Chapter 8
EIGHT
RUELLA
Corden is fast becoming a real friend here along with Deena, it might seem off topic for the mission I am on, but Corden is a vault of information and knows way too much gossip for someone who was at a different university for the last few years.
That’s how I found out about Piper. The name that was whispered around the room after Asher ran off. Corden filled some of the blanks, but not all of them. I know Piper is Asher’s younger sister, she resides in Deveroux house, and that something traumatic happened to her last year.
What that is, no one knows but Asher Vander, Jacob Evans and Daylan Bandini, who are always glued to her side.
What made me so curious is that this so-called traumatic event happened around the same time Marlowe disappeared, and again strikes me as odd that one girl can be whispered about for some mental health issues, yet a girl can go missing in the middle of the night, and no one says a thing.
I need to know more but for some reason I still haven’t mentioned her name. Corden was about to gossip more about Piper until Deena chastised us for being unkind, that Piper deserved more respect than everyone whispering about her behind her back, so we shut up. I intend to push again soon though.
“What party?” I ask before taking a sip of the warm malty nectar in my favourite mug.
He shakes his head like he always does. “The welcome back to rager in the forest. Saturday night,” He smiles.
“No thanks. Sounds like the perfect opportunity for Darcy to take out some more revenge,” The blonde bitch has made it her mission to get in some verbal dig or elbow me every day, for the past four days.
I will not be giving her the opportunity to take out her frustrations with Asher on me in a dark forest, with no staff and completely smashed.
“Ohhhh come on. Even Deena’s going,” he points in her direction from her seat on the floor, her back against the coffee table as she types away on her laptop. This is the first time she’s joined us and even though she stays quiet, she seems to be enjoying herself.
My eyebrows raise. “You’re going to the rager?” She nods as I take another sip. My thoughts spiralling with a perfect idea.
“Wait!” I sit up straight with a knowing grin. “This is perfect,”
“What is?” Deena asks looking up from her screen.
“On Saturday night, we show our faces at the party and wait until everyone is drunk,” Corden nods in excitement. “Then we sneak away to the records room,” I whisper. “If anything comes of it, we are seen with everyone else at the party,”
Deena smiles for the first time and I hear a little cheer in the back of my mind.
“That’s a pretty good idea actually,” Deena shuts her laptop and gives us her full attention. “Did you get everything you needed?” She asks Corden.
“Came this morning,” he smiles back.
“Then its settled, we meet here at nine and stick with each other throughout the party, make sure we talk to enough people to be noticed and then slip away,” We all nod in agreement.
“To the office hours extended!” Corden holds out his mug, I wince.
“That really is a terrible name,” We all clink our drinks before laughing.
“What?” Corden shrugs. “It makes sense, we are up to something after hours”.
After another half an hour finalising the plan for when we get back into the academy on Saturday, we part ways.
As I walk up to my bedroom a girl stops me on the stairs. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun and she has on a Marrowton academy sports jumper, but I don’t recognise her from this house.
“Hey,” she says with a smile. “Have you seen Bronwyn?”
I furrow my brows. “Bronwyn?” I ask. “Sorry, I’m new so I don’t really know everyone yet,”
She nods with a frown. “No worries. That’s her room,” She gestures behind her to the door one floor beneath my own. “If you see her, will you tell her to answer her damn phone and to email Mrs. Young and apologise for missing practice,”
“Erm, yeah sure,”
“Thanks,” Then she pads barefoot down the stone stairs like it isn’t as cold as a fridge in here.
I inspect Bronwyn’s door as I walk past, trying to remember if I had ever seen anyone coming and going from that room. But I can’t.
I run up the last floor and shiver as I get into my room. Without the fire from the common room heating me up I feel the chill down to my bones.
I go to my wardrobe and pull out my cardigan and with it comes a small box of tat I brought from home. I groan as I shove my arms through the woollen sleeves then bend down to pick up all that has scattered across the floor.
I freeze when my attention lands on an old photobooth print from four years ago.
It was a night I let Marlowe talk me into sneaking out with her and we went to the bowling alley in the next town over.
It was the only night I remember having a carefree time with my half-sister, one where we didn’t talk about home, we weren’t Marlowe Astor and Ruella Griffith, we were just two sad, lonely girls, needing to blow off steam.
My fingers run down the four photos of smushed up faces, the smiles gracing them the realest they ever had been before. I feel my eyes burn.
I swallow the lump in my throat and try to latch onto that happy memory, it lights a fire in my belly.
What happened to Marlowe?
I will find out, not only for my father. But for me as well. I need the closure too.
I pick up the picture and make my way to the side of my bed, where I place it between the pages of my current read sitting on my nightstand.
I want to remind myself why I am here every single day.
Every time I try to relax within the pages of my break from reality, I want to be reminded of my actual one. One I need to stay focused on.
I switch off the light and crawl into bed with thoughts of Marlowe on rerun.
“I promise I will find you,” I whisper into the void before I start to drift off.
I promise.
***
Friday comes and goes uneventfully.
Apart from Darcy whispering with her pack of clones and smirking, making it clear it is about me, everything runs smoothly.
On Saturday morning I decide to go for a run and maybe check out the school gym to blow off some of this built-up steam that has slowly amounted as the week progressed.
Between the strange feelings Asher draws from within me, Darcy’s taunts and Mr. Chapmans piercing gaze every time I am in his lecture hall, I have this tension within me I would usually take out on a punching bag.
I pull my hair into a high ponytail and pull on the Academy hoodie, before slipping on my running shoes and grabbing my headphones.
