Page 155 of Her Wicked Plan

He ate me like he was feasting on his first meal in years, and I swear it lasted almost the whole session—almost as if he couldn’t get enough of me. He was comfortable between my legs and did not ask for anything in return when he finished.

“Ronnie?” The soft voice drags me from my pleasurable thoughts. I raise my eyes to find Eliza standing next to where I’m sitting in the chair. “You looked deep in thought. Am I interrupting?”

Dropping my eyes to the open journal; the tip of the pen is barely touching the fresh page. What was I going to write?

“No. You’re not.”

“Oh, good!” She sighs, taking a seat on the couch. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“Sure.”

“There’s this girl that’s been giving me issues. Every time she sees me in the hall, she shoves me...”

“Eliza.” Her name comes out harshly.

“I figured since you stabbed the one girl with scissors that you could…”

“I can’t.” I cut her off abruptly.

Her brows draw down in confusion. “But you said...”

“Yeah, I know what I said, and things have changed.” I roll my eyes because Goody Two Shoes doesn’t get it. “When I stabbed that girl, I got two weeks in solitary. Dr. Bennett said if I have one more outburst, he will move me to another ward.”

“Oh.” Her voice drops.

“Yeah , oh. I enjoy it in this ward and have no plans to move to another.”

She exhales. “This is all my fault.”

“No, it’s not. I had a plan for her that wasn’t as extreme but went way off track because I was angry at something else. My frustration took over my body, and without thinking, well...”

“I’m sorry, Ronnie,” she apologizes. “I would hate for you to be sent to another ward too.”

“So you understand why I can’t beat your bullies up anymore?”

“Yeah.”

The following words taste bitter in my mouth: “I’m sorry for agreeing to do those things for you and for having to take them back.”

Her eyes widen, astonished at my apology, but that surprised gaze softens. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”

Silence overtakes our little bubble. I focus on the blank page while small chitter chatter surrounds us. Patients take seats at the tables, and nurses come in with clear boxes. I squint my eyes to see what is stowed in the boxes but can’t make anything out.

“What’s going on?” I ask Eliza, my eyes still roaming around the other patients.

She turns in her seat, taking in a new commotion. “Oh, it's a craft day! They are trying to do it every Thursday.”

Craft day? Oh, hell no. I shut my journal and stand up. “That’s my cue to go.”

“You’re not going to stay? It would be fun!” She smiles, a teasing tone in her voice.

“Plunging this pen into my eyes sounds more fun than whatever they are planning.” I curl my lips in disgust and head for the door.

I walk down the hall toward the lobby, hoping no one is there because I want some time to myself. Yes, I know I can have that in the privacy of my room, but I’m sick of staring at those four beige walls.

I hear hushed voices before I round the corner to the hall leading to my destination: a male and female. I press my back against the wall, my ear pointed toward where the people are speaking.

The male voice reaches me first.