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Correction. I go back to staring blankly at the screen while mulling over Axe’s last words.
So much to unpack.
Axe seems to think I’m OK being passed around their little foursome.
Never, not in a hundred-thousand years, will I ever be OK with that.
But that’s not what worries me most.
He said he’d do whatever it took to keep me here.
What does that mean?
“Aaaand you’re not listening at all.”
Austin’s voice startles me out of my thoughts. “Hmm? Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not important. I’ll just go back to rewriting notes from my lectures today while it was all still fresh.”
“Rewriting?”
Another frown flashes across his face but he quickly schools his features. “Recopying notes is a technique I learned to help solidify information.”
“Oh, that makes sense,” I say and go back to pretending to pore over lecture notes.
But Austin has other ideas. “Classes aren't easy for me. I never had the luxury of making school a priority before now, and I'm sure as shit not wasting the opportunity now that I have it. Rewriting my notes helps the information stay in my brain.”
I nod, trying to decide if I want to say anything more. But before I can help it, my mouth decides for me. “I see. You're a big dumb dummy then, huh?”
I cover my mouth with both hands as Austin stares at me, horror on his face. It looks as though he can't decide whether he should yell at me or knock me out.
He chooses something worse.
Quiet disappointment. “Why would you say that to me?” he whispers.
“I'm so sorry. I told you before, I have brain damage. Sometimes my mouth just says stupid, hurtful, awful things that I don't mean. And sometimes it's helpful and it makes me say brash, cocky things that puts certain demons in their place. But mostly it's a pain in the ass.”
I take his hand, balled in a fist, and squeeze it in mine. “Austin, I promise you, I do not think you’re dumb. My brain is just an asshole.”
His features soften, though he doesn't seem entirely convinced.
“Any time you want to study with me, I'd be happy to. Or—or if you want my notes, consider them yours. Honestly, I did not say it. My mouth did, but I was not in control.”
The shifter lets out a sigh and gives me a single nod. “It's a sore spot for me,” he says. “I have never been to a real school before Blackwood U. Last year was a pretty big adjustment for me.”
“You've never been to school before?”
He shakes his head, and darkness fills his gaze as if whatever memory he’s reliving pulled a shadow over him.
“I wasn't lucky enough to be born in a city with a big supernatural population. My parents couldn't understand why I was so volatile. Why even the slightest thing would send me into a rage. Hell, I didn't understand either.”
He catches my gaze with his and judges whether he should keep going. Whether he should tell me the rest of his story. I stay still. Keep my gaze steady. I only want to know more if he wants to tell me.
“They sent me away to an institute for children with behavioral issues. I was there until I turned eighteen. Notknowing why I was so full of rage all the time. Not knowing why my skin always felt like it was too tight or why the only relief from the rage always simmering under my skin was running on the meager track they had in the courtyard. But even that wasn't enough to keep me in line for long, no matter how much I wanted it to.”
I have a feeling I know where this is going, but I don’t interrupt. Thankfully, my brain agrees.
“Every time I freaked out on a kid who got in my way or took the apple I wanted or looked at me wrong, I got sent to solitary.”
