11. Fae #2
“Jesus, Felix, drop it. No, we didn’t,” I snap. “And do you really think I have magical pussy power and somehow got Roman, of all people, so obsessed he’s sneaking into my house to fix my bedroom?”
Felix pauses considering it and I roll my eyes. “Besides, he hates me now.”
“What?” he barks. “Why? What did you do?”
“Why the fuck do you think I did something? This is Roman we’re talking about,” I shoot back.
Honestly, sometimes I envy only children. Me and Felix only seem to have two settings: pure love or pure hatred. There’s no in between. The only up side is we can say whatever we want to each other and even when it turns into an argument, it never lingers. We don’t hold onto it.
I watch the tension leave his body as he nods, checks his watch, and then picks up my school bag.
“You’re right, sorry. I’m on edge. Let’s go, we can grab a drink on the way or we’re going to be late.”
Making our way out of the flat, I lock up and head towards Felix’s Bentley.
“Have you checked for bugs in the car?” I mumble, keeping my voice low. He gives a small shake of his head.
“We need to talk.”
“Tonight. Church,” he whispers back, leaning over me as he guides me into the passenger seat and I hate it.
I hate that we are so paranoid. I hate that we can’t even speak freely.
I hate that this is my life. The deeper I go, the more I realise how much we are prisoners in a society that would call us free.
People see the designer bags, the cars, the clothes, and assume we have everything. The truth is, all I have are things.
I don’t get family Sunday lunches. I don’t get to argue with my uncle over politics at Christmas. I don’t get home-made cards from a niece or nephew, or glitter stuck in my hair for a week after some chaotic playdate. Everything I have is hollow.
We drive to the university in relative silence, stopping at our usual coffee shop on the way.
Felix grabs a bacon and cheese turnover, a black Americano for himself, and a caramel iced latte for me.
‘Florence by Loyle Carner’ comes on the radio.
Felix must notice the shift in my mood because he turns it up, twisting towards me and using his half-eaten pastry as a mic; singing completely out of tune until tears fill my eyes and I start to laugh.
Okay… maybe I do have Felix.
By the time we reach the turn-off, my jaw aches from smiling. Just like my family estate, the big black gates are manned by security and after a quick inspection, they let us through.
I sigh as the building comes into view. Through the windscreen, the university sits wide and unblinking, a perfect stretch of stone and grass manicured to the point of cruelty.
The lawn is so green it looks unnatural, cut into obedience, just like the people who attend here.
A straight path splits through it, leading directly to the central archway, an invitation that feels more like a judgement.
Honeyed stone rises in measured rows, as the windows are set high and narrow as if to keep the world out.
But I guess that’s the point.
Everything about this place is perfect.
I sink back into the seat, my fingers tightening around my coffee.
I wonder how I’ll be made to feel today…
too loud, too soft, too much, not enough.
It’s constant. No matter how much you change to fit their mould, the goalposts shift.
They always do. Until one day you realise they were never going to be happy with you in the first place.
This place is built on old money. Surnames that open doors. Futures that were never in doubt. It used to be England’s best-kept secret, but when the public found out, the founders needed something to keep the press quiet.
That’s why Robyn got in.
Over the last decade, every cohort brings in a scholarship student.
Their life here is usually hell. A sacrificial lamb, if you will.
They’re sold a dream and handed a nightmare.
Most don’t make it to the end of their course.
The pressure from lecturers alone is enough to break them and they leave burnt out, with no degree and nowhere to go because they’re care kids.
It’s disgusting. It’s why Robyn’s disappearance hits harder. She was supposed to be the first graduate in over six years. I wanted that for her. She wanted that. The longer she’s gone, the more it feels impossible.
I’ve always felt like an intruder here. A body taking up space I was never meant to occupy.
Nine months. That’s all I have left. The thought settles heavy in my chest. I don’t know if I can cope with nine more months of this.
Walking these paths. Being looked through instead of at.
Pretending I’m not counting every single day.
The building looms closer as the car slows and I remind myself it has never owned me, no matter how much it’s tried to make me feel small. Taking a breath, I grab my bag and push the passenger door open. Felix follows, and we step into the crowd gathering before classes.
I spot the boys by the library and we both head over but Roman’s continued absence sits wrong with me.
“Where’s Roman?” Felix asks before I get the chance.
“He’s not with you?” Atlas responds, but I don’t miss the slight recoil in his body as he says it. I glance at Felix to see if he picked up on it, but I can’t get a read on him.
What are they hiding?
“No, I’ve not seen him since he left for the debrief yesterday,” Felix replies.
Riggs comes up beside me and lifts my bag from my shoulder, a habit he picked up in second year when we realised our timetables were almost identical.
“You know you don’t need to do that every day?” I say, and he just flashes that dazzling smile, all straight, white teeth.
“And for you to not need me? Impossible, fairy.” He dips down to kiss my cheek. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”
The rest of the boys peel off, and Riggs and I head towards our body language class, my arm linking through his.
“Riggs…”
“Fairrryyyy.”
“Where’s Roman really?”
His body goes rigid as his step falter.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters, spinning me around and pressing my back against the wall.
To anyone else, it probably looks a lot more intimate than what it really is, but I learnt a long time ago this is how Riggs talks when he doesn’t want to be overheard. He leans in, bracing his arm beside my head to shield his mouth.
“He’s in the dungeon.”
I gasp; the dungeon is a place we designed underground for ourselves.
Somewhere we decided we would need after graduation.
After a drunk night and a promise made by cutting our palms and mixing our blood, we came to an agreement that we needed somewhere separate from The Company that we could go to interrogate people, if needed.
I know my reasons, I know Felix’s. I’m still unsure of the others’ reasoning or why they thought that far ahead but as far as I was aware, it had been a largely unused space before us.
“Why?” I mumble back, rubbing my hand on his face like a lover.
The first time I did that, I cringed. It wasn’t until we were in the safety of the tunnels that we laughed about it and realised how much easier it was to communicate like that without anyone suspecting us.
I’m sure people judge me; Riggs is not the only one who does it.
Atlas and Victor have both cornered me in dark corners before, like lovers desperate for answers.
“I don’t know. I was hoping you had the answers.”
“What? Why me?”
“All I know is he came home from seeing you and said he might be gone for a while and to cover for him. I tried to get him to tell me something, but all he said was they all need to pay.”
I shiver as a rush of adrenaline hits so violently it leaves my hands shaking and my heart racing like it wants to tear free of my ribs.
And yet, threaded through the terror, there is hope.
Dangerous, intoxicating hope. Because there is a possibility that Roman has chosen me so completely that he is willing to become a monster on my behalf.
“Why?” I mumble again, more to myself than him. Riggs just shakes his head.
“I waited for hours, then panicked and told Victor to track him. He found Roman in the dungeon and he was not alone.”
Riggs’ free hand comes up and pushes my chin up to him as he studies my face, then leans forward and whispers in my ear, “The question still remains, fairy, what did that man do to you for Roman to torture him all night long?”