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I also make it a point to never go into the kitchen in the morning because Zach’s always there, getting fussed over by Maggie.
A couple of times I saw him getting out of tower one, where Mr. and Mrs. Prince’s bedroom is located – junior members of the staff, such as me, aren’t allowed in their suite. He looked agitated, angry, but as soon as our eyes clashed, I looked away.
Most nights, I hear the roar of his bike as he leaves the estate to go wherever he goes. Again, I make it a point not to think about it. Along with other things like how he sent Ashley away and how he made himself sick with the custard. How he hasn’t smoked in a while.
Don’t be like me.
What does that mean? I make it a point not to wonder.
As the days passed, I thought that he meant what he said. If I left him alone, he’d leave me alone too. I’d go back to trying to save up for my house and he’d do whatever he came here to do. I thought that maybe now that we’ve grown up, things really changed.
“Didn’t you go to school with him?”
Ryan’s question brings me out of my head and I nod. “Yeah.”
People have been asking me that since the first night he came back.
Didn’t you go to school together?
How was he back in school?
Do you know why he left? Why he came back?
Has he always been this sexy, this good looking?
“Were you…” Ryan pauses. “Were you guys friends?”
“No. No, we weren’t friends,” I tell Ryan, waiting for the familiar anger against Zach to rise up in me.
Familiar heat and the sense of injustice and the urge to punch him for ruining this for me.
Nothing changed, right?
Zach did ruin my date. He said there were no secrets from him. So he probably figured out that tonight Ryan was taking me out.
This is exactly like prom.
But unlike prom, unlike all the years at St. Patrick’s, I don’t have the need to get even. All I feel is empty.
Exhausted, tired. Scared.
I feel scared. I feel like for years, I’ve hated Zach with such intensity that he’s consumed every thought in my head. He’s taken up all the spaces in my body that I have nothing left to give. Nothing left to feel.
Maybe I hate him so much that I’ll never be able to love anyone. I’ll never have what my parents had.
“Okay, well, I’ll see you,” Ryan says.
He asks me if he can drop me off anywhere, maybe at The Pleiades, but I decline. Finally, with a soft kiss on my cheek, he drives away.
And I start walking north. Toward the mansion where he lives.
I’m in Zach’s room.
I walked for hours to get here.
I walked for miles in my blue sandals that gnawed on my feet. I have blisters on my heels and my skin tore open, oozing blood.
But I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I kept bleeding and sweating in the heat until I reached The Pleiades. Instead of going to the cottage, I walked toward the main house and got in through the service entrance.
If someone had found me wandering the hallways, in a dark blue dress, with bloody feet, I don’t know what I would’ve said to them. Maggie would’ve been pissed. Mrs. S would’ve come to know and I could’ve been fired. But I didn’t care about that. I didn’t care about the job or the house I’m trying to get back.
Good thing too because I didn’t encounter anyone on my way to his room.
His door was locked.
After the whole debacle of him dousing me in water and taking away my keys, Mrs. S said that we weren’t allowed in Zach’s room, unless he was the one letting us in. But there was no hesitation in me when I used the pin in my hair to break in.
And now, here I am. Dizzy and tired and probably as pale as a ghost.
Maybe he’s out on his bike right now, doing what he does this time of night. But I’ll wait for him to come back.
I don’t know what I’ll do when he does come back or why I came into his room in the middle of the night. I’m pretty sure tomorrow, all of this will look crazy and unhinged. But for now, I don’t know what else to do or where else to go.
I look around his room. It appears the same from days ago when I stupidly hid in his bathtub.
But there are subtle differences. A few of his clothes are scattered on the dresser. His backpack is on the black leather couch, directly opposite from his king-sized bed. His empty mattress holds the shape of his body and rumpled dark sheets.
And then, there’s his book, sitting on the nightstand.
