Like at the window in the grand parlour, with scotch and cigarettes, when I started to move away from him, started the process of making my exit, he attacked—he came in with a soft voice, a hold on my jaw, an almost kiss, and cut me down with his words.
Mother wants me to learn these patterns.
Oliver simply told me them.
And now, because I did give Dray attention, because I let him follow me around the shop, then make conversation with me at the table, his cruelties are dormant for the rest of the day.
Still, I find it’s a hefty price to pay.
18
The days go by at the academy, and though it’s only the fourth week, it feels like months have trudged by since I left Elcott Abbey.
The academy newsletter must be coming soon, just around the corner.
I wait for it, my anxiety growing by the day, eating at my insides. I wait for the newsletter to be printed and stacked on a trolley by the buffet in the mess hall.
Each morning, I walk into the mess hall, feeling like each step is a step towards my end.
Landon is a breath of relief with his easy grin every time he drags me to the slopes.
The air is knife-cold down my lungs, and the world feels far away when I’m up that high. The trees below look like veins of white lightning cutting through the pines.
Landon snowboards like someone born to compete, sharp turns and easy landings.
I flounder a lot.
I can stay upright, but it hurts like hell by the time we’re on our second round.
My thighs burn, my calves scream.
I’m toning up gradually, but when I collapse face-first into the snow, Landon laughs until he’s red in the face.
It’s hard not to start liking him.
It’s harder to keep Serena at bay, always beside me at the table, scooting into the chair next to mine in our shared classes, throwing herself on my bed to tell me the latest issue she has with my brother.
And it’s hardest to pretend I don’t enjoy the change, the warmth from them, even the occasional brushes of affection from Dray.
Like when I was fumbling with my backpack and books in my arms, and he took the books, carried them all the way to class without a word, or when he took it upon himself to make me coffee at the station in the grand parlour, no request for it, he just did it.
I hate that those simple things are affecting me.
I hate that they are working—because I have the thoughts, here and there, to approach Courtney… and kill the article.
But those moments are rooted in fear.
I know that.
I know that, really, I need this article to sever the cord between Dray and I, a cord that seems to have never left in all the time at the academy.
How he always needed my attention.
Even if it was the worst kind.
But in the time I’ve lived this new life, and how easily I’ve melted into it, it’s all starting to feel dreamlike.
It’s distant, muffled, as if I’m underwater.
