Page 21 of Darkest Obsession

I need to be careful with her. She could have figured out who I was today and what I did to her. What would happen then? She’s more than a firecracker. She’s a bomb. If Clover finds out, I’m positively fucked. I need to stay away from her, but it’s hard. She’s a dancer, isn’t she? And I can see her moving in my head. Constantly.

Ten minutes into Ethics class, Clover stomps in. She walks like she’s perpetually angry, or maybe it’s an American thing. The girls over there are more forward. I rather like their chatter. But fuck’s sake, can’t I catch a break? Why does she have to be in this class? I’m doomed. There’s only one seat left and it’s the one next to me. Clover rolls her eyes before sauntering over to it and drags her chair out noisily, slamming her bag on the ground. She leans back and folds her arms with a big sigh like she’s just been through something horrible. I suppose I put her through it. I try not to let that make me smirk.

Our Ethics teacher, Professor Milton Greene, clears his throat.

“Miss Robinson, you are tardy.”

“I was in the headmaster’s office,” Clover says, not impolitely but with terseness more acceptable amongst Americans than Brits. Greene purses his lip.

“Very well, but that’s no excuse for lateness.”

“Yes, professor,” Clover mumbles. “Won’t happen again.”

I catch her little eye roll after that, but Professor Greene doesn’t.

Clover winces as she reaches for her pen and notebook from her bag. She must have really hurt her hand punching Kit in the face. He didn’t report her to the headmaster, so why the hell was she in there? After we stole her knickers, we walked off, leaving her to clean up her mess on the dining hall floor. Bloody hilarious. What’s she so twisted up about? It was a harmless prank. I haven’t the faintest why she’s glaring at me like I’m supper.

Greene begins his lecture.

“My first lecture of the year is always a favorite for the students. Today, we will be discussing the ethics of… monogamy.”

Half the class chuckles. Great. This. Why the hell did I sign up for Ethics? Right. Violet threatened to tell mum about the incident with the Japanese vase if I didn’t take a class to ‘improve my character’. What the bloody hell is wrong with my character?

Professor Greene defines the word monogamy. It’s a bland, loveless, dictionary definition. Monogamy. I can’t focus. I can only think of mum and the sound she made when she found out. How could you do this to me? James sprinted out of his room thinking she was dying. But I knew. I was the one who made him tell her. Fuck. Should I have done that? Or should I have let her go on thinking he was the man she wanted him to be.

If Violet knew, she would tell me I did the right thing, but I don’t want my dear sister to know my big mouth caused them to split up. She has enough on her plate with that bone-headed idiot she calls a boyfriend.

Greene continues, adding to my horror. “I already assigned the pairs, one boy and one girl. You will select an argument for or against monogamy, work on it for the next week and then present it. Any questions, you see me after class.”

Our class doesn’t have that many people, but I’m sure they’ll assign me someone like Molly or maybe one of the tennis girls. Juno’s French. I heard the French learn very quality essay writing. Unfortunately, when Greene reads the names, I realize the horror of my predicament.

“Thomas Bainbridge… you will be working with Clover Robinson…”

Fuck’s sake. Why am I so unlucky?

We turn to face each other, hate dripping from us both. Bloody hell. She doesn’t even know I have her knickers in my pocket. Stealing from someone as rich as Kit Barclay is incredibly easy. In our first three days here, I nicked £300 just from the spare bills he keeps in his shoes — and I really wanted to get my hands on her knickers. Much easier than I thought.

Clover rolls her eyes. I don’t have much to say, but I understand the sentiment. At least I have her knickers. I could use those knickers to have her write up the entire project. I’d better get a proper assessment of her American communication skills. I can’t exactly sacrifice my grades.

Greene lectures for a while longer, giving us the torrid history of monogamy. Why are some professors chomping at the bit to discuss sex before 8 in the morning? Don’t they have wives or some other way of releasing this tension aside from stupid assignments? The only person less interested in the assignment than me scribbles notes angrily in her black notebook.

She has big, bubbly handwriting which sometimes veers off into a series of floral patterned doodles. I’ve got a good memory, so I don’t bother taking notes in most of my classes and taking notes on Ethics seems like a special waste of time. You just muddle through it like everything else.

Halfway through our class time, Greene clears his throat and asks us to split up into our groups. Clover turns to me with pure hatred on her face. She still isn’t wearing any knickers, unless she changed. Maybe I should ask?

The death glare on her face tells me that I shouldn’t.

“Want your knickers?” I mumble stupidly.

Clover’s eyes widen and she leans forward with pure violence coloring her face.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Thomas… You bring up my underwear in this class one more time and I will jab my pen so hard into your balls, you won’t walk for a week.”

My balls hurt at the thought of her taking that pen and stabbing into them with that nasty look on her face. Fucking hell, Clover. That’s dark.

“Understood.”

“Good,” she hisses. “Now, let’s find a way to be civil so I can actually get a good grade in this class.”