16. Pandora
PANDORA
Waiting for the dean is a lot like waiting for the principal. It shouldn’t be. There’s no detention in college, and why would the dean care about individual students? But here I am, sitting in the little waiting room outside his office while his assistant keeps giving me curious looks.
Me, my boyfriend, my other boyfriend, and the third boyfriend, because all three of them decided they wanted to tag along.
I’m sitting on an uncomfortable chair along one wall, Blaze and River in the chairs on either side, while Asch stands with his arms folded and looking like the bodyguard Blaze doesn’t want him to be.
“I can handle it on my own,” I tell them, not bothering to keep my voice down.
“Can doesn’t mean ‘have to,’” Asch retorts. “We’re here whether you want us to be or not.”
River nods, reaching out to rub my arm. “And we’ll reward you for a job well done after this.” The dean’s assistant gives him a look, but River meets her gaze with a shrug.
“We’ll take her out to dinner,” Blaze says, as if to appease the assistant. Then he adds, “With sex as dessert.”
I laugh at the assistant’s scandalized expression, and I give Blaze a quick peck on the cheek as thanks.
“I want a five course meal at the most expensive restaurant Harmony has. Which means it’ll be mediocre food, but…” I squeeze River’s thigh.
“But there will be better things to eat after,” River says with a smirk.
Asch rolls his eyes. “Subtle, man. Real subtle.”
I wonder how long the dean is going to make me wait. It must be one of the power play things, like how Papa is always late for everything. My time is more important than yours, etc. etc.
I’m debating simply leaving when I spot somebody walking down the hall.
I would recognize her anywhere, even when she’s dressed in a neat sweater and baggier pants.
“Look, River,” I say, pointing. “It’s that woman who beat you up.”
River glances in that direction. “I need to talk to her about a rematch,” he says, getting up. “I’ll be right back.” He leans down to brush his lips against mine in a chaste kiss. “Good luck, Pandora. Try not to stab anyone.” He starts off toward her, and Asch takes the seat he’d just vacated.
I watch as River approaches her, but I can’t hear anything. My stomach twists, though, and I end up pinching Asch’s thigh. He winces and grabs my wrist, but I don’t let go.
“There’s no need to be jealous, Asch,” I say glibly.
Asch must catch on to how unmoored I’m feeling. “I know, I know. There’s no reason to be. River won’t cheat on me.”
Blaze slides his arm across my shoulders. “We can always punish wandering eyes.” There’s a beat, then he adds, “With extra chores, of course.”
“Of course.” I turn my attention to the dean’s office door. “Is he going to be ready any time soon?”
“He’ll be ready when he’s ready,” the assistant says.
So that’s a no.
I give Asch and Blaze each a quick kiss and stand up, stuffing my hands into my hoodie pockets. “I’m going in,” I declare.
“Of course you are,” Asch says. To his credit, he doesn’t try to stop me.
The assistant gets up to block my path. “You can’t do that. Dean Stringer isn’t ready for you yet.”
I very pointedly roll my eyes. “He wanted me here for this meeting, and now he’s making me wait? I don’t care. I have other shit going on in my life too. He’s seeing me now or not at all.”
“I’m going to call campus security,” the assistant declares.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Blaze says. “What’s campus security going to do, anyway? Give us a stern lecture?” He gets up to stand next to me, looming a lot more menacingly than I can.
Damn, he’s hot when he’s aggressive like this.
If I wasn’t about to meet the dean, I’d be dropping my panties for him right now. Yes, in front of the assistant’s scandalized face.
She cowers back from him and slinks to her desk again.
“Thanks, Blabe,” I say, smiling at him.
He huffs in annoyance. “Seriously, stop it with that name, Panda.”
“Never!” I give him another quick kiss. “I’ll be out soon. You’d better have reservations ready.”
“For your cunt? Do I need a reservation for that?” Blaze asks, and I laugh into my hand.
Asch doesn’t even bother to stifle his laugh. “Thankfully not,” he says, and he gets up, too, to place a kiss to the top of my head. “Good luck, Pandora.”
So that’s it, I have all the pep talking out of the way. My confidence is bolstered, I have a war plan, etc., etc.
All that’s left is actually facing the dean, who Blaze assures me is a fucking pushover and that a few threats will get him to cower at my feet.
I do wonder if that’s a Bouchard special only, but the Pavone name isn’t exactly useless either.
I don’t bother knocking before I walk through the door.
It isn’t even locked.
Before Asch or Blaze can get delusions of following me, I shut the door behind me, and yes, I do lock it.
Dean Stringer is sitting at his massive desk with its two monitors, visibly startled by my presence.
“Who are you?” he asks, like he really has no fucking clue.
