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18
Bianaca
“Little sister!” Dylan raced down the hall, light eyes glimmering, and put an arm around my shoulder. I tensed immediately beneath his touch but kept my face perfectly apathetic.
It was a technique I had honed, one that my therapist had taught me. If I acted like it didn’t bother me, it would stop.
Only, I feared that nothing would ever stop Dylan.
The school’s hallway was bustling with teens, locker doors slamming shut, laughter from the nearest group of jocks penetrating the chatter.
It was just another day in high school.
Hell would be a better description. Or purgatory—in these halls, I wasn’t quite dead or alive. I justwas, floating through the motions in a disembodied state.
“How’s my favorite sister doing?” Dylan asked lightly. He pulled me to his locker, arm still tight around my shoulders, and began to grab his notebook and textbook.
I anxiously scanned the crowded halls. Did anyone see? Did anyone care? How could anyone think this was normal?
But if there was one thing I knew about high school, it was the need for conformity. Nobody dared to break free from the status quo, let alone stand up for what they knew was wrong. They kept their heads buried in the sand like good little pets, choosing to see the world through a warped funhouse mirror.
Me? I was trapped on the other side, ramming my fist against the glass. Blood rained down, staining the skin of my knuckles, but the cage did not break. I was forever trapped, fated to be an observer in my own life.
“Stop touching me,” I whispered to Dylan harshly. I attempted to pull away, but only half-heartedly. It wasn’t as if I wanted him to touch me, but I knew the consequences of my actions. If I embarrassed him, he would seek out his revenge.
“The new kid’s staring at you again,” my stepbrother said conversationally. I stiffened beneath Dylan’s hold, only allowing my eyes to move as I surveyed the teeming throng of students. Sure enough, I met a pair of dark orbs locked on me. I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face, but I would almost describe it as horrified.
I could’ve been wrong. Nobody had ever noticed or cared how Dylan treated me before. Not even Beau noticed half the time.
The new student had arrived with his younger sister a few weeks ago. I had immediately hit it off with the younger girl who was, as Beau pegged, a groupie. She sat at my table, chatting excitedly about anything and everything.
Her brother was slightly more reserved. I sat next to him in math class, and I knew that he was ridiculously smart. Almost genius level. It wasn’t something I would expect from him given his emo, brooding-guy look. For the most part, I ignored him, but I did catch his eyes on me from time to time, his long tongue swirling over his lip ring.
“He doesn’t matter,” I said, turning my attention away from the new student and his way too enticing eyes. The last thing I wanted was for him to be on Dylan’s radar.
As quarterback and basketball star, Dylan had the entire school under his thumb. He wielded his power like a sword, not hesitating to cut someone down. Ruin them.
He had tried it with me once before, and he had tried it with Beau.
“Come, little sister.” Dylan’s fingers bruised from how tightly they gripped my arm. “Let’s get to class.”
* * *
I wokeup in a cold sweat, heart pounding in tandem to my racing thoughts. The dream had felt so vivid, so realistic. I could still feel the weight of Dylan’s arm around my shoulders, smell his acrid, rancid breath.
Why had Aiden been in my dream?
I didn’t want to dwell on that, choosing instead to get out of bed and walk to the communal showers. The hot water did little to wash away the remnants of the dream, however.
To my surprise, a fresh uniform was sitting on my bed when I stepped back into my room in only a towel. My dripping wet hair cascaded down my back, watering the wooden floors.
A simple note was tacked to the blouse.
Sorry.
-K
K? Kace?
