Page 87 of Sinister

“Consider this your only warning,” he finishes in the same low voice, which almost sounds like a leonine growl, and sits down. As if he was used to commanding entire roomfuls of people to do his bidding.

Even after he sits down, the silence remains unbroken for a while. The entire cafeteria seems to be holding its breath. The sheer menace in Sin’s tone has spooked me, as well. Some people exchange nervous glances. Others are suddenly very interested in their trays, which are mostly clean anyway.

“Sin,” I whisper in shock. I’m undeniably stunned and scrambling for words as I sputter, “Sin, you didn’t have to⁠—”

“Yes, I did,” he cuts me off firmly, but his eyes are softer when he looks at me. “You deserve better than their pettiness.”

I am even more bereft of words because nobody, nobody, has ever defended me like that. For as long as I can remember, I have always had to come to my own defense—hence my allegedly thick skin and aloof demeanor.

Yet Sin had declared his allegiance toward me so boldly, so fearlessly, that I’m once again captivated by his chivalry.

The murmurs of the cafeteria gradually do restart, but there’s a noticeable slump in their flow now, like everyone’s too afraid to say anything too loud. I catch a few girls glaring at me, but I lift my chin in open disdain. To hell with the lot of them!

“Thank you,” I tell Sin in a soft voice. “Th-that was nice of you.”

“You deserve to be treated with respect, Petra,” Sin insists again, “and I was only doing what’s right. Don’t think of it as a favor, please.”

The remaining tension in my chest loosens slightly. Still, I can’t completely forget how Sin had menaced Harry just a while back. He needs to know that grand gestures don’t always absolve him of his occasional tendency to strong-arm others.

Before I can say as much, a wave of nausea hits me out of nowhere. Or maybe my body has been sending me warning signals that have gone unnoticed amidst all the conflicts and confrontations.

Either way, I know I won’t be able to hold it in.

“I’ve to go—” I gasp before bolting down the hallway toward the nearest bathroom. Why must this happen to me in front of Sin? Why must he always catch me in my most vulnerable physical states?

The questions mix with the other bilious swirl surging along my food pipe, and once again, I barely make it to the toilet in time.

Of course, my body being unused to these sudden onslaughts of sickness, I am overwhelmed enough to not notice when the bathroom door creaks open or when sharp footsteps ricochet against the walls.

When I exit the stall slowly, my legs shaking ever so slightly and my hair disheveled, Daphne is fixing her hair at the mirror.

She glances at me with her usual expression of disgust until she notices how pale my face looks.

“Rough day, huh?” she says, her tone light. “Or maybe you’re bulimic?”

I ignore her and start fixing myself. The cold water helps me feel better, but Daphne can’t stand anyone looking comfortable in her vicinity, so she says, “Oh, please, don’t tell me someone knocked you up! Is Petra prego?”

She starts laughing at her own apparently clever quip.

But I do something stupid. I flinch, unwittingly and very visibly, at her last taunt.

Daphne may be obnoxiously oblivious to everyone’s feelings, but her sharp eyes widen in realization when she sees my reaction. The laughter stops abruptly. She turns toward me and starts clicking her heels.

“My, my, what do we have here?” Her voice is slippery with poison, and her eyes narrow as she steps closer. “I touched a nerve, didn’t I? Little Miss Better-Than-Us has a bun in the oven!”

Before I can tell her to fuck off, the bathroom door flies open with a loud bang. Sin rushes inside, eyes askance with worry.

“Petra! Are you okay?” he demands, rushing to my side.

Daphne takes a step back, her eyes darting between Sin and me. “Whoa, Sin, calm down! She isn’t the delicate damsel you think she is.”

My heart starts racing as I realize that Daphne is infinitely petty and calculating. If she has indeed understood that her joke is very real to me, she will use that information in the worst way imaginable.

Sin ignores her and steps toward me.

“Hey, what’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this bad?”

Behind him, Daphne continues to smirk at me, and the ghastliest question presents itself: Will she tell him right now?