“Good boy,” he purrs. “Now, on your knees, show me how much your mother needs her job.”
The audio cuts, and Professor Mason is speechless, all the color drained from his face when he opens his mouth to speak, only to slam it back shut and walk towards his desk. Each step looks like it’s heavier than the next.
“Class is over,” he grumbles, dragging a shaky hand over his face. The class must not have heard him over the deafening silence, which is odd, because no one moves. Not even me. Blood rushes to my ears, making my head feel as if it’s underwater. It’s not until Nico moves in front of me that I lift my gaze.
“Meeting,” he murmurs, giving me a sly smile, understanding my hesitation. My fucking pain. The memories that tape just tore up, making me bleed all fucking over. I stand up and follow aimlessly behind Nico as their voices continue to replay inside my head.
Outside, it’s chaos, students on their phones, gossiping and pretending to be detectives. Some random guy walks towards us, spitting on the ground.
“You soccer players just be sucking dick for a spot.” He humps the air, and I fucking lose it. My fist lands on his face with a force that knocks him to the ground with a grunt. I don’t think… I only straddle him, and all I see is red.
Each blow connects with a sickening crunch. The adrenaline surge lulls my jittery nerves, time stills, and that familiar relief floods through me like a tidal wave crashing through my defenses. Leaving nothing but this raw and primal destruction. Strong arms clamp around me, Nico’s breath hot on my neck.
“ZAYDEN!” he snarls as I continue to thrash, trying to break free from his hold.
My arms are locked in the air as he snakes his arms beneath them, pinning them in place. His grip doesn’t loosen. I can feelhis pulse hammering against mine, the heat of it crawling up my neck.
Nico’s voice is low and steady. “Breathe, Zayden. You’re done.”
I don’t realize I’m shaking until I take a deep breath in. My knuckles sting, the skin split and slick with blood. The guy on the ground groans, wheezing through what I’m sure it’s a broken nose. I want to hit him again, just to make the noise stop.
“Don’t…” Nico warns me like he could read my thoughts, and his arms tighten.
“Zayden.” My name slips from his lips like a plea, and it anchors me, forcing air back into my lungs. I look straight ahead, watching students gather around us, phones in their hands as they record. My shoulders slump, allowing Nico to pull me from the asshole, who scatters away like the rat he is.
Once on my feet, I shove away from Nico, my chest heaving and ears ringing. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him watching. By the time we reach the dorms, my adrenaline’s gone, replaced with dread. Especially when I take in the two dickheads standing outside my door.
“Where’s Wyatt?” Ezra asks.
“Do I look like his keeper?” I snap, aggravated that he’s here. Aggravated that my secret can soon come to light, that my pain will be put on display for everyone to dissect. The thought alone is enough to have me flying off the hinges, but I reel it in. Elijah’s eyes dart between us; he’s too fidgety today, like someone who’s hiding something—but aren’t we all.
Ezra’s jaw ticks, his nose flaring when he moves closer. “Lay fucking low until further notice.”
I hold up my hands, showing him the carnage. Showing him the violence. With a smirk, I simply say, “Too late for that.”
His pale face reddens, and the perfect mask slips, showing the rage layered with exhaustion, but he doesn’t say anything.Instead, he glares at Nico and, for a second, I think he’s gonna say something. He doesn’t.
Ezra motions to his car, and like the bitch he is, Elijah follows him to his car, leaving Nico and me standing, glaring holes into the back of their heads. Nico's phone buzzes loudly, and given the nerves that take control of his body, I know it’s probably Shiloh.
I clasp my hand around his shoulder. “It’s okay, brother. Go.”
Nico looks at me with concern, and all I can do is give him a quick smile, even if it doesn't reach my eyes.
“I need to be alone,” I answered his silent question. The one that wonders if I’m okay… I don’t wait for him to turn away when I start opening the door and step inside, closing the door behind me, without even bothering to glance back. I force out a breath, hooking my fingers around the collar of my shirt to loosen the tension.
My thoughts are spiraling, and all I can cling to is Thiago. Is his dad dead? Does he know? I left him this morning, and now I wonder if I should have stayed… I walk towards my bed and plop myself down on the edge of it, phone in hand, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Me:
You ok?
I look down at the screen, expecting to see bubbles… anything, but I get nothing. Only the feeling of my heart sinking into my stomach. Suddenly, there's a loud knock at the front door, followed by three light ones. I want to tell whoever is there to go away, but the thought of it being Safra has me on my feet before I can decide against it. When I open the door, I’m once again speechless. Fabiola stands there, perfect and composed, with a wide grin painted on her face.
“Hi, Zayden,” she greets me with a voice sweet enough to rot. “We need to talk.”
Thiago
Days blur together… a never-ending loop. Strange how grief feels more like an obligation than an emotion. I haven’t been back on campus or checking on Zayden. I’ve been too busy putting out the fire and setting the stage. And by stage… I mean, a funeral, which is happening at this very moment, and another shocker, it doesn’t feel like anyone is really mourning. It’s more like a theater; everyone is dressed in black, and even their condolences are rehearsed and mechanical. The firm employeesstand in rows, polished and hollow, pretending my father was a saint. Just the kind of bootlickers who would work for the great Sergio Safra.
