Chapter 25 #6
The drumming stops. His face doesn’t change. I know he sees right through me, and I know I’ll have to tell the truth sooner or later. But can you blame me for wanting to drag it on for a little longer until the inevitable happens?
His chair scrapes against the floor, and he stands.
“Liar.”
The word is soft, almost gentle. It would have been better if he shouted. At least then, it would be over.
He walks around the table, his footsteps measured and unhurried. My body locks up, my spine rigid, my hands clenched so tight my nails cut into my palms. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I don’t dare.
He stops behind me, his presence alone pressing down on me, and my throat closes. I feel his hand before it touches me, hovering just above my shoulder, before his fingers curl around the back of my neck, his grip firm enough to make my eye twitch.
I freeze, my blood turning to ice.
He squeezes, his fingers pressing into the delicate bones, sending pain shooting down my spine. I bite my lip, hard enough to taste blood, and stay silent. If I make a sound, it’ll be worse.
Crying never changed anything—it only made them angrier.
His grip tightens, fingers curling around the base of my skull, his thumb pressing into the hollow just beneath it. I can feel the bones in my neck shifting, grinding together.
His voice is a whisper, calm, steady, and cruel. “You embarrass me.”
I am stone. I am air. I am nothing.
His fingers stay for a moment longer, digging in, testing the fragility of my bones, the weakness of my body, and I feel the pulse of his heartbeat in his thumb.
Then, without warning, he lets go. His hand falls away, leaving a cold void where his touch had been. I sway, my head light, my balance teetering. I catch myself before I fall though, my fingers digging into my thighs beneath the table, nails biting through fabric and into flesh.
He steps back, his shadow peeling away from me, and I know he’s not done. He sits back down, lowering himself into his chair as if nothing has happened.
“Eat.” He gestures, picking up his own fork, but still staring at me with the same intensity as before.
My hands move on instinct, my fingers stiff, shaking. I reach for the fork, and the metal is cold and heavy against my skin.
But it slips, clattering against the plate.
I freeze, my breath catching, my body seizing up. His fingers stop tapping. He stops eating.
His eyes narrow, his mouth twitching, and the corner pulls up just slightly, just enough to show his teeth. But he says nothing. He waits. He watches.
I grip the fork tighter, my knuckles whitening, the metal biting into my palm. I take a bite, the food cold and tasteless, but I force myself to chew. Force it so much my jaw aches with the effort.
I swallow, the food scraping down my throat, my stomach twisting, rebelling. But I don’t let myself gag. I don’t let myself hesitate. I take another bite, then another, my hand moving obediently.
And he watches, watches like I’m some kind of pet to him. I may as well be, the way he treats me. In fact, he’d probably treat a dog better.
He’s waiting for me to make a mistake, I realize. But too bad, I won’t.
The number of times I’ve been in this situation, it’d be pretty pathetic if I kept making the same mistakes.
From the corner of my eye, I see Annie—her face blank, her eyes hollow. She watches, but she never sees.
She never stops him.
All these years she’d chosen to remain silent, complicit. A coward.
It’s a special kind of hurt, a unique brand of betrayal, to look at the woman who brought you into this world and see her turn her back when you need her the most.
At least with them, I know where I stand.
Their violence is upfront, in my face. I’ve gotten used to it.
Accepted it. Because they, at least, have an honesty to their cruelty.
Annie’s betrayal is a silent ache that eats me from the inside out.
It’s a poison that seeps into my bones, a darkness that stains.
Annie was my first betrayal. Before Nikolai, before Pete. My mother was my first heartbreak.
That’s the thing about betrayal; it never comes from our enemies. Only those you let in close enough to touch your heart can break it.
Kai
I slide into the seat at our usual lunch table, and unsurprisingly, everyone is already here.
“I swear that thing is a spawn straight from hell,” Liam exclaims, throwing his hands up.
Christian smirks, his gaze shifting to me. “Like owner, like ferret.”
I roll my eyes. “Liam and I are sharing it, technically. It’s not just mine.”
Christian snorts, shaking his head.
“How did your sister react when she noticed her favourite pet was missing?” I ask, already sensing the disaster that most likely unfolded.
Because Ava—God bless her delusion—has convinced herself that the ferret belongs to her. As if it wasn’t gifted to me.
