Chapter 23 #2
Another snicker runs through the class as I stare at him, my heart beating in my ears.
Well, that certainly got my attention. Telling me to go stand in the corner?
I’m not five years old! But going to the principal’s office is out of the question.
The asshole would call Mom, who’d call Dad, and he’d come right over, job be damned.
I know how unprotected he is working for Quill’s shitty dad.
And that’s not going to change soon. Not that I would have expected Quill to help Dad, even if he did care.
But if anything, right now I’m thinking my bully is capable of driving the nail into the coffin of Dad’s job, just to push me down a few extra pegs.
Quill clearly hates my guts.
But in that case, why the hell did he come over and have sex with me?
Was it just some new, horrible bully tactic? Did he do it just to humiliate me? Did I lose my virginity to someone who despises me?
I’ve never ascribed that much importance to virginity, but the thought that mine was taken from me by someone who doesn’t give a shit feels impossible to bear.
Even more impossible to bear than the thought of being sent to the corner like a child while he looks on.
I turn back around and I know everyone’s expecting me to head for the principal’s office, because there is no way any high schooler would accept the degrading punishment Mr. Binney has devised.
But I’m not any high schooler. I’m Piper Day, and my dad will always come first. Even if I only come second to him.
So, steeling myself for the laughter that I know is about to follow, I stomp right to the corner that the teacher’s designated.
I don’t even wait for him to tell me to face the wall. I do just that, because it’s a relief to get away from the thirty pairs of eyes that I know are fixed on me right now.
It’s also a relief to not sit down, because when I stared at that metal chair, I knew I was in for a very hard time.
After a moment’s pause in which Mr. Binney clears his throat, apparently surprised that I’ve accepted the punishment he probably only came up with to ensure I went to the principal’s office without giving him another snide remark, he turns back to the class and begins his incredibly boring lesson.
It’s just my luck that Monday starts with a three-hour math class. I wonder how long he’s planning to continue this humiliation disguised as consequence.
Though I know it’ll feel a lot worse when I have to turn around, face the class, especially Quill… and then sit down on that awful metal chair.
At some point, I feel something hit my back, and I turn a withering glance at the asshole responsible—it’s some guy named Will who’s somehow found a straw and blown a ball of paper straight at me.
He merely smirks at me, while behind him, at the back of the class, I see Quill is looking in my direction, his eyes flashing murderously.
This time, they’re not focused on me, but I assume the look in them is still directed at me, so I quickly whip back around.
My heart is breaking again, a lump rising in my throat, and the burning in my eyes warns me that things are about to get even more humiliating if I can’t get the tears threatening to spill from them under control.
Of course, that’s the moment Mr. Binney decides my punishment has gone on long enough, and sends me to my seat.
I walk back slowly, doing my best to avert my eyes from everyone, and especially Quill, while not staring at the ground so that gravity doesn’t pull my tears from me.
I stop in front of my chair, steeling myself for the pain that’s coming, because there’s no way in hell I’m showing him just how much he hurt me last night.
I can’t help but wince, though, as I sit down, and I adjust myself so I’m slanted sideways, only a small part of my ass in contact with the hard chair. But it’s still too much contact, and I wonder how the hell I’m going to survive the remainder of class.
The clock has never gone so slow, and it feels like I’ve finally found my holy grail, the cup of immortality that Lancelot spent his whole life searching for.
Because math class has always felt long, but right now, it’s absolutely endless.
Like I’m going to be stuck here, eighteen years old forever, listening to an asshole teacher drone on about polynomials for all of eternity.
I do what I always do to survive math class by sticking my textbook upright, grabbing a book discretely from my bag, and starting to read.
It’s a good thing I’m in the middle row, far enough away from Mr. Binney that I can read without him noticing, and far away from Quill, too, who’s sitting in the back row as he always does.
But no amount of distance from him could be enough today, and I get the uncomfortable feeling that his eyes are boring into my back.
Like they haven’t left me since class started, which is ridiculous, since for one, I’m facing away from him so I couldn’t possibly know.
