Chapter 33
ANASTASIA
The hallway is empty when I make my way back to Mr. Roberts class.
It’s too quiet even with classes being done for the day and the energy around me in unnerving.
My boots echo against the polished floor.
Why does this room have to be the furthest from anything else around this damn school?
I should’ve asked one of the girls to come with me.
But I didn’t, forever trying to prove my independence and not accept anyones help.
I’d been so focused on getting out of here that I forgot my damn phone and had to come all the way back.
The room is dark and half-closed, the overheads dimmed to a sterile hum. I step inside and make quick movements to my desk. Just grab the phone and go.
“Looking for this?”
I freeze.
Jason’s voice slithers out from the shadows like a snake under floorboards. He steps forward, holding up my phone like some shitty prize. His grin is lazy. Predatory.
“Give it,” I snap, holding out my hand.
He doesn’t move.
“Why so cold?” he says, voice syrupy and smug. “You talk to Ivanov like he’s your savior now, but I remember when you weren’t such a stuck-up bitch.”
I keep my voice low. Measured. “First of all, don’t touch me. And why the fuck do you care about how I talk to Eryx?”
That gets a soft chuckle out of him. Like I’m cute. Like I’m a little girl throwing a tantrum. God, I hate him. Like nails on a chalkboard. Like someone chewing loudly in your ear. That one person who no matter what they do, a simple sneeze just pisses you off. That’s what Jason is.
“Taking a beating from Eryx wasn’t enough? You need a girl to beat you down too?”
“Still got that bite,” he mutters, stepping closer.
I take a step back. “Jason, I’m not playing with you. Keep testing me and you'll find out just how hard.”
“Oh, I’d love to find out.” One-second he’s smirking. The next, he lunges. Fingers clamp around my arm, dragging me toward the back of the classroom. I twist, I fight, but he’s stronger. Panic spikes like static electricity.
“Let me go!” I scream.
“You should’ve stayed locked up,” he spits, yanking open the storage closet. “It suits you.”
“No, no, no, no, no—wait—Jason, don’t!” I plead with him but he doesn't hear me, or care. He shoves me inside and I hear a click as I’m locked in.
It’s dark. Too dark. The second the door slams shut, my breath leaves me.
Cold spreads from the pit of my stomach out to my fingers, out to my legs.
I claw at the doorknob, pound on the door.
“JASON!”
Laughter. Then silence.
“Please!” My voice cracks. The shadows crawl in fast. They coil around my throat, around my lungs.
The air feels thinner. My knees hit the floor with a sharp thud, but I barely register the pain.
This isn’t a closet. It’s a coffin. Flashes of another door, another dark room, another hand locking it behind me.
Sergio’s voice echoing, distant and cruel.
You’re too loud. You’re too much. Too weak. Stay in here until you learn how to be a Díaz.
I slam my fists against the door until my knuckles burn. “HELP! SOMEBODY! PLEASE—” please, please, please. The walls close in. The floor tilts. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. The panic swells until it's unbearable. My scream rips out of me raw and helpless.
“PLEASE—” but my screams go unanswered for what feels like hours. My voice is hoarse from my pleas. Then I hear the class door open. The sound of feet thudding across the room. Papers rustling and what sounds like a drawer opening and closing shut.
“Someone, please,” I bang against the closet door.
“Nastasya?”
My heart jumps. It’s Eryx. “Get me out of here please, I’ll do anything just get me out,” I plead with him.
The doorknob rattles, “Back up—” There’s a loud bang, then the door bursts open, light flooding in.
And there he is. Eryx. Jaw clenched, chest heaving, gun in hand.
His eyes are scanning me like he's not sure what hurts worse, seeing me like this or not getting to me sooner.
I fall forward, legs useless. He catches me before I hit the floor.
Did he just shoot off the lock? Wait why does he have a gun? You know what, that doesn’t matter right now Stass, he just saved you, fuck why he has one.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” I keep mumbling my apologies praying to a god I don’t believe in that he’ll hear me.
“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs. Pulling me into his chest and stroking my hair. My body won’t stop shaking. “I—I couldn’t breathe.”
“I know.” His voice is low, deadly calm. “You’re okay now, I’ve got you Moya Vorona.” He coos making me feel safe, always making me feel safe. “He locked me in—I couldn’t fight back…” I feel so weak, so pathetic.
“He? Who did this to you?"
I hesitate. But I don’t lie. “Jason.” The name tastes like vile in my mouth. Eryx’s expression shifts. His whole body stills, like a loaded gun.
“Okay,” he says softly. Too softly and calm. This can’t be good, but I also can’t bring myself to care. Whatever happens, he brought this on himself. His eyes promise war.
My fingers clutch at his shirt, and I just let myself feel him, because I don’t know how else to let this out. He feels safe and warm right now, I’m surrounded by his scent, and it feels like home. I’m not alone. Not anymore.