot, I’ve got to go. I’m going to be late to class. We’ll catch up soon, though, yeah? Coffee?”
I smile, relieved I didn’t put my foot in my mouth. “Coffee sounds good.”
Coffee sounds normal. A nice, normal thing to do with a girlfriend, that doesn’t involve candles and dried rabbits’ feet and strange men in masks.
Camile scurries away, and a deep, male voice comes from behind me.
“I can buy you coffee.”
I spin around to find the tall blond who’d warned me off in the cafeteria standing directly behind me. He has his head angled to one side, as though he’s assessing me, and his green eyes hold my gaze.
“I don’t want coffee from you.”
I go to walk away, but he reaches out and catches my arm.
“Hey!” I protest, trying to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go.
“I need to talk to you,” he insists.
“Let go of my arm, or I’ll scream.”
A hint of a smile touches his lips. I hate that he’s attractive, in a way that gives me a little shot of adrenaline every time I see him. He’s clearly a complete asshole, but my word, he’s a beautiful one. I have the crazy idea of running my tongue along the line of his square jaw.
“No, you won’t.” He smirks. “Because you’re trying so damned hard to go unnoticed.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” He arches an eyebrow. “Then what are you wearing?”
I glance down at my outfit—one of the ones my mom bought and packed for me. She’ll be thrilled that I’m finally wearing one. “Jeans and a t-shirt.”
“Where are your regular clothes?”
“These are my regular clothes.”
“We both know they’re not.”
He still has hold of my arm, and his gaze flicks over my face, resting on my lips before coming back to my eyes.
I hate how my face goes red whenever I’m under scrutiny, like I know it’s doing now.
I want to flap my hands over my warm cheeks, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.
He’s right when he says they’re not my regular clothes.
I hate the jeans, and the t-shirt feels way too tight and revealing.
I’d told myself that the other night, when I’d worn Camile’s dress, that it was the start of the new me.
It means leaving my old, handmade dresses behind, no matter how comfortable or attached I am to them.
“You should wear whatever you want,” he says. “Your dresses suit you. Fuck what anyone else thinks.”
Unexpected tears fill my eyes, but they’re not because he just swore, or that he’s still got hold of my arm. It’s as though he’s just given me permission to be myself, and I discover I’ve wanted to hear that more than anything else.
I’ve spent so many years being molded into the person other people want and expect me to be that I’ve lost sight of myself.
I was raised in the commune to one day become the wife of the Prophet, and, when I ran away and was brought home, my parents expected me to be the same girl who went missing that day in front of the ice cream store.
Now I’m here, at Verona Falls, and I see all the girls around me, confident in who they are, and I’m trying to take their images, too, to paste over the top of who I am.
“It’s Roman, right?” I manage to say, though I speak through a throat tight with repressed emotion.
He nods. “That’s right.”
“Okay. You can buy me a coffee. But on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“That we get to drink it outside.”
A genuine smile lifts his mouth this time, and his whole face changes, his green eyes lighting like sun through a leaf.
“That’s a condition I can deal with. Meet me near the old stable block in ten minutes. I’ll bring the coffee.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply but releases my arm and strolls off. I find myself watching him go, his easy gait, his shoulders rolled back. He’s someone who seems completely confident and comfortable in who he is, even though he’s also strange and freaky. He doesn’t need to try to fit in.
A flash of my dream comes back to me, how he’d been standing in the shadows, his hand on his cock as he watched me come. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, trying to dislodge the image. Even now, the dream still feels so weirdly real, it’s like it actually happened.
Am I making a mistake by meeting with him? We’re both here at the college, so it’s not as though I can avoid him forever.
I find the old stable block and stand there, my back rested against the wall, warmed by the sun.
I wait for him and wonder if perhaps he’s not going to show, but then he rounds the corner, two takeout cups of coffee in his hands.
It strikes me that it’s quiet here, and I could be in danger, but there are plenty of people around inside the college at this time of day who could be looking out of the windows on this side.
Roman would be foolhardy to try to hurt me here, if that’s what he wanted.
“Let’s walk,” he says, handing me one.
We move at a comfortable pace, side by side.
“I heard you and Malachi have gotten closer,” he says.
Oh, no. Is he going to snarl at me and warn me away again?
I shrug. “Not really. We met in the bar the other night, but I haven’t seen him since. It was no big deal.”
“Everything Malachi does is a big deal.” Roman rakes his hand through his jaw-length hair. “He doesn’t get into things lightly. None of us do.”
“Am I the thing you’re referring to?”
I’m trying to act nonchalant, but my heart is beating a mile a minute The heat of the coffee warms my hands, and I take a sip, hoping I don’t burn my tongue. It’s sweet and bitter, all at the same time.
“Since you arrived at Verona Falls, things have been different between us. There’s been a new…tension. We’re supposed to be focusing on more important things.”
I stop walking and narrow my eyes. “Is this where you warn me off again, only this time off of Malachi instead of Cain?”
He doesn’t answer my question but instead diverts the subject. “Cain says you were missing for a number of years. What happened to you while you were gone?”
“I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”