My entire uniform is dripping by the time I'm down the hill the castle sits on. I haven't even passed the gates yet. It's a road through the woods that links SFU to the rest of Silver Falls, and I'm all alone as I try to trek back to civilization.
A few cars pass by, and when one ends up splashing me, I freeze on the spot. A ball forms in my throat, sickness seeping through my body.
I'm sick. Sick of living my life depending on Chase's moods. Sick of not being able to afford the simplest things. Sick of having to survive every. Fucking. Day. Can't one day, justone day, go right for once?
The road is on my left. So I don't hear the car slowing to a stop next to me, nor the sound of the window rolling down through the heavy curtains of water. It's only when I see it in myperipheral vision, and only when I see Achilles's face that I can make out what he says.
"I think you need a ride."
Of course, the only person willing to help me is the one who is probably going to murder me by the time I get home.
"I'm fine," I snap at him and keep on walking.
He follows me, window open and letting rain splash into his expensive Range Rover.
"Don't be stubborn. Not when I'm being nice."
"Fuck off."
"If you don't care about catching the cold of your life, I'm sure you'll care about the fact that your violin won't survive the walk. That's a pretty shitty case you got there."
My spine straightens, and every step becomes harder to take, especially having to keep looking at him to understand what he's saying.
"Lord help me." I huff, drops of water flying off me. It's complicated to even keep my eyes open with the rain pouring on me.
I watch him reach across and open the passenger door.
"Wise decision," he says proudly as I hop in and put my case on my lap.
I'm too scared to open it and see the damage, so I just rest my forearms on it as he starts driving.
"I'm going to need your address." He puts his phone on top of my case, and I eye it warily.
There's absolutely no way I'll be putting my address in here.
"I'll guide you." I put his phone in the middle console.
I'm desperate to look out of the window on my side, but if I do, I might miss something he's saying, so I keep my eyes on him as he focuses on the road.
Rain batters the windshield, and the swooshing of the wipers calms me for a minute. The consistent sound repeating in perfectrhythm gives me a sense of safety that’s actually non-existent. Our drive is silent the whole time we're in the woods, Achilles not saying a word until we're along the South Bank.
"Was your boyfriend not picking you up today?" His tone is derisive enough to explain exactly what he thinks of my relationship.
"There was a last-minute emergency," I lie.
"I'm sure." He chuckles.
I don't give him what he wants. I don't engage in his taunting. All I need to do is survive until I get home. That's it. And the view of the neglected truss bridge leading to the North Shore is a reassurance. It's only another ten minutes before I’ll be home.
I keep my eyes on his beautiful lips, waiting for them to move at any moment. They're too full, too red, too tempting for me not to think about the last time they were on my mouth. The problem is, that memory comes with what happened afterwards.
Still, I can't help the tingling in my body, and as if he can feel it, his right hand lands on my thigh. That tiny space between where my case is sitting and my hip. High. Very high.
"It's a left here."
He follows my direction, then squeezes my thigh gently. "You never replied to my text."
My heart drops because the squeezing might be gentle, but his tone is as cold as the gray of his eyes.