The sun has barely risen by the time my feet hit the stone pathway outside of the main building and I softly stretch my legs before taking off down towards the sports centre.
It’s not far, but I can do a couple of loops around before heading inside.
I click the volume up on my phone to drown out my rolling thoughts, but even my favourite workout playlist can’t keep them from drifting to a certain man whose eyes follow me whenever we are in the same room.
I keep thinking of his reaction when I asked about his sister, I get that brothers can be protective, but this was something else. Along with his anger, there was a flicker of something else. Fear…. maybe. An instant fear for her that is way beyond that of someone with a mental health issue.
I don’t have any proof yet that this is connected to Marlowe, but I have a feeling in my gut that there is something that ties it together.
It can’t be a coincidence that this all happened around the same time.
I vow to myself to find out what the traumatic thing Asher’s sister went through was, I just have to catch her alone.
I run past the surrounding trees blocking the pathway from view and head down the route past the sports centre, my feet pounding along with the beat of the music as I try my best to control my breathing.
The air is chilly. So cold that with each puff out of my mouth, a mist forms like a spectre.
The days usually warm up slightly, but at this time in the morning the constant grey clouds keep all the warmth away from this place.
It’s like the ground itself is cursed to never feel the glorious rays.
As tragically beautiful as Marrowton Academy is and its grounds, it feels hollow. Like a graveyard.
I am almost at the end of the forest path where it loops back up to the sports centre, when an icy chill spreads up my spine.
Someone is watching me.
While I keep jogging, I scan the tree line and pathway in front of me. Nothing.
I slip my hand into my hoodie pocket where my phone is, and I quickly click down the volume but keep the headphones in place. I listen carefully as I make the turn back to the centre and keep scanning the area without raising suspicion.
Still nothing.
But…I still feel eyes on me.
I pick up my pace as I see the sports centre come into view just past the collection of trees up front. My frantic heart starts to calm at the thought that I will be within the safety of the Academy. Next time I will stick to running in the busy areas and not on this quiet pathway again.
I am almost into view when I am suddenly taken out sideways by a body, and a heavy weight pins me to the dirt floor.
I hiss out as I feel the stones and bramble cut through my hands and knees from the force.
I immediately go to turn on my attacker and fight but one of their hands lifts my head by the ponytail and the other grabs at my right arm and bends it behind my back, the tension so taut, that one slight shift would dislocate my shoulder.
It’s a man. I can feel it in their weight and build.
I have sparred and trained with enough of them to tell the difference, and whoever this man is, he is strong…
. much stronger than me. The position he has me in, is all too familiar, and makes me start to panic.
But panicking won’t help me. It didn’t then and it won’t now.
Focus.
I grunt out as I try to find a way out of his hold, but each wiggle has my shoulder screaming out in agony.
“Get the fuck off me!” I grit out trying to turn my head and face my attacker, but as soon as the words leave my lips, he shoves my face into the ground.
The broken branches tearing at my cheek and temple as he places more pressure on my head.
I feel his weight shift as he leans down to my ear.
He whispers softly and my stomach drops.
“I know who you really are,” I freeze. “Go home or you won’t like the consequences”.
He lifts my head again and whacks it back down into the ground, I shout out in pain as my vision blurs. I feel a cut on my cheek open from the force of him and my head spins. As soon as the weight is off my back I jump up as quickly as I can to face him, but I stumble and fall back onto my knees.
I look up towards the path but only just catch the back of his body as it disappears around the corner.
I take note of as much as I can see through my hazy vision.
Black hoodie that’s pulled up over his head, black joggers with no significant emblems on them and a pair of black running trainers with white soles but I can’t see the make.
Shit.
I groan in frustration as I shakily get onto my feet, this time without falling back down. I pull my right arm to my chest as I try to ease the ache from how hard he pulled it behind my back as I hobble the rest of the way to the centre.
I feel the familiar sting of growing pressure behind my eyes as I fight to keep the tears at bay.
I am stronger than this.
I made sure I was stronger than this.
Why the fuck do I want to cry right now.
I have endured far worse than this at the hands of my own father. But there is something different about this attack. With my father, it’s about enduring the pain to survive. But this… this made me feel weak and helpless. Just like before.
I slowly push through the double doors, making sure to use my left hand and slowly pad down the hallway, following the signs for the gym. I need to get to the showers and get a hold of myself. Clean myself up before anyone sees me.
I go through another set of doors and the smell of antibacterial wipes hits my nostrils.
I scan the empty room and take a note of all the equipment in here.
I won’t be using any now with the pain in my shoulder, but I will make sure to come back after spotting a few punching bags hanging up in a line.
I find the girls changing rooms over on the other side of the gym floor and I silently make my way.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and immediately grimace.
My ponytail is half hanging out, white strands flailing all over the place, I have a few cuts to my face, and I have bramble and dirt clinging to my clothes.
I look like I have been dragged through a hedge backwards. Literally.
I shake my head and turn towards the changing rooms, but as I go, my gaze is captured by someone else’s.
Asher.
Shit.
He is sitting on a weight bench, thick thighs either side, sweaty and… topless.
His sculpted body showing all the hard work he clearly puts into it right here. He is sitting, elbows on his knees and phone in hand, but his focus is on me.
I swallow.
His inspecting stare tracks over my body, from the scuff marks on my leggings, the cuts on my face, to the haphazard ponytail clinging on for dear life.
He stands up from his seated position. It’s slow and predatory like, and the room feels as though it drops a few degrees with the icy stare he hits me with.
“What the fuck happened?”.