But he never returned with the others.
I hate to admit it, but I tried to eavesdrop on his friends and even Darcy to find out where he was and when he would be back.
My heart strangely settled when I overheard Darcy telling her friend that he was doing business with his father and would be back by the end of this coming week. Then I unwittingly filled with a little bitterness at the fact that Darcy knew this information about him, solidifying the points she snapped at me the other night.
I have my freedom on the line, I shouldn’t be upset about a man I will never see again after this. I will be in Europe, travelling from city to city, finally finding myself. Finally free. All the while, Asher Vander will become the CEO of his family’s company, marry Darcy, get a massive manor house in the country, and raise three perfectly manicured gremlins. Having money but being so utterly bitter and angry. Just like my father. The thought sends a shiver up my spine. I shake my head to clear yet another daydream where I am not focused on the things that are most important.
Marlowe’s name is something I cannot question without a prompt myself, so I need to change tactics. If Marlowe and Bronwyn’s files were together, I am guessing that the same thing happened to both.
Tomorrow I am going to question people about Bronwyn instead. She was here this year, literally the floor below me, in the same halls. I have a right to ask where she might be. The girl who stopped me to see if I had seen her that time in the stairwell is in my English class on Tuesday. My chair is at the opposite end of the hall, but I can catch her before she leaves for her next class.
Deciding on that being my goal this week, I switch off my lamp and try to get some sleep. My dreams have lately been filled with the horrors ofhim.I get so panicked thinking I am back there; I wake screaming into my pillow. After some eerie sounds echoing up the turret and being on edge from my own mind, I can never get back to sleep. I lie there listening to the wind and rain bashing against the windows until the dulled sun light pierces through the thick clouds surrounding this place.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes and say goodnight to every part of my body to calm my mind.
Goodnight toes, goodnight feet, goodnight ankles, goodnight calves... goodnight knees…goodnight thi….
***
I woke feeling better yesterday after my early night, I even managed to get a run in before my first class, this time keeping to just around the main hall. I kept my music off and constantly scanned the area, but no hooded figure made a show. I grabbed a quick breakfast with Corden, but he had to rush off before I got to question him about the file he took pictures of, but he did promise to have dinner with me on Friday, so I will have my interrogating hat on then.
I made it through most of my day unscathed and even caught up on most of my assignments. Then Darcy happened.
My afternoon pick me up coffee, ended up down my white shirt and along with it my papers I was about to hand in at my next class. No one stopped, no one asked if I was okay. Not even a single paper towel was handed to me and for a second, I felt like that thirteen-year-old girl again. Her pain being ignored by everyone around her, made to feel less than human. Alone.
With my eyes burning, I ran to my room and locked myself away, skipping my class and probably about to receive a warning for not handing in the assignment.
I tried to get another early night, but I tossed and turned, eventually falling asleep at 1am only to wake up at 4am screaming into my pillow once more.
It’s safe to say I am absolutely shattered today, and Tuesdays are one of my busiest. I won’t be getting back to my room until late.
I can’t think of that right now though, I am on a mission.
English Literature. Lecture hall A. Mrs. Davies. Project, Befriend Lilia Rose Fox, aka Bronwyn’s friend.
I glance at the clock on the wall as Mrs. Davies walks to the front of the classroom, her red dress too tight for the age of her, but she looks like she was once a stunner before the kids sucked the life out of her.
I scan the other side of the seating and spot Lilia, her long red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She’s tall, taller than most, and broad shouldered, her thighs thick with muscle underneath her skirt. I guess that’s from all the sports.
Lilia and Bronwyn are on the school’s netball team, and from what I hear, the team is unbeatable. Or was. Bronwyn was goal shooter, and her presence has been greatly missed. Lilia is surrounded by two other girls and a curly haired boy, they are laughing and chatting as they pull out their folders, and I envy them for a second. I wonder what it is like tohave not a care in the world other than good grades, making friends and your boyfriend cheating on you.
Mrs. Davies goes on and on about Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Grey. I zone in and out of her lecture because, though it is one of my favourites, and one I have read three times. I just don’t care.
When the bell finally dings, I rush out of my seat and make my way over to the group across from me, they linger while chatting and putting their things back into their bags. The boys’ stare locks on me as I stand to the side of the row and his head tilts as though assessing me. He is conventionally attractive. Nothing rememberable and dark like Asher, but pleasant enough. Dirty blonde curly hair, Black square framed glasses, full lips and a rosy cheeky. He reminds me of a cherub you see painted in Italy.
Lilia stands and I make my move after clearing my throat, the boy beside her still staring.
“Erm, excuse me,” She turns to face me and smiles.
“Hey,” Sweet voice, just like the rest of her.
“Hey,” I smile back. “Your Lilia, right?”
“I am,” she pulls her bag onto her shoulder. “And you are Ruella Griffith,”
I nod and decide to go for it. “That girl you were looking for, Bronwyn Bell. The one on the floor below me,” I pause while her eyebrows collect in the middle of her forehead. “Did you ever find her? Because I’ve never seen her come in and out of her room,”
“Oh yeah,” She chuckles. My face must show my confusion because she continues. “When I went to see Mr. Carmichaels to report it, he told me that her mother had already emailed the school about her withdrawal from the Academy. Bronwyn sent her mother a letter telling her she’sdone with the academy and is going travelling instead since her trust fund kicked in,” My head draws back as her friends leave. All but the boy.
