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The devil would be the least of their problems.
I’d make sure of it.
CHAPTER15
Zoey
“Take a picture, why don’t you? It’ll last longer,” I taunt, grinning at the girl who is sporting a black eye courtesy of me and the little rendezvous we had in the corridor earlier today.
Her nostrils flare in anger, but she’s smart enough not to do anything about it, preferring to finish up her dinner instead of giving me more shit.
Not that I blame her.
The dining room is packed with guards in every corner, keeping a watchful eye on all of us as we eat. All it would take is for them to take off those ugly polo shirts they are wearing and replace them with a prison guard uniform for this to feel like a real prison. Even the food tastes like shit here, much like I imagine prison food does. My stomach churns at the slop on a plate before me. How can anyone live like this? The only thing these kids are guilty of is having the bad luck of not having any parents, yet they are treated like criminals. No wonder most of them become one when they age out of the system.
It’s all they know.
My hand grips the plastic knife in my hand, threatening to break it in two, remembering how these poor conditions aren’t the only hardships these kids go through in this particular group home.
They suffer much worse.
So much worse.
I’m still in my head when I feel someone place their hand on my shoulder. On instinct, I fly out of my chair and hold the knife up to their chin.
“Easy there,” a woman I haven’t seen before says, gently moving the tip of my plastic knife away from her throat. Her gentle smile remains intact as she shakes her head to the guards who are rushing to her side.
“Is there a problem here, Maeve?” one of them questions, giving me the evil eye.
“I don’t think so. Is there, Ms. Knight?” she asks me.
I shake my head and sit back down, pretending that the whole room didn’t just go deathly quiet because of my rash impulse to defend myself.
What was I going to do?
Slit her throat with a plastic knife?
Alaric taught me to defend myself in tight situations, but none of his techniques involved plastic cutlery.
With an audible sigh, the woman pulls back the chair beside me and takes a seat. “I’m sorry I startled you. I just wanted to see how your first day here was going. I know how hard it is to fit into a new place,” she offers sincerely.
“Harder still when strangers think it’s okay to touch me without my consent,” I reply, choosing each word perfectly to see if I can get a rise out of her.
“You’re quite right.” She continues to smile at me. “I’m a firm believer in respecting people’s boundaries. I’m sorry that I crossed yours. It won’t happen again.”
My forehead crinkles at the sincerity in her voice. Unlike the other guards standing post here, she isn’t wearing a uniform, nor does she look pissed to be here. She must read the questions in my eyes, since the next time she opens her mouth is to answer some for me.
“We haven’t been officially introduced. My name is Maeve Burgess. I’m one of the guidance counselors on staff.” She holds out her hand to me, but I refuse to shake it. Her smile never wavers as she pulls back her hand. “So are you going to tell me how your first day here has been?”
“Eventful, but you probably know that already,” I reply, using my fork to play with the mashed potatoes on my plate.
“Yes. I did hear that you made quite the impression on one of the girls here. Not one to make friends, I gather?”
“Don’t intend to be here long for that.” I shrug.
“I hope that doesn’t mean you’re already thinking of running away. I read in your report that you have a tendency of running away from good homes,” she replies sadly.
“Is this a good home? Feels more like a prison,” I retort and point at all the guards.