And two, why would he even spare me a look?
He’s made it crystal clear he doesn’t give a shit about me.
I force myself not to think about that, and concentrate on my book instead, but honestly, Hercule Poirot has never felt so boring.
Somehow, I manage to read a few pages, but I’m beyond relieved to hear the bell ring.
I grab my things, feeling more thankful than I ever have before that I have a free period now. I never leave school, because I’d have nowhere to go in the thirty minutes before it was time for English, but right now, I can’t stand the thought of staying one minute longer in school.
First, though, I head to my locker and put my books away. I stay there a while, my head against the cold metal, trying to find the physical strength to walk away from the campus, because my whole body is throbbing with pain.
Then I jerk back up, hearing a commotion in the hallway.
Quill is at the center of it, which doesn’t surprise me.
I’ve never seen anyone get in so many fights as him.
I’ve also never seen anyone be so unbothered about consequences.
Even the principal seems scared of him, so everyone just leaves him alone.
I really don’t want to go by him, but I’m in a dead-end hallway, and passing him is the only way to get out. Right now, the need for air overtakes the dread of seeing him again. I can only hope he’s so focused on beating up whoever it is he’s currently beating up that he doesn’t see me.
Will. That’s the person who’s currently lying prostrate on the floor as Quill kicks him repeatedly in the stomach and sides, and I wonder vaguely what the guy’s done to piss him off.
I keep my head down as I pass them, pressing myself against the opposite wall, but my stomach plummets as I hear the kicking stop, and feel Quill’s eyes on me.
Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Why couldn’t I just have waited for them to finish their fight?
I try to hurry away, but in a flash, Quill’s got his hand around my arm, and he’s dragging me to the boys’ bathroom.
Great. This day just couldn’t be getting any better. Is he going to dunk my head in the toilet again? If he is, I’m literally going to die. I absolutely cannot handle the worst day of my life getting even shittier.
I try to numb myself for what I’m convinced is about to happen as he slams the door shut behind him, and I just have time to notice Liam and Dane’s smirks on the other side, clearly guessing just as easily as me what Quill’s got in mind.
He locks the door—no one ever locks that door but him, since it’s the only boys’ bathroom on the floor. Anyway, it’s pointless for him to lock it, because by now the whole school probably knows he wants privacy, and no one would dare try to open it.
Still, he turns the lock, making me feel more helpless than ever.
Unexpectedly, he then lets go of my arm. I jump back as soon as I’m free from his grasp, and crush my body to the opposite side of the wall, not caring that my thigh is touching a very gross urinal.
My heart is racing a mile a minute as he faces me, then slowly walks toward me.
“Stop, Quill, stop,” I find myself gasping as he closes the distance between us. “Please stop. Please don’t do this.”
“Do what?” His voice comes out in a slow rumble that makes my core turn to liquid heat despite everything.
I gesture to one of the toilet bowls in an open stall, my entire body shaking convulsively. I’m terrified, absolutely terrified, not of the physical discomfort of what I’m convinced he’s about to do, but of how it would shatter me.
Everyone has their limit, and I’ve just reached mine.
But instead of imprisoning my arm in his hand again, instead of dragging me to the toilet, he lifts a hand up and… touches my cheek.
Then he stops just inches from me, and I practically cry at smelling his spicy warmth as it causes my insides to twist.
“Don’t be scared of me,” he murmurs, his voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart thundering, his hand on my cheek making me both want to melt into him, and run in the opposite direction. Because his furious gaze from this morning made me realize just how dangerous he is.
“You’re in a lot of pain,” he adds, his voice somehow even gentler.
I can tell he’s talking about physical pain, but that pain is nothing compared to what he’s doing to my heart.
“I hate myself for hurting you,” he breathes in my ear as he takes one last step toward me, his body now flush against mine.
I let out a strangled breath as his lips find mine, and the kiss is unbearably tender, nothing like the passionate way he claimed me last night.
This kiss is far worse, because how can you kiss like that and not care? But I know he doesn’t. I know it now, and I try to force myself not to forget it.