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Above me, Syn stares down, a smug smile on his lips. “You will eat every meal there.”
I suck in a long, deep breath, but don’t respond. Instead, I pick up my croque monsieur, and take a bite. The cheese has gone cold, and is no longer appetizing, but I chew slowly, never breaking my gaze with Syn.
With my attention on him, I don’t see Dawn until it’s too late. She pulls the croque monsieur from my hand, dumping it on the plate, which she quickly removes along with the cup of coffee.
“What are you doing?” I demand with my mouth still full of food.
“You think you’re allowed to eat that?” Syn asks. He cocks his head, before shaking it and tutting. “From now on, you will share the honor of being served exclusively by the freshmen members of the Elite.”
A tray is placed in front of me. This is one where there are various sections, designed for the food to go straight into it. Although it’s the same blue as the university colors, I’m certain this is something created especially for me. Like with my table, I’m getting prison vibes.
My brother is in prison, so I must be subjected to something similar?
Or worse.
The tray has three compartments. One is for the plastic spoon, which, at this point, if it was a real knife, or even a fork, I would be tempted to use it as a weapon. Another section has a paper cup filled with water. The largest part contains only a pile of white rice. The mound is barely bigger than the fist I’m clenching on either side of the tray.
Syn gets up and casually walks down to me, perching on the edge of the table. He leans closer. “The university is providing you with three free meals a day, and you will receive that. Your food will be served to you at 8 a.m., midday, and 5 p.m. every day. If you miss those meals, you will not receive another. And if you try to get any other food…” Syn lowers his voice. “I will ensure whichever staff member provides it to you will lose their job faster than you will be able to finish your meal.”
With the sunlight streaming in through the window behind him, the way it catches his light brown hair makes it glow. His golden eyes and strong jawline make him positively handsome. But Synclair Keyingham is nothing more than a Trojan horse. Alluring on the outside, but full of evil intent.
“One day, you’re going to regret everything you do to me.” Like him, I keep my voice low. “And the only way I’m even going to considerlisteningto an apology from you is after your public declaration of all the shitty things you’ve done, when you’ve lost everything, when you’re down on your knees, begging me to forgive you.”
Syn chuckles, but there’s no real humor behind it. “I’m never failed to be amused at how the masochism kink presents in different people. Spoiler alert, Victoria. The only ones regretting anything will be you and your murderer of a brother.”
XXIII
Tori
When I left for the dining hall this morning, I was exhausted. Now, fueled by a new desire to find out the truth about my brother, I feel more invigorated.
I head back to my room so I can change into my uniform for class, already re-writing my weekend plans. While I’m still upset that I won’t be able to spend the weekend in Manhattan with Penny, I’ve already decided the day will be spent looking for answers.
I’m sure there’s something obvious I’ve not even considered, because there should be more evidence of a murder taking place on campus. Not just a faded white outline, but something somewhere that could even tell me where JP was killed.
When I arrive on my floor, there’s a package outside of my room. I slow my pace, instantly suspicious. It wasn’t just my social media that got spammed. Before we moved, there were regular deliveries with contents ranging from literal shit—and I honestly couldn’t say if it was human or dog—to trash. Physical hate mail with messages so vile that if it didn’t look like a bill, the letter automatically went into the trash.
Aside from the glowing red light from the camera opposite my door, the corridor feels suspiciously quiet.
Walking up to the parcel, I keep a slight distance as I inspect the box. There’s nothing identifying about the brown cardboard, other than the envelope with the university logo, addressed to me, taped to the top. Hesitating, I reach down to pull the envelope off and pull out the sheet from inside.
Dear Victoria,
Please accept our sincere apologies for the late delivery of your laptop. As you will be aware, scholarship students are entitled to a laptop which they are welcome to keep after they have graduated.
Your laptop was ordered upon acceptance of your place at James Keyingham University, however the item was not in stock, and unfortunately, we failed to realize this happened.
Sincerely
Dean Welcroft
The signature is hand signed, and the paper is embossed, but I’m still suspicious. I don’t ever recall seeing anything about receiving a laptop. I pick up the box and unlock my door. Once I’ve locked the door behind me, I carry the box over to my desk and set it down, carefully cutting the parcel tape with a pair of scissors.
Inside is a still-sealed MacBook Air.
I stand there, staring at the box instead of removing it from the package it was delivered in. All the crap from high school, and the revival of it here has clearly put me into ultimate defense mode because a $1200 laptop wasn’t even on the list of things that I was preparing myself for in that box.
Sinking into my chair, I rub my chest. For the last few days, I’ve felt like even though I’m breathing, my lungs aren’t ever filling with air. With my own laptop on its last legs and the worry of trying to get it fixed, this is something which literally feels like it’s giving me a little breathing room.
