Page 50 of The Bargain

I can tell she’s distracted because she keeps looking at her phone. Emerald is never on her phone. She only has two modes of being: studying or unconscious.

“I thought you didn’t go to parties,” I say, heart still beating erratically.

Stop thinking about him. You’re only giving him what he wants.

Just like he gave you what you wanted…

No.

I’m here to study, to build my actual future. Emerald’s two copies of Othello sit next to one another on the smooth-worn leather surface of the desk: one that’s for all her own annotations, and one that’s filled with ideas she stole from Benjamin when she hacked into his student portal to sneak a look at his essays.

Emerald’s notebook is filled with her cramped, tidy writing, but my laptop screen has gone dark from lack of activity. I’ve never fallen asleep while studying before. I wouldn’t have, if it wasn’t for⁠—

“I’m asking if you’re going,” Emerald snaps, glancing up from her phone. “Stop avoiding the question.” She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “What’s got you so distracted lately?”

“Nothing—I said I’m going!”

Emerald raises her eyebrows and smirks.

I drop my gaze, tapping my laptop awake.

“Are you?” I ask, a little more measured.

“Why should I?” she sneers. She locks her phone and shoves it away from her, almost sending it spinning off the desk. “That’s exactly what he wants me to do.”

I sigh. She’s in just as much trouble as I am, she just doesn’t even realise it yet.

“Then don’t go?”

“And let him win?” She scoffs. “Absolutely out of the question.”

He’s already won.

Emerald and Benjamin have been at each other’s throats for years now. When they both got selected for the prestigious Spearcrest Apostles Programme for academic excellence, we all thought it would finally be the end of it—the ultimate proof that they both won, after all.

But it’s starting to become obvious that whatever this war is between them, neither of them is winning.

“So you are going?” I say finally.

“I have to,” Emerald says. “But he’s planning something. I can just tell.”

“He’s not going to poison your punch.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him to do so,” she says darkly. She suddenly crosses her arms. “I take it you’re going with Lennox?”

Heat creeps into my cheeks, because the mention of his name brings it all back through the floodgates: the night at the Cyprian, the Inquisitor’s sly, mocking post, Elias sitting in my desk chair and spreading my legs, his wet thumb sliding back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm, his voice like a cold touch when he told me to stay away from scary monsters—like he’s not the scariest of all monsters.

Like I’m not going to end up on his arm on Halloween.

“That’s a yes, then.” Emerald slides her tortoiseshell pen between her lips, teeth clicking as she nibbles the tip. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your face so red.”

“It’s too warm in here.”

Not quite a lie. It’s sweltering in the library, the lights dim and almost distorted, and I’m sore and restless with tiredness. I’ve not slept well since that catastrophic afternoon in my study.

“Only because your cheeks are radiating so much heat.” Emerald tilts her head. “Does Julian know you actually like Lennox?”

My heart stutters, the burn in my cheeks deepening.