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DELILAH
This has been a hellish week, but at least it’s Friday, meaning I’ll be able to hide out in my room for the most part over the next two days. But I still have to get through the second half of today in one piece.
That’s what my life is now. Divided hour by hour. I can get to the next one if I just make it through this class. Then I can go to lunch, which I dread all morning long, from the moment I open my eyes. Because at lunch, there’s less structure. No instructor at the front of the room glaring at anybody who dares to speak out of turn. We’re supposed to at least pretend to pay attention, even though so many people don’t. What do they care? They’re from rich families. They don’t have to pretend they want to learn how to navigate the underworld. They’ll have people to do it for them.
But lunch is like being thrown into a swamp full of alligators just dying to take a bite out of me. Anywhere I look, somebody is glaring at me. Snickering, laughing. Muttering insults and gossip or flat-out threatening me. Bitch. Traitor. Cunt.
I wish I could say I’ve started to grow a thicker skin after a week’s worth of it. That I can ignore the worst of it because, after all, not one of them knows me. They don’t know what I’ve been through. They weren’t in that awful room with that disgusting little costume. They weren’t about to be raped.
I wish I could say it doesn’t bother me, but I’ve never been big on lying to myself. I want to scream at them, smash my tray over their heads, and shriek in their faces. I want them all to know every humiliating, filthy detail, even though it would mean embarrassing myself.
Then again, they wouldn’t believe me because they don’t want to. It’s easier to hate me. Like a group activity that brings everybody closer together. All thanks to me and the horror show my life has become.
I navigate my way between tables, moving quickly but carefully. I have no doubt somebody will trip me, elbow me, or shove their chair out from their table to make me drop my tray and spill everything. Or worse. They want me to get hurt. They want to see me fall.
I am not going to give them the satisfaction. I won’t do it. And they can all go to hell.
It’s easy to think that. But it’s another story when I take a seat and feel the weight of so many stares on me. I want to ask what the hell they think they’re all looking at, but of course, that wouldn’t get me anywhere. Instead, I pick up my sandwich and take a bite, glad that at least the kitchen staff isn’t trying to kill me.
All I have to do is eat quickly and get the hell out of here. I wish there was time to get back to my room to eat alone before going to my next class. I don’t know how I’m going to eat over the weekend—maybe I’ll have to come down early, like as soon as the cafeteria opens, and grab enough to get me through the day before running back to the dorm. If it means not having to deal with being on display like this? I’m fine with it.
“Hey, traitor. Murder anybody today?”
It’s rare for someone to get so close to me. Most of them insult me from a distance. I look up from my tray to find Ren because he would be enough of a dick to do this. I’m sure Q put him up to it. I try not to stare at him. He’s got secrets in his dark eyes, and I can tell from a mile away he hates me. The way he watches people, the secretive things he does. He’s either very quiet or training to become a serial killer.
“No, but it’s only a little after noon. Still plenty of time.” I force a brittle smile before taking another bite of what is suddenly dry and tasteless. I chew it anyway, slowly and deliberately, staring up at him.
His mouth pulls up at one corner. White teeth appear, and I’d say he’s smiling if he didn’t look like a fucking shark ready to bite me.
“Funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
“No. Comedy isn’t your thing, is it? More like blunt force trauma.”
My hands start to tremble, and my heartbeat skyrockets. I see the droplets of blood pooling on the floor. Like rubies, weren’t they? And that heavy bookend covered in blood and hair. I’m about to lose what just entered my stomach.
No. Do not give him the satisfaction.Anyway, even if I did throw up, I’d want to get it on him, but the table is between us, so it’d be a worthless vomit.
He leans in and lowers his voice until it’s a menacing growl. “In case no one let you in on it, I’ll tell you what everyone else in this room is thinking. You. Don’t. Belong. Here.” He enunciates every word like I’m stupid and don’t know what he’s saying.
“I belong anywhere I want to be. Corium houses the offspring of all criminals.” I wish I believed that, though at least it sounds like I do. I’m almost impressed with myself.
“You think so?” The look in his eyes makes my skin crawl. “Rules were made to be broken.”
I arch an eyebrow, quaking inside but blank-faced as I can manage. “Is that a threat?”
“If that’s how you want to see it.” He shrugs, smirking. “If you ask me, it’s more of a warning. An appetizer of what’s to come if you remain here.”
He grabs the apple off my tray and takes a bite out of it; the crunch of his teeth sinking into the skin reverberates through me.Asshole.
“That’s my apple, douchebag.”
“Was. Your apple. It’s mine now.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong, so I don’t know why everyone hates me so much,” I growl.
Ren huffs. “It’s obvious from a mile away, but I understand how your small brain may interpret it differently. You killed a man and got away with it, and now people are out for blood. You’re a liability and a loose end.”