“Pandora Pavone, sir!” I reply cheerfully, heading over to the desk and sitting down on the edge of it. “You summoned me, so I’m a bit insulted you don’t recognize me.”
He flicks his gaze up and down my body. There’s something unsettling about it, something that makes me want to gouge his eyes out.
Now there’s an idea.
“Ah, yes. Ms. Pavone.” Stringer leans back on his chair. “Please, have a seat.” He motions to the chairs next to me.
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good here,” I say cheerfully. “So, you had some minor issue you wanted to talk to me about?”
Stringer’s eyebrows furrow. “Minor? Ms. Pavone, I’ve been in talks with the heads of other departments. You’re a disruptive presence here at Dyschord. Never mind your own academic failings, and—”
“There are no academic failings,” I interject. “I got great grades, except for that bullshit biochem class.”
And even that had been a B-. Not amazing, but not failing. How dare he even suggest that.
“Everywhere you go, chaos seems to follow,” Stringer finishes. “Do you need a list of everything you’re about to be expelled for?”
God, what is he even on about? Everything he says is boring. Half his words are gibberish.
“I’d love to hear your list!” I answer, shifting myself over to the other side of the desk.
Stringer pushes his chair away from me with obvious discomfort. “Sit down in a chair, Ms. Pavone.”
“No,” I say. “Go on. The faster you get this over with, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair. Or what’s left of your hair. You really don’t have enough hair to want me tearing out even a few strands.”
Stringer immediately reaches up for his bad combover before realizing what he’s doing. He squares his shoulders and glares at me through his frankly terrible glasses. I wonder if they were ever in style, or if he found them on the side of a street somewhere.
“In your short months here, Ms. Pavone, you have terrorized countless students. Your brazenly sexual comments have made your classmates uncomfortable. You’ve threatened students.
You broke into the science lab and stole their rats.
You caused a scene at a party. You stabbed Mr. Declan Olford.
You burned down the Kappa Alpha Omega Sigma house. ”
Huh. If he’s been keeping track of all that, why hasn’t he said anything sooner?
“Wow, what a bunch of baseless allegations,” I say instead. “Who complained about me?”
Whose tongue did I need to cut out?
Snitches get murder.
“That’s not the point here,” Stringer says. “It is no longer tenable to keep you on as a student. Your presence is too disruptive.”
My presence.
“Funny,” I say, sliding closer to him. “You mentioned Declan. Why wasn’t his presence disruptive? Y’know, on account of how he raped one of my friends.”
Stringer tenses up, and he gets out of the chair to back away from me.
“There is no proof of that, and I find your insinuations insulting. Dyschord University is an institution with integrity. Mr. Olford’s family is one with an outstanding reputation, and they’ve contributed to the community in many ways. ”
“So they bribed you, is what I’m hearing.” I get up too, my hand going into my pocket.
Something on the computer monitor catches my eye.
There’s an email thread from Keegan Ackley. Subject line: Proof. I ignore Stringer’s protests and click on the thread.
The attachments are all videos.
The thumbnails show a naked woman, limbs pulled wide, words written all over her body.
Cunt. Whore. Slut.
Crazy.
My blood boils up and burns through my skin.
I turn to him. I don’t know how I can smile with the knives sawing through my cheeks, but I do it anyway.
“Wow. That’s some hardcore porn you’re into, Dean Stringer,” I say.
He blanches completely and shakes his head. “That’s—I wasn’t.” He reaches out for me.
Before he can touch me, I pull my knife out of my pocket and stab it into his arm.
Stringer screams, and the blood gushes out to soak his checkered dress shirt.
“I was going to be nice,” I say, still smiling, “but I changed my mind.”
I drag the knife down, and I wonder if I can disembowel him completely. God, that’ll be a gruesome scene.
Too many witnesses. We’ll have to kill the assistant, too, and wipe all the cameras, but it’ll be worth it.
“You’re… you’re fucking crazy!” Stringer shouts, scrambling away from me. The knife snags on his shirt before coming loose, and oh, the blood spills all over.
“Come on, you already knew that,” I say with a laugh. I stalk toward him, ready to plunge the knife into his gut and dye the entire office red.
Something thumps loudly. There’s a loud crack behind me, and I wonder if that’s what it sounds like for my chest to split apart.
Except the sound continues, and there’s no pain.
Someone grabs my wrist.
I twist around and drive my knee into the attacker, but a hand is in the way.
“Pandora!” Blaze’s voice shouts. “Jesus! It’s us, Pandora.”
I blink, and the red haze recedes. River is holding my wrist. Asch’s hand blocked my knee from destroying River’s balls.
Blaze is behind me, his hands on my shoulders.