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What else could I say?
“Do you have any more questions?”
Tons, but I can’t formulate any of them. My curiosity feels wrong somehow. And she might mistake it for interest. “Not really.”
“Well, if you do, I’m only a text away.” She moves to stand. “We should get to class.”
Right, class. I head to physics.
What the professor babbles about for the next hour, I have no idea.I’m going to have to log onto the online portal and pray he loaded up a summary of the lecture. Thankfully, the professor doesn’t call on me to answer any questions. I always have answers, and I would have been mortified to fail this time.
My mind travels back to my friend’s confessions. After Sunday, I’d witnessed firsthand that she was far from vanilla, but I would never have imagined Rhys capable of the things she described.
Parading her, naked, with a hook plugging her ass. Having her tied up in the football locker rooms and letting his friends have a turn. Jesus.
My thighs tighten of their own volition.
Rhys, of all people. The sweetest husband I’ve ever seen. My mind has the hardest time reconciling all those facts.
They’re happy, that much is obvious. Their dynamic isn’t normal, but it works for them.
In the light of everything she told me, I reassess the events of Sunday; specifically, Riley’s involvement. The fact that she was Team Marius is becoming less and less surprising. It still blows.
When I turn my phone back on, I can see she, along with several other Raventhorn ladies, texted and tried to call me later Sunday, and even yesterday. They wanted to know if I was okay, which is sweet.
I still don’t want to speak about it to anyone else. Violet was different; out of everyone I’ve met in Thorn Falls, she’s definitely my closest friend. Besides, she was firmly Team Sarah, even earlier that day, when Marius did nothing wrong.
After physics, I have some open time for lunch, which I typically spend in the library. There’s a cafe downstairs, where Dez works three mornings a week. I usually grab a bite to go. We’re allowed to eat at any table on the ground floor, so long as we don’t have any library books that could get damaged by grease stains. I do most of my work on my old, cumbersome laptop, so that’s not an issue for me.
My second lunch place of choice is the actual cafeteria, in the Dome, but going there would mean seeingeveryone.
Not wanting to face Dez, or anyone else I might know, I opt to head back to the dorm. There’s a ready meal I can microwave in my mini-fridge.
I’m doing it again. Stressing out. A heaviness at the pit of my stomach tells me to run. To hide. I know it’s just paranoia. I glance behind my shoulder, and as always, I see no one staring at me, acknowledging me.
I’m safe here—so long as I stay away from private property, in any case. Even then, I was safe Sunday. At no point was I scared for my wellbeing. Angry? Sure. Frustrated? Yes. But never scared. I know the difference.
I tell myself I can make it to my room. It’s not far. If I jog a little, I’ll be out of Rose Hall in three minutes, and crossing the road towards the dorm in another five. The hallway, I can cross in under a minute. Then I’ll be in the elevator.
Another one of my fears: being stuck in a small space with no escape. I know what can happen in that type of space. But the elevator is much faster than walking up three floors of stairs.
So, ten minutes. That’s all. I can make it. I can, I can, I can.
My trembling hand reaches out to the familiar door.
There are five at every floor, all with a Keep Out sign, but the staff rarely ever bothers to lock them up. Although the rest of the building is fully automated, the lights in the staff supply closets don’t start without pressing a button, which means I can wallow in blissfully still darkness. I shut the door, and get on the floor, head between my knees.
I breathe.
I’m fine. I’m safe. Brandon doesn’t know where I am. No one wishes me harm here.
Last week, it was easier to make myself believe the lies.
Everyone wishes harm on girls like me, girls without parents who care, without protection or money.
I have always been a target. And there’s no such thing as a safe space.
9
