And sure, I’m a fool, but damned if I’ll be at his beck and call when his rejection has filled my thoughts with broken glass. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I leave the shelter of the library and ignore the fact there are still two lessons left in the day.
I head straight for the bus stop, typing my reply while I wait.
OPHELIA
Okay
The lie gives me a grim sense of satisfaction. Probably the only satisfaction I’ll ever get from Damien.
Once it’s sent, I click back into the recording, the delete button big and red and tempting. My thumb hovers, then I exit and tuck my phone away.
I’ll keep the file. Just in case.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
DAMIEN
The camera feedglows on my screen, Ophelia’s sleeping form a grainy ghost in the darkness of her room. My car window is cracked an inch, letting in the cool night air, but it does nothing to settle the restless crawling under my skin.
A sensation that lodged there when I glimpsed the expression on Ophelia’s face today, standing with my arm around Chelsea’s waist.
Not envy. Not jealousy.
Devastation.
Even though I’ve explained things. Even though I told her exactly how things stand with my dad. Now she’s seven hours late for our appointment and counting.
I zoom in on the steady rise and fall of the bedclothes. I could leave now and send her a detailed list of punishments, let her worries fester over the weekend.
Or I can sneak inside and wake her. Claim everything she owes right now.
Bryan left twenty minutes after sharing a nighttime drink with Ophelia, his headlights pointed the opposite direction from where I’m parked. He’s out… but he could return at any time.
If I’m gonna do it tonight, it needs to be done now.
Pocketing my phone, I stride towards her house, shoulders back, chest out, chin high. My duplicate key slips into the lock with a whispered click, and I creep up the carpeted stairs.
Her bedroom door is closed, and I press my ear against the smooth wood.
Silence. Not even the rustle of movement.
My left palm rests flat, and my right hand slowly turns the doorknob. One. Two. Three. And I push inside.
She’s buried beneath the blankets, just like the phone showed me, only half her face visible. I cross to her bedside, looming, waiting for the instinctive moment when her sleeping brain registers danger.
Nothing.
I blow a gentle stream of air across her ear, then trace my knuckle along the curve of her cheekbone. Moonlight transforms her skin into something otherworldly; a statue carved from pewter.
My shoe knocks against something hard, her glasses, and I tuck them in my jacket pocket for later.
“Hey.” I keep my voice low. “Wake up.”
Not even a flutter of those pale lashes.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, making it dip, and grab her shoulder through the covers. Give her a shake.
A small sound escapes her, barely a mumble, consonants slurred together. Her head rolls, but her eyes stay closed.