As if she didn’t just swoop in one day and cradle the damn thing like it was her firstborn.
Liam makes a “yikes” face that tells me everything I need to know. “I’m lucky to still be here,” he mutters, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair.
“I can’t believe you left poor Percy in your locker for almost the entire school day and brought him to school.” Christian gives him a pointed look through his glasses.
I glare at him. “You seriously put him in a locker?”
Liam groans. “It was either that or risk him getting crushed to death in my bag.”
Will raises a brow, looking far too entertained. “Aw, are you nervous for it? That’s adorable.”
I shoot him a flat look. “Try saying less. Or better.”
Will smirks, leaning forward. “No, really, this is a touching moment. Kai Steele—actually worried about his little fur baby. It’s beautiful.”
I reach forward, and my fingers close around Will’s jaw, tilting his face toward mine so that they’re only inches away.
His smirk only widens.
“You’ve got an awful lot to say lately,” I murmur, dragging my thumb lightly across the edge of his jaw. “Didn’t I tell you to shut it?”
Will huffs a laugh. “Someone’s cranky.”
“Cranky?” I repeat, keeping my hold for another second, maybe two. Then I let go, patting his cheek once before leaning back. “How quaint.”
He straightens his collar where I creased it, eyes still fixed on me, and I raise my eyebrows at him knowingly.
The look on his face almost makes me want to reach forward again—just to see if he’d let me.
Or stop me.
Or neither.
Liam groans and slumps backward on the couch, draping an arm over his face. “You two are making me deeply uncomfortable.”
Christian rolls his eyes. “Good. Now you know how the rest of us feel every time you talk.”
I rub my temples, exhaling sharply, I’m about to reply, until I see her and the words get lost in my mouth.
Adeline walks into the caféteria, standing in between two other taller girls. Beatrice Mallory, whose family my father even invited for dinner once. I believe they work in the fashion industry. They have for years as far as I know, and so naturally they hold a decent reputation around here.
Lilia Harris, though, is a name I know for one reason, and one reason only. Will. We went to prep school together for a while, and aside from me, she was probably one of the only people who wasn’t afraid of him or didn’t find him weird. In fact, she seemed oddly taken with him.
He, to my knowledge, did not reciprocate the addict’s affection, or for that matter, any other girls’ in our year, who only began to approach him (albeit with extreme caution) after he got older and grew out of his awkwardness.
I, however, have always acknowledged the fact that he doesn’t see people in the same way most of us do, romantically speaking. In all honesty, I’m not sure he even sees them as people. Under the facade, he regards them with utter disinterest, if anything.
Not that it matters. Or that I particularly cared to investigate much beyond that.
I remember what it was like for him back when I met him though, not only at home but at school too. He didn’t have any friends at all—people would call him weird and all sorts of other names. He came across like he didn’t care, but I know it bothered him that everyone thought he was different.
He always has been. But that’s precisely what makes him so special.
In his mind. In his movements. In his tastes.
Even the way he dresses.
Take today, for example.
What he’s wearing is darker than usual verging on theatrical, even for him.
He’s wearing smudged, black eyeliner, a vintage looking jacket over his school uniform, and his shirt is untucked, sleeves rolled, a chain just barely visible at his collar.
He’s got a ring on almost every finger, and they don’t match, but somehow, they work well with everything else he has on. Even his boots.
They’re chunky, and noisy when he walks.
It’s beautiful, really. I’ve always adored his fashion sense.
I refocus on Adeline, and the way she moves through the lunch hall with quite an apparent limp. It’s then that I also realize the scar that had basically taken over half her face is gone.
Makeup, I guess.
And then she looks at me. Just a flicker of a glance, and I shoot her a smile.
Her eyes catch it for half a heartbeat—too long to be accidental, too short to be anything else—before she looks away. Quickly. As if she’s been burned.
As always.
And that, of course, makes my smile widen.
Across from me, Will is watching with heightened intensity, and I raise an eyebrow at him inquiringly.
It’s impossible to tell what goes on in his head, and I realized long ago that asking him even as a friend doesn’t necessarily result in a proper answer, even if what he gives me is considerably more than he would anyone else.
I suppose it would be rather hypocritical of me to expect to know everything when my own friends, who I’ve known almost my entire life, know hardly anything about me at all, beyond what I allow them to know.
I gather they wouldn’t want much to do with me if they did.