Chapter Thirteen #5
“Oh.” I didn’t mean to sound so sympathetic, but I did.
I didn’t exactly feel sorry for her; I hardly knew her enough. Maybe she liked living away from home. Or perhaps she missed her grade school.
She continued to say, “I went to the same boarding school as Rain. Did you know? In Oxfordshire?”
I perked up, sitting a little straighter, “Really?”
She laughed before sectioning the next row of hair and brushing the hair dye in. “Really. It was a preparatory school with the most unflattering uniforms you can imagine.”
“I’m sure you found a way around that.”
She grinned and huffed out another laugh. “Oh, yes, I did. Rain didn’t, sadly. I was never quite able to turn her over to the dark side. Always a stickler for the rules, that one.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, only humming.
“You must’ve missed home, you know, being away for so long.” I remembered the way her lip curled, and anger twitched from between her muscles when Ajax had mentioned her parents’ divorce. I hoped she wouldn’t put me on the receiving end of the same treatment.
But she didn’t, instead she kissed her teeth. “Not much of a home to miss when your holidays are spent in a cold castle.”
I tilted my head to the side, almost a habit by now, for only a second before she righted my posture and continued on with the brush in hand without missing a beat.
“So, why wouldn’t your family live in a warmer climate?”
I wasn’t an idiot, but I also wasn’t a sympathetic person. Offering words of support and acceptance were not things that came to me without substantial effort.
Nonetheless, I wasn’t turned away. Paris paused and seemed to be taking in my words, trying to understand them, before sending me a sharp grin, one that only partners who’d just finished committing a crime would have shared. “I’m not sure. But it would have been quite the simple solution.”
I shrugged. “It always seemed to work for me.”
She huffed. “I bet it does. Remind me of how many houses you own?”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
Paris fixed me a stare and watched me like a teacher would watch a misbehaving student, hands on her hips and everything. “Not as far as I can throw you. Besides, you’re the resident liar of the Founder’s Society.”
My lips twitched. “You know, Paris, one day you will eat your words and wish you’d married me for my money rather than for my charm.”
She balked. “What charm?”
I paused before fixing my words. “My lies.”
She laughed then, a loud and high-pitched laugh that caused her to throw her head back. A laugh I found myself raising a brow at.
Not out of irritation, but because it helped smother the smile threatening to grow on my lips.
Castle Hill must have some really unfunny people, because Paris had laughed so hard, she’d taken to punching my shoulder and shoving my arm until she calmed down.
I could only bounce my eyes from the door to Paris when she’d wiped the tears away with her forearm, trying to avoid getting her gloved hands near her face.
“You’re not so bad, Alex.”
I swallowed against my dry throat before forcing the words out. “Sasha.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Alex is a pretty… bland nickname. Call me Sasha.”
Paris waggled her eyebrows. “I’ve been promoted to nickname status, huh? That’s exciting.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t expect any truth-telling sessions.”
Paris went back to filling my scalp with dye. “Oh, I’m not counting on it. You wouldn’t be you without your secrets.”
“Can’t that be said about everyone here at Castle Hill?”
Paris rolled her head to push a fallen strand over her shoulder, as she seemed to think about my words.
“Mmm, maybe. But you’re different. Your secrets are…
darker. Usually, when someone’s secrets come to light, they're scandalous, a bit dark, but they’re always something you’d want to know.
I feel… I would prefer letting you keep your secrets.
Because they’re yours and…” she laughed softly, but it sounded brittle.
“Well, they say familiarity breeds contempt, and I’d rather not know you at all than know everything there is to know about you. ”
I watched her refuse to meet my eye in the mirror, and when I tried to catch hers, she wouldn’t budge. Too focused on my hair, though I doubt that was why.
I want to remind you that I am not a sympathetic person, but I was an awkward person. It isn’t something I can control.
“It would be helpful if you could share other people’s secrets or… weaknesses, though. Like, say, our fellow peers?” I prompted.
She breathed out a short scoff. “Oh, come on.”
She gave me a look that clearly said don’t try to play me.
I only blinked back innocently. “What?”
Paris shook her head and said, “If you swear to use this information under good conscience.” I crossed an x over my heart as she finished with one side of my hair and moved to the other.
