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Prim nods. “Okay, but I kind of want to get into that group and I think we may have blown our shot.”
I shake my head. “I think that’s last thing we need in our lives.”
Primrose looks to the ground. “Listen, Brixley, I don’t know what kind of life you’ve had, but mine’s been hard, and the freedom she just promised us? That’s all I’ve ever wanted. So, I appreciate you looking out for me, but I can take care of myself.” Primrose walks away from me.
My mouth parts slightly as my heart sinks. I was only trying to protect her, but I should have thought about how she might feel. We don’t know each other’s stories. We don’t know each other’s pains, the invisible scars, the silent wounds we’re sewing up each day. I need to apologize to her, and I go to do that, when someone bumps into me.
“Shit,” the voice says, grabbing the books that fell from his hands.
“I’m so sorry.” I reach down to help him. My fingers wrap around a textbook, and I rise to hand it over to him, but I pause. It’s the model boy, Devlin, I think he’s name is.
“Don’t apologize. I wasn’t paying attention.” Devlin smiles, taking the book from me.
He stares at me to the point where it gets awkward. “Well, okay.”
“I’ll see you around,” he calls.
“Will you?” After what I just learned about him, I’m hoping this is just one of his casual goodbyes.
His lip curls up. Not quit a smile or a sneer, but something in between. “Oh, I definitely will.”
His words cause goosebumps to erupt on my skin, a churning in my stomach. It feels as if I just entered a game. A game I never signed up for.
4
Brixley
I decidedI should volunteer since I commit so many sins on a daily basis. I’m not religious, not even a little, but sometimes the thought nags in the back of my brain… what if? But this volunteer work may be more of a mockery. Maybe.
I walk onto the platform, the lights blinding. There is a fur blanket that rests on the end of the stage. I look over to the professor that nods for me to slip off my rob. I do, not used to the silence as everyone observes me as I get into position. I lift my head to look ahead and quickly realize I should have picked another place to look. My eyes meet swirls of mossy green and caramel. My eye trace over the sharp curve of his jaw that tics before hardening. Beckett Cutler. “You may begin sketching,” the professor announces.
It’s too late to look away now, this is the pose I must hold for the rest of the class. It’s funny, I haven’t felt this exposed, this raw, since the first time I took my clothes off for a crowd. But under the narrowed gaze of Beckett, the only thing I want to do is cover up. His lips curl up in disgust as he places his charcoal to the paper on his easel. Eyes tracing, taking in every curve of my body. His fingers whiten as he places stroke after stroke on the paper. My cheeks flame bright, like the color of my hair. I can’t remember the last time that happened either. I get lost in watching his forearms flex as he draws until a sudden commotion at the door on the opposite end of me directs my eyes to right above his shoulder.
A cop stands there, motioning toward Beckett as he talks to the professor. “Mr. Cutler, can you please grab your things?”
Beckett looks back to them, his hands pausing. His body language never changes as he turns back around, charcoal moving as his eyes catch fire with mine when my gaze lands back on him. “Yeah, give me a second, I’m almost done.”
His classmates around him stiffen but never look over to him. We stare at one another. A challenge in his eyes, begging me to make one small move and mess up his portrait. His heavy gaze alone is enough to make my body want to twitch, but I hold his stare, not moving a single inch. Not even a blink.
The professor claps, startling his students. “Time’s up. Leave your drawings.”
The class all stop, gathering their things as light chatter erupts. Without breaking Beckett’s eye contact, I slowly pull the robe back up over my body. Finally breaking away from his suffocating gaze, I turn around, heading for the back room I left my clothes in.
I dress quickly, running out of the classroom to catch three police officers and the group I bumped into at orientation—The Misfits. It looks as if they’re being questioned. Maybe for the murder? It would be unsurprising if they were the ones responsible. Their energy screams dark temptation, sinister intentions. I take a step to get closer but stop when Madden, the blond, less frightening one, meets my eyes. His narrow and he does a small shake of his head. Usually, I would not listen or take directions from anyone, but something in his eyes stops me. A warning, maybe. Either way, I take a step back, turning to head to my next class.
* * *
I takethe back row of seats next to Primrose. I watch her pull out a notebook instead of a laptop like every single person in the class. Primrose’s soul is old, timeless. I can tell from the week we’ve shared together as roommates. The way she wakes up early to watch the birds and the sunrise. How she always has a book with her wherever she goes. I even saw her sewing the other night. So, I’m not shocked she takes handwritten notes.
The class is about to begin, when a dark presence sits down next to Primrose on her other side. His legs stretch out in front of him, and he scoots his desk closers to hers. Primrose stiffens, turning slightly toward me. Vance grins as he tugs on her white locks of hair. “Come on, Angel. Don’t be like that.”
She ignores him, looking up as a lanky boy in glasses approaches her. He’s cute in a nerdy way, someone I would picture sweet Primrose with. “Hey, Mario.” She smiles, cheeks heating.
“Hey, Primrose. I, uh, I was wondering if…” His voice breaks off as Vance leans across his desk, a fierce scowl on his face.
Mario, the poor kid, ducks his head, looking to the ground. “Never mind,” he mumbles, stumbling away.
Primrose whips her head to Vance who is still staring Mario down. “Could you not?” Prim says lowly.
