Tuesday is no better.
Neither is Wednesday.
And I know going into Physical Training on Thursday, it’s going to get a whole fuck ton worse.
Sometimes I hate being right.
Which is why I’m staring at the heavy metal door to the gymnasium instead of opening it, because I’m dreading what’s waiting for me on the other side. For so long, I’ve done everything possible toavoidpeople who want to hurt me, but now it’s apparently a fucking pre-requisite at this school. The memory of Luther twisting my body until I was pinned beneath his heavy weight as his massive hands held me captive makes something that I refuse to name twist low in my stomach.
I hate that I liked it.
Ifuckinghate that there’s a small part of me that misses the bruises he left on my body.
And I’ll die before I ever admit that I traced the map of mottled marks on my skin by the dim moonlight in the lonely dark of my room, pressing into each one. Pretending they were gifts rather than punishments.
I’ve been telling myself it’s just because I haven’t been with anyone since Cole, and that was months ago. My body’s just… confused.
It’s a natural response.
Totally normal.
Fuck my life.
With a quiet sigh, I put my hands on the metal bar and open the door feeling like a prisoner walking towards his execution. Familiar sounds of inane chatter, shoes squeaking on the parquet floor, and thuds of fists against punching bags fill the cavernous room.
“Byrke.” I look around to see Coach Carrick motioning for me to join him. A tremor of anxiety snakes through my veins as I make my way over, ignoring the scowling shadow that lurks behind him, tracking every step.
Instead, I look anywherebuthim. I see who I now recognize as the Legacy of Lust, Calanthe Beauchamp, speaking to a group of men and women in the far corner. She sneers when I catch her eye, but the cruel twist of her lips doesn’t diminish her stunning looks. A lanky guy leans down to whisper in her ear and they both laugh before going back to pretending I don’t exist.
I steel my spine, defiance in the face of their casual dismissal. The flare of that rebellion tempts me to lock eyes briefly with Luther before settling on Carrick.
“You’re with the rest of the class after warm-ups. It’s just drilling, but Luther will keep an eye on you. Hey!” Without a second glance, he walks away to yell at someone, leaving me and Luther standing awkwardly. He opens his mouth to say something, but I turn sharply and make my way to the track where the rest of the class is starting to jog. I keep a steady pace at the back of the pack, even if I could probably overtake them thanks to the rigid conditioning routine Carrick’s got me on. Aside from a few side glances and scowls directed my way,no one bothers me. It’s a welcome relief after the constant harassment the last couple of days.
It doesn’t last long.
“Keep your fucking hands up,” he snarls as my partner—Prosper, the lanky guy with a mop of brown hair that was talking to Calanthe earlier—lunges at me for the umpteenth time in the last 45 minutes and we fall to the sweat-soaked mat. I can’t tell if it’s his or mine. It makes my skin crawl.
He untangles our limbs and with a scoff. “Pathetic.” I roll to my hands and knees, closing my eyes and breathing through my nose. I swallow thickly to suppress the urge to scream, even as it threatens to choke me.
“Get up.” Luther’s massive arms are crossed as he glares down at me from beside the mat, like I’m nothing but dirt on his shoe.
Less than dirt.
I bite back a retort, tasting blood on my tongue. This time, Prosper doesn’t wait until I’ve reset before charging me again. I react before I realize what he’s done, ducking beneath his outstretched arms and letting his momentum carry him over my foot to trip him. For a split-second, I think I’ve managed to evade his attempt to take me down. Before I can step back to reset, he reaches back and grabs my knee, wrenching it sideways until a devastating pop and stab of agony make me cry out. It happens so fast that I can’t bring my hands up in time to break my fall, and my head bounces against the floor with a crack.
I cry out again as my vision whites out, and cradle my skull protectively as my body curls into ball—as much as I can at least, with my leg limp and useless.
“Fucking idiot.” I hear Luther growl low, and whimper as his fingers pry open my eyelids. The sudden brightness is like a knife stabbing into my brain until he lets my eye close again.
“What happened?” I hear Carrick approach, but he doesn’t bother checking on me.
“Took a dirty hit.”
“Take her to the Medical Center.” I’m suddenly lofted into the air by strong arms under my shoulders and legs, but I cry out again when the movement jostles my fucked up knee. My eyes open just enough to see Luther frowning down at me as the gym recedes behind us. If I wasn’t almost certainly concussed, I might think he actually cared that I was on the verge of passing out in his arms. Like some dumbass damsel in distress.
I’m delirious.
I’m jolted as he pushes open the main doors and the Autumn air instantly freezes my sweat-drenched clothes, making my muscles seize and shake.
