They’d warned us to stay out of the south field and away from the old well. But when you’re a kid playing, you forget why until it’s too late. My brother ran across the rotted wooden planks and fell to his death. They said he broke his back when he tumbled down the old rock well and was gone before he hit the cold contaminated water below. I wanted to believe that, but the cries I’d heard when I ran back to save him told a different story. They tried to explain they were my own cries echoing in the well. I prayed they were right.
My father changed after the accident. He couldn’t look at me without becoming angry. I remember him in a drunken rage telling me it should’ve been me instead of Israel. My brother, in his mind, was worth more than a stupid girl who couldn’t take over the family business when the time came.
My mother fell into a depressed state and stopped caring about the rest of us. She had to be institutionalized for a few years. After she returned home, our relationship haddiminished, and I’d been shipped off to boarding school. It was as if they sent me away so they could forget I even existed.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Until my father realized he could marry me off for a profit. Then, my value changed. I was no fool. I knew the Culbersons were only interested in me marrying Wilson because of what that meant for him. And thus, the negotiations began, and my future was written without my permission.
With newfound freedom, I can carve my own path. A road less traveled, leading me somewhere quiet, somewhere far away. I have no desire to return to Hermosa Islas. Last winter’s trip home was proof enough: dreadful, suffocating, unbearable.
Mother was constantly on me about how I dressed, my hairstyle, and my makeup. Image was everything to her. And if we weren’t off to impress the members of the countless charities she managed, then I was ignored and left alone.
Father only spoke to me at meals and social events.
We didn’t even have a traditional family Christmas, because after Israel’s death, we stopped celebrating everything. My birthday, which is in May, has been long forgotten and a day I made myself scarce when home.
Why would I ever want to go back?
Seventy-two hours ends in fifteen minutes and then I’m breaking out of this prison. I’ve already packed my backpack, minus my laptop and phone. Darius is the worst. He only allowed me to read the notes he printed when I demanded I needed them to study. He contacted my professors and explained my predicament, demanded they provide him with notes he could print. No screen time. My brain was to rest. Doctor’s fucking orders.
I searched high and low for them earlier, but he’s hidden them too well, so I gave up.
While waiting, I play with my long hair. My face is still very sore, puffy and tender to the touch. The discoloration is more pronounced today than yesterday. The edges are yellowing, which is good, I suppose. My swollen eye throbs, a blurry, painful impediment to my sight.
Fucking Wilson. Never again will I be caught off guard like that.
After an hour-long phone call, Darius saunters into the living room. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he twirls a set of keys, the jingle a familiar sound. His black jeans and dark t-shirt, both form-fitting, accentuate his perfect physique. I do my best not to stare or drool. If I drool, I’ll blame it on the bruising.
He spots the backpack at my feet, his eyebrows shooting up as the familiar weight of the keys settles in his palm. “Going somewhere?”
I snap the hair tie around my wrist twice before I respond. “My time is up in a few minutes. I’m going back to the dorm. Before I leave, I need my laptop and phone.”
The way he pauses, I’m almost certain he’ll refuse, or at least try to stop me, but instead, he nods once. “Alrighty then. I suppose you’ve earned them back for not giving me any problems.” He tosses me a wink to show he’s teasing, then strolls over to the cabinet that hides the TV, opens it, and digs around for a second before he pulls both out.
I didn’t look there. Next time, I will. I mean, hopefully, there won’t be a next time, but should I find myself in a similar situation, I’ll know to check there.
Walking over, he hands them to me. “You don’t have to leave. You could stay.”
I shove them in my backpack and zip it. “No, I can’t. I’ve got to get back to class.” Driven by curiosity, I chew my thumbnail, needing to know. “Wilson has left, right?”
“Not for another two hours. But he’s packed, has withdrawn from school, and he met with Detective Jones this morning. The detective made it very clear that as long as he flew home, he would only be required to pay a fine. If he stays or decides to one day return, he’ll face jail time. It’s all part of the plea bargain he worked out with the DA. His visa has been revoked, so he can’t stay here legally, even if he wanted to. Immigration would be on him quickly and deport him. You have nothing to worry about.” Darius twirls his keys again. “Do you want a ride back?”
“I can call?—”
“We need to talk, anyway. I’ll drive you and we can do that.” He grabs my backpack and throws it over his shoulder. “Shall we?”
I was hoping to just walk away and forget about him. It’s better if I do. Being in a small confined space will mess with my brain, and it’s not fully operational yet.
“Fine.”
He waves me through, putting a hand on my back as he opens the door. After pressing the elevator button, he moves it to the back of my neck and squeezes. As he guides me into the box, he spins me forward, moving his hand to my shoulder. In a slick move only he can pull off, he slides it down my arm and draws me into him.
“What the hell are you doing?” My eyes land on his hand, and when I twist to look at him, I become lightheaded.
Damn, the man is grinning like he knows I’m this close to leaning into him.
“Please stop.”
