“Are you asking me to spend more time with you?”
“No, thanks.” She snatches the glasses from me. “And I told you I wanted money, not a new uniform.”
“Why don’t you ask your mother? She’s rich.” I’m genuinely curious about their relationship. “How about I give you cash if you give me answers?”
But her lips tighten, and the stress lines deepen on her face. Too much, too soon. I’ll have to revisit that angle later.
I unpack the top from its plastic, pushing it against her hand. “If you don’t wear your new blouse, we’ll have to stay right here. No one’s allowed to see you like this but me.”
“No.” She adjusts her bra and threads her arms into the sleeves, buttoning it to the collar, hiding my marks. “I want to go to school.”
“Want.” I snigger. “Guess they’re right about opposites attract.”
She rolls her eyes, snagging her underwear from the floor and pulling them on. “I’m not attracted to you.”
“Okay. Whatever you say.”
“You’re the only one high on OxyContin.”
“Tocin.” I grab her arm and pull until she falls back onto the bed. “If you don’t mind being late for class, I could give you your own dose.” I flip up her kilt, hooking her waistband. “Just need to get past the world’s largest underpants.”
“Get off me.” She struggles away. “I’m going to school even if you’re not.”
Ophelia switches her old kilt for the new one, tidies her hair, then frowns at me from the doorway.
“Are you giving me a ride or what?” All hard angles and jutting bones.
“Sure, but you’ll have to get out around the corner. Like you said, I can’t be seen with you in public.”
“Wouldn’t want your girlfriend getting the right idea,” she says in a tight voice.
“She’s not—”
But Ophelia’s halfway downstairs. “Lock up after us, will you? I presume you have your own key.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
OPHELIA
I keepmy head lowered during morning break, staying close by the lockers while the crush of students flows around me, mind reeling from Damien. His behaviour keeps contradicting his words.
Despite all his growled promises of making me do ‘whatever he wants,’ this morning he was surprisingly malleable.
Almost like he cares.
“Fuck,” I mutter beneath my breath.
Today, he tore my blouse in pieces because I didn’t strip myself voluntarily for his pleasure. He confirmed he’s a sociopath, and that means he doesn’t experience emotions in the same way others do.
There’s no empathy. There’s nocaring.
I need to stop viewing and reinterpreting his behaviour through a ‘normal person’ lens and focus on my own confusing reaction.
The morning after Craig, I had curled up in bed, unable to stop shivering, even thoughts of a cleansing shower not enough to make me budge. I’d known water wouldn’t wash me clean.
Today I got ready for school like it was any other day. At least until Damien’s intrusion.
“Maybe you’re getting used to assault.”