“If you must know, Wolf would hate his own shadow if he could, Ajax is homicidal only ninety percent of the time but he’s afraid of the aftermath, Rain would marry that euphoric feeling she gets when she exacts an order if she could, August can’t hold his tongue to save his life, and Marigold… well she has many flaws.”
“And what’s your… fatal flaw?”
“I don’t have any. And I think that’s what it is, isn’t it? What about you?”
I watched her for a moment before smiling. “I don’t have any.”
She grinned. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“How about this, you tell me mine, and I’ll tell you yours.”
My skin felt tight under all the layers covering me. “Alright. You…” I scoured my mind for what I knew of Paris. She gave an extroverted impression of herself, smiling and giggling and red-lipped. She was vibrant and sometimes indecent, sharp-tongued and sharp-minded.
If I looked closer, I’d say she built the perfect image for herself. Blonde and slim, smart but only academically, talkative but never anything of substance, playful but ultimately pure.
Paris is careful in playing the role she’d assigned herself, one she may have slipped into out of necessity, I don’t know.
“You assume that you easily have everyone fooled because they can never figure you out, leading them to unknowingly underestimate you. But… you’re beginning to lose control of who you are, and who you created.”
She tilted my head to inspect her work, pointedly avoiding any eye contact. “Is that so bad? Fatal?”
“Arrogance isn’t always bad—being arrogant of your sense of self-deterioration, however, is.”
She didn’t smile or wave off my words. Her eyes caught mine for only a second and narrowed, though it wasn’t in suspicion or the possible accuracy of my words but rather, thoughtfulness, as she nodded slowly. “I see.”
She didn’t tell me if I was right, but from the way her shoulders tensed, I knew I was.
“Well, I think…” She thought for only a moment, or at least gave the impression that she was thinking, before speaking, “You’re like this empty well and you know that the void is there, somewhere in the back of your mind.
Yet, you assume that it’s your greatest strength. ”
She wasn’t far off, but the dubious tone to her words made me ask, “I assume?”
She nodded, pausing to place the back of her hands on my shoulders, her stained gloves avoiding the cape. “You never learned that life is so much more than a Machiavellian mind.”
I didn’t understand what she had meant, but I didn’t need to ask, because she elaborated, “Survival is important, and scheming is a grand skill to have if you’re anyone who’s anyone at Castle Hill.
But this empty well that you have will stay empty, never knowing the true essence of life if you don’t start learning how to fill it. ”
In my silence, she returned to my hair, leaving me to my thoughts.
I didn’t deny that my focus had never been my emotional or mental state throughout my years in solitude; it was never a priority.
And ever since I began imagining my death, I’d long forgotten about my life.
Once, what now feels like decades ago, I tried imitating the partygoers and rule-breakers.
I do not blame my younger self, but it was then, I learned that I do not have the privilege of carefreeness.
To throw caution to the wind and enjoy my youth. Because the last time I’d done that, the knife stabbed into my abdomen and the stolen money thrust me back into reality.
But perhaps Paris was onto something. Perhaps there was more to life that my sphere of familiarity wasn’t allowed to expand to.
It was silent for another few moments before Paris nudged me. “Well, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud. You’ll be sure to get wrinkles that way.”
“Wrinkles are the least–”
A knock came, hesitant and soft against Paris’s door, and for some reason, we shared a look we both seemed to understand.
It could only be a society member this late in the night.
Paris straightened and began removing her gloves, pushing me back down when I’d tried to stand in an attempt towards the door. “I bet you five quid it’s your codependent neighbour.”
She smirked before heading to the door. I didn’t believe her in the slightest. “I’ll take that bet.”
Smiling at the easy money, I reached a hand out of the cape enveloping me and pulled between the roots of the untouched section of my hair to eye the natural colour peeking through. It wasn’t entirely noticeable at first, and with the length, it was barely-there.
But I knew it was there, and that was enough to make me feel nauseous.
“What’d you want?” Paris leaned her hip against her doorframe, talking to someone I couldn’t see. Her voice took on a tone of mild boredom and slight exasperation.
There was a murmur on the other side, feminine. I didn’t know who Paris frequented outside of the Founder’s Society, but that voice sounded oddly familiar.
Soft and kind.
“Listen, I’m a bit busy. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She didn’t let the poor soul speak before closing the door, albeit not slamming it in their face–a small mercy.