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TWENTY-FOUR
Remi
Turns out that a girl-on-girl breakfast finger-fuck is much better than what Principal Windsor planned.
After a rush to change into black, athletic leggings and a form-fitting black tank top, we follow the guard back downstairs where other students are gathering to wait. The bitch didn’t try anything when we were alone—to my surprise—but she keeps grinning and winking at me, like my fake orgasm makes us a couple now or something. Even Bianca keeps giving me soft doe-eyed side glances that baffle the hell out of me.
What is going on?
Has the world turned upside-down—even more so than before?
Ever since that first night in The Pit, I’ve felt like Alice stumbling into a deadly Wonderland. With every passing day, things keep getting more and more surreal. My mind is a million miles away, so I don’t see or hear Cashel and Bentley come over to me. It’s not until Cashel leans in, his hot breath a tickle against my skin, that I sense his presence. “You were faking, lass.”
A small grin tugs at my lips at his knowing, but I just arch a brow in challenge, instead. “How do you know I wasn’t faking last night?”
Beside Cashel, Bentley snorts. “Doll, no one could fake squirting.”
I cough to cover my amusement mixed with a little embarrassment. Of course, these two would call me out on my shit.
“Don’t get me wrong—we loved the show,” Cashel adds. “Though, I think your roommate might have enjoyed it more than the guard.”
Startled at his quick assessment, I peek over at Bianca. Our gazes clash, and she blushes, her stare lingering on my crotch before sliding away. I blink as the boys chuckle.
Does my roommate have a crush on me now?
I decide to chuck that thought into the ‘Fuck-It’ bin in my head as a male guard yells for everyone’s attention. He barks a command for us to follow him, and I let Cashel and Bentley walk ahead of me. They’re similarly dressed in black athletic pants and black tank tops. Everyone’s white tennis shoes are a stark contrast to the mass of sable-clad bodies pouring out of Bitterwood. As we walk across the grounds, the map in my right shoe tickles the sole of my foot as I forgot to put on socks—I barely even remembered to add the map.
The scene in the cafeteria shook me up more than I wish to confess.
We round the left side of Bitterwood Prep where a row of Safari-like vehicles is waiting to load us all up to take us to God knows where. I shuffle forward to get into one when someone catches my hand—it's Bentley. He tips his head in the universal sign of ‘follow me’. I don't react immediately, my mind still a little hung up on my thoughts, but the dark-haired devil doesn’t wait for me. Instead, he simply tugs me along to another truck where Cashel is already sitting and waiting. Cupping my ass, Bentley helps me up into the last row of the caravan-style truck. Surprisingly—or perhaps, unsurprisingly—no one is sitting next to Cashel.
Swatting Bentley’s hand away when he doesn’t remove it, I plop down next to the blond, Irish boy, who immediately curls a hand over my right thigh. He hooks my leg over his, and I huff in irritation. Will the manhandling stop sometime today or will all of Bitterwood cop a feel? Cashel winks, like he can hear what I’m thinking, and I roll my eyes at the cheekiness, but a small part of me enjoys being squished between these two men. I feel safe, almost—and if that’s not the biggest sense of false security, I don’t know what is.
Mentally, I remind myself that it’s not safe to be with them, nor is it smart, but I might need them. I'm sick of feeling isolated and alone. The truth is, deep down, I'm terrified of what Bitterwood is doing to me—to all of us—and I don't want to face it one hundred percent alone. Internally, I acknowledge the danger in this new line of thinking but decide that maybe leaning on others isn’t the worst thing I could do at this school.
The boys and I ride in silence, but it's enough to know both of them are by my side. The gates to the grounds open, and we speed out at a dizzying pace as if Principle Windsor doesn't want us to recognize our surroundings or learn where we're at. Everything is so tropical and green, and there's no doubt that we are far from Oakwood Prep in California. Occasionally, I see openings between the foliage in what I think is the area where The Pit lies. No matter how hard I try, I can’t suppress the shiver whenever I think of my first night in this hellhole.
I’m lucky to be alive—although who knows how long that’ll last—when fucking Principal Windsor seems to be trying his damndest to kill us all.
After about twenty minutes of driving, we arrive at another gate. It slowly opens as we pass through, following what looks to be one truck ahead of us. Craning my head, I spy another behind ours, and I wonder if we're still on the same property or somewhere new. Ultimately, it doesn't matter because we're driving up to what looks like a large Colosseum-like arena.
My heart races in my chest as my mind scrambles to think of the possibilities. It wouldn't be past Principal Windsor to have anactualColosseum with lions—he’s sick and cruel enough that it would be something right up his alley. The guard parks the truck and signals for everyone to get out. Bentley slides out first, and I untangle from Cashel to follow, but the Irishman stops me, his hand gripping my upper arm, staring at me intently.
“What?”
“You best be careful, lass.”
His simple words sound like a threat but underneath, I detect concern and something treacherous flutters in my stomach.
“I have a map, remember?” My flippant words hide my inner turmoil and anxiety. Cashel nods sharply and gestures for me to get out where students are waiting.
Professor Vaughn hobbles forward, assessing the small group sure to get even smaller. “Who here has a free pass?” Bianca slowly raises her hand, as do Bentley and Cashel, along with two other boys. Professor Vaughn motions with a finger for them to stand beside him. “Everyone else, follow Brett.” He tips his head to the douchebag guard standing off to the side. The man turns his back and walks away, not waiting to see if anyone follows him. Immediately, the rest of us spring into action. I look behind me and see Professor Vaughn leading Bianca and the others away. My stomach twists, but not from the former jealousy I used to harbor, but fromworry.
For all of them—and that’s a very dangerous game because the only person I need to be concerned about isme.
I can't save everyone here—I barely can save myself. Principal Windsor is doing a good job of stripping us all of whatever humanity remains within us. He wants to turn us into wild beasts who will play his game, and by only caring for myself, I play right into his hand. Unfortunately, survival is something bred into the core of human beings. It goes against everything inside of us not to fight for it, so if surviving means only looking out for myself, it's understandable why I turn my cheek to everyone else around me.
Still, the longer I stay at Bitterwood, the less resilient I become to creating connections with those around me, and maybe that's been Principal Windsor’s end game all along. Maybe he wants us to become friends instead of pitting each other against one another. He wants us to form relationships so that when someone inevitably does die, it hurts even more.
