I frown at her.
“And very handsome!”
“Amanda,” I say wearily.
She sighs and her eyes fill with pity. “I’m so sorry, but what happened to you is so awful. You are not even gay!”
I stare at her speechlessly. What the hell did she just say? Shock gives way to anger, and I’m jumping to my feet. The chair crashes to the ground.
“What the fuck has that got to do with anything? Are you suggesting that if I was gay, I would have enjoyed being assaulted?”
Amanda’s face has gone bright red. The mess hall has fallen silent enough to hear a pin drop. I look around. If they weren’t staring before, they are now.
“I didn’t mean…” Amanda trails off.
I can’t deal with this right now. It is the very last thing I need. And all these pairs of eyes on me feel as if my flesh is burning.
I turn on my heels and storm away. Not the most mature thing to do, but it’s better than punching something.
As soon as I am alone in the hallway, my anger starts to fade. It is as if the mess hall was a sauna and it is a normal temperature out here. I can breathe again.
As my rage dissipates, guilt rushes in to fill the space it leaves behind. Guilt and shame. And a whole mix of other emotions that I cannot even begin to name.
Why did I paint myself as the victim in there? I enjoyed the things I did with Mabon. I liked it. I like him. Really like him.Why is that so hard to admit? Am I homophobic? I didn’t think I was, but apparently I prefer people to believe that I wasn’t willing.
Or maybe I’m being hard on myself. Mabon is the enemy. It’s not insane to not want people to know I was sleeping with him out of choice.
This is so confusing.
But some things aren’t. Some things are perfectly clear.
I never should have done this to him. I should have known that humans would be assholes. It’s fucking obvious. His own people are awful, but he is an expert in dealing with them. I haven’t helped him at all. I have dragged him from the frying pan into the fire.
As for my stupid ideas of glory, they were very stupid. I’m nothing but a selfish douchebag.
“Hey!”
The voice has me spinning around and grinding to a halt. It is the young man who was guarding my door the other day. Now he is jogging after me from the mess hall.
“Hey,” he repeats as he catches up. “I just wanted to say, if you want your revenge, I can get the boys to turn a blind eye. They’d all be up for it.”
Cold horror hits my gut like a sucker punch. I wheeze in a breath. Miraculously, my brain fires up. Play it safe. Play it cool. Keep your cards close to your chest. Don’t be an idiot for once in your life.
“Thanks,” I say tonelessly.
Then I turn around before my expression can give anything away. Luckily, I’m only a few steps from my room. I let myself in and collapse on my bunk.
I suck in a deep, shuddery breath. What the hell?
My brain continues to whirl. I lost my shit in the mess hall. Everyone was feeling sorry for me and I confirmed it in the worst possible way.
Then it hits me. None of them saw me comforting Mabon in his cell. And while I’m one hundred per cent sure that Mr Jones has watched the camera feed and is now suspicious of me, the Resistance works on a need to know basis. And none of the guards need to know what Mr Jones saw.
So they all think I hate Mabon. They have no reason to believe otherwise. And my little temper tantrum confirms their assumption.
Hence the offer of revenge.
Oh my god.
