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I don’t. I wonder if she’s always this defensive and on guard. “Do you know why it died?”
“No.” She growls, but it’s barely even a kitten growl. “I don’t care, now let me go.”
“Because the bird lost its will to survive. That’s why you remind me of it.” I lower my head, bringing our faces closer. Her breathing is ragged, and I know I’m starting to piss her off. My lungs fill with poison, breathing in her wrath.
This is where my enjoyment comes from — I piss off people, because their anger feeds the hate inside me. Addiction comes in all shapes. This is my drug of choice.
“It was a dead, fallen sparrow. You’re a dying, fallen princess. Weak prey in a world filled with dangerous beasts,” I say, taunting her.
Her hand snakes out so fast, I barely catch on until she’s got a full grip of my hair in her fist. She pulls hard, forcing my head back. “Let. Go. Of. My. Hair. Bennett. That’s the last time I’m telling you.”
I tug on the silky strand.
She tugs harder on my hair.
My lips twitch with a knowing smirk. There we go. There’s the fire I had seen earlier. Now, now, what do we have here? Riley Johnson is finally somewhat interesting.
I release her hair, letting the blonde strand unfold from my index finger. Riley lets go and takes a step back. “Stay away from me, Bennett.
I raise my hand, the one that’s holding my clementine in a mock cheer. “May our paths never cross again.”
Her brown eyes flicker anxiously to my face before she straightens her spine and then stalks away. Popping another piece of clementine into my mouth, I lazily chew as I watch her ass sway back and forth in her yellow dress.
Yeah.
May our paths never cross again, Nemesis.
CHAPTER TEN
Riley — 16 years old
I’m livid.
Dr. Bailey says that when anger festers, we start to look for someone to blame. Anger is that petty devil on your shoulder, reminding you of your own misery, she’d say to me during our weekly therapy appointment. She would tell me to think outside of the wrath that holds me captive, to look beyond the weakness that traps me.
But right now, I can’t do that.
Who does Colton Bennett think he is? To compare me to a dead sparrow, with a broken wing. He knows nothing about me. But I know why he made that comparison. Birds are normally free creatures. But Colton was indirectly reminding me that I am caged — a sparrow who has been defeated. What is a bird without its wings? What is a bird that cannot fly?
A dead bird.
A dead sparrow.
A dying Riley.
My fists clench as I remember his taunts. I have to say, you puking all over your father’s expensive shoes sure made my night more interesting.
I knew my downfall was entertainment for a lot of people. But having to hear it from the mouth of that Bennett jerk has me both seething and feeling humiliated.
I storm into my room and lock the door behind me. I don’t share my room with anyone, thank God. My twin-bed is neatly made and my room is without a speck of dust, spotless. We have a cleaning lady who comes twice a week, but since there’s really nothing to do here at St. Lucas Rehabilitation, I spend my time cleaning every tiny crevice of my room. Cleaning helps keep my mind clear.
I don’t overthink when I’m cleaning.
I’m not riddled with shame or guilt when I’m cleaning.
My eyes flicker around the room like a mad person, looking for something — anything breakable. I’m so angry, I want, no need to break something. Storming into my adjoining bathroom, I only come to a halt when I catch my reflection in the mirror.
Because the bird lost its will to survive. That’s why you remind me of it.
