“You two are more alike than I realized,” he says more to himself than to me. “It appears I need to ask frankly because you’re so insistent on going around the question. It’s clear the house fire has made her rather aggressive toward you, which begs the question: did you and Miss Whitlock have a relationship?”
“No.”
“Claims were made by teachers at your previous school that you were often seen walking together after school. Miss Whitlock herselfconfirmed it. Other than that, you weren’t interacting with the other students. I have to ask, why were you walking when you had a car, Mr. Osman?”
“Fresh air,” I say through gritted teeth.
I spent years walking her home because I didn’t want her to get run over by a car because she was too hungover to notice her surroundings, only to risk killing her in the fire. She could have been passed out inside and I missed her. Or she could have crawled in just before everything went up in flames.
If she had died… I grip the lighter tighter, knuckles turning white. Blaze’s near-death is the only thing I’m sorry for.
I won’t apologize for what I did because that house held nothing but trauma, but I deserve what she did to my place.
It’s pathetic actually; the first thought that went through my head when I came home to see the damage was disappointment. Blaze was finally in my bedroom and I hadn’t been there to see it.
I bet it was a sight to see. All that red making its way through my room, breaking everything in its path—chaos unbidden.
However, the scales are still nowhere near even.
McGill’s nostrils flair. “It’s my job to know my students and understand everyone’s relationship dynamic to ensure they get the most out of their time here. Individuals like Blaze tend to…negativelyimpact your growth and progress.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on his desk. “You’ll forgive me if I find it difficult to believe that a recluse such as yourself would choose to make that wild child your only acquaintance.”
“What’s your point?”
“We are simply trying to get to the bottom of the situation. There are certain standards and expectations from our students, just asthere are from your family.”
This.
This is exactly why I’ve kept my mouth shut. It’s why I only ever interacted with Blaze outside of school. Social standing is everything to these vultures, and money can go far to achieve it. My father could take Blaze out in a single swipe; send her to prison, kick her out of school, or move her to an entirely different state. There is no end to the lengths he would go to protect the Osman name.
An Osman and a Whitlock are fine. Blaze is just the wrong Whitlock.
She is the start and the end of the reason why I’ve turned into my brother’s bitch. Kiervan knew what my father would do, and by second grade, I had already decided it was worth it to do everything he said.
“What did Blaze say?” I ask.
“She says a lot of things.” He takes a sip of water, pausing for dramatic effect. “She claims you asked her if she would be home the day of the fire, then the next morning, you told her she deserved it.”
I grind my molars together. That’s not what I meant by saying she deserved what was coming for her.
“I’m curious why she would make such accusations against you. My theory is that she was smitten by you, and you rightfully turned her down because she’s too much of a liability. Then she decided to get back at you—correct me if I’m wrong.”
That’s the running theory held by everyone who’s heard her story. As McGill said, I’m a loner. The only person I speak to is Blaze. So, with their small-minded logic, it’s the only plausible justification.
I don’t need her smitten by me. I don’t need her fawning all over me and falling to kiss the ground I walk on. Fire has no master. Blazeis no different. If I wanted a dog, I would have gotten one.
McGill looks at me, waiting for a response that never comes. “Fine, have it your way. Don’t answer. I’ll figure it out eventually.” He lowers his voice as if telling me a secret. “I will give you this one piece of advice, son, and you’ll do well to heed it: stay away from Miss Whitlock.”
“Fine.”
Not a fucking chance.
Who the fuck thought group therapy was a good idea? None of these pretentious assholes are going to spill family secrets in front of ten other people. And I sure as hell don’t want any of these people knowing shit about me—especially Kohen, who’s sitting directly across from me in our circle.
We’ve been glaring at each other since we sat down, and I can feel myself becoming increasingly amped by his presence. Even though I felt like I had the upper hand before, I now think I’ve lost it. He could tell them about the church as retaliation for what I moaned last night. He could open his mouth and say that Elijah is giving me drugs, and I’m whoring myself out for them. What if he catches me stealing and reports me? I don’t want to lose my privileges. I’ve been too careful for him to throw it away, and I’ve enjoyed having apillow and a blanket.
I don’t trust him one bit, not after he said all that shit about how much he apparently knows me and now, can access my room whenever he wants.
But he was wrong. I don’t want or need people to listen to me. I’m perfectly content on my own. Here, no one is letting me down or pissing me off. No one is calling me a liar or belittling me to the point I start to question my own sanity.
