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“A little of one, a lot of the other.” I’m not joking, but he laughs like I am. Whatever. I don’t care if I’m being rude. The food’s phenomenal though, the steak’s so tender it melts in my mouth. I don’t even need the knife to cut it, so I leave it discarded on the table.
We eat in silence, which means I can thankfully enjoy my meal. I really don’t like this guy, but I can’t quite put my finger on why. Other than his eyes, which hardly seems fair because he can’t control his genetics. However, my gut says there’s something off about him.
Lizzie always used to say to me that I should listen to my gut, but I always laughed and told her it was just complaining about being hungry. Now though, I wonder if there’s something in what she was saying.
After dinner, we move swiftly on to dessert, and everything’s fine until Baxter gets up from his chair and comes to sit beside me. I tense, but don’t say anything and keep eating my ice cream sundae with all the works. It’s weird, though. Why’s he moved?
He watches me eat my ice cream with interest - weirdo - but I refuse to let him make me feel uncomfortable. That is until he places his hand on my thigh.
“What the fuck?” I say to him, dropping my spoon and turning to glower at him. He smiles, but this time the smile isn’t the kind that would have girls swooning, it’s a smile that’s as cold and absent of feeling as his eyes.
“What?” he asks, amused. “I got you the dinner that you wanted, so why don’t you show me how grateful you are?”
I stare at him in shock for a minute. I think it’s an actual full minute before I can do anything other than blink.
“No, thanks. I’m taken.” I have no idea why I’m not punching this guy right now. Is it because of who his granddaddy is? Or because I don’t want to embarrass my grandmother?
“I don’t see a ring.” He smirks.
I wave my beautiful sapphire ring in front of his face, and he laughs again. “It’s on the wrong hand, honey.” The term of endearment actually threatens to bring my dinner back up.
“Means the same thing though. I’m taken. And not interested.”
“Is that so?” he drawls. “Then why haven’t you moved my hand?”
I glance down at where his hand is still sitting on my bare thigh and wonder how the hell I didn’t notice that his hand was still there. Even now I’ve made no move to remove it, staring at it like it’s a completely alien life form. I can’t even feel it until he starts to lightly stroke and work his way higher.
When he squeezes my thigh, it’s like the spell I’m in suddenly breaks, and I snap. My hand shoots out on autopilot and grabs the object nearest to me - which turns out to be my unused steak knife. Without thinking I bring it down hard into the back of his hand, and he howls in pain. I shoot to my feet, not caring that the chair topples over, and rush to the door. Before I can reach for the handle though, the doors fly open, and any grandmother’s there with Richard the Dick.
“What’s going on?” Dick demands.
“Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not! Baxter’s had a little accident,” I tell them. I don’t know how he’ll explain accidentally stabbing himself with a steak knife during a dessert course, and I don’t really give a fuck. One look at his face though and I know he’s not about to out me. “I think he might need stitches. I have to go, I’m so sorry, but if I see blood I’ll faint,” I bullshit, rushing past them.
“Raven wait!” Cordelia calls. “I’m so sorry Dicky, I have to make sure she’s alright.” I hear her say and then she’s racing after me, and we’re fleeing into the warm balmy night.
***
The rest of the Easter break is uneventful. Cordelia and I reach some sort of unspoken arrangement not to talk about anything related to that night. Which also gives me a free pass to not have to talk about Lizzie, West Prep or my reasons for being on holiday with her. I feel like I dodged a bullet, so in a way, Baxter did me a favour by trying to cop a feel. Talking about my parents with Cordelia’s also out of the question, so we hardly speak at all in the end. I don’t really mind. She keeps to herself, I keep to myself. It works for us. I stay the hell away from all meals and activities that involve Dicky, she doesn’t invite me anywhere with them, and I avoid his lecherous grandson like the plague. Yuck.
I just want to get back to my guys, so it’s a relief when I finally board the private plane to go back home. I’m so glad to be leaving that I don’t even bitch about the unnecessary expense when I could take a commercial flight. Instead, I lie back and gratefully accept the cashmere travel blanket from the flight attendant, before getting some much-needed sleep.
Lizzie’s Journal
April 22nd 2017
I can’t.
It’s been a week since the party now and that awful morning after when I had to take myself to the hospital.
I decided against going to the school nurse. I didn’t want to be seen or gossiped about. I get enough of that already. One of the bullying bitch princesses also works on the reception there occasionally, and the thought of her having access to my medical files made me sick. So instead, I called a taxi and headed down into town on my own to go to the hospital. I probably could’ve asked Michael for a lift, but I was too embarrassed to tell him why I needed to go.
It was horrific. I can’t say any more than that, other than I’m glad I can’t remember anything from the night before.
The nurse was kind, but it didn’t make the news any easier to hear.
I don’t really recall getting back to school or my room. I do remember having a shower so hot that I still have scald marks left on my body a week later.
