RIOT HOUSE
Page 20
“I don’t know. I thought I did, but…” I shake my head, placing my hands so carefully on her hips that I can barely feel the material of her jeans against my palms. I pull back, putting some space between us.
We stare at each other, neither of us shifting an inch as we try to figure out what the fuck just happened.
Something prodigious.
Some sort of shift in both of us that makes no good goddamn sense.
One moment.
How can so much change in one blink of an eye?
Elodie swallows. “I, uh…I think I have to go.” Frantically, she gets to her feet, full of energy and electricity as she spins around in a circle, holding her hair out of the way as she scans the surrounding area for… for…
“Where the hell are my shoes?!”
“You didn’t bring any,” I remind her calmly. I don’t feel calm, though. I feel…untethered. Like I’m adrift, and nothing makes sense anymore.
“Fuck!” Elodie spins around one more time, still looking for her shoes that aren’t there, and then she spins on me, glowering like a she-demon. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she hisses.
“I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who kissed me.”
“All right, whatever. No sense in assigning blame. This is still your fault!”
“Hah! I thought there was no sense in assigning blame.”
“How can you just sit there like that?” she cries. “How can you not…I don’t know! React!”
She’s being patently ridiculous, but I know better than to tell her so to her face. I don’t think I could summon the words, anyhow. Elodie growls like a feral cat, hurling herself toward the crawl space that’ll take her back to the girl’s wing on the fourth floor. I watch her disappearing into the darkness, knowing I should tell her about the tiny doorway on the other side of the attic that leads out onto the boys’ wing, but my throat’s too jammed up to manage it. I sit there on the blanket, very still, staring down at the half-drunk glass of wine Elodie left behind, reeling. An hour passes, and then another, and the candles blink out one by one.
I’m cold and sore by the time I eventually get up and leave.
The walk back to Riot House is a perplexing one to say the least.
I needed to fuck with her. It’s been the only thought that’s consumed me for weeks.
I wanted to wreck her, but back in the attic, kneeling alone in the dark, I saw everything so much clearer than before. I came to a stark and horrifying realization that’s turned my entire existence on its head.
I will not be the one to wreck Elodie.
She’ll be the one to wreck me.
This knowledge is cemented well and truly in place when I get back to my room and see the manila envelope there, waiting for me on the end of my bed. I come apart at the seams when I read the police report inside it, a fury like no other pinning me between sharp, steel teeth.
19
ELODIE
“Where the hell did you sleep last night?”
“What?” I open my eyes and all I see is sky—a gunmetal, angry, petulant sky, laden with clouds that promise rain. Carina appears a second later, her upside-down face materializing right above mine. Her hair’s tugged back into a fluffy ponytail. Her entire face is a grimace. Instantly, I suspect that she found out what happened last night and she’s come to cart me off to the mad house. “What do you mean?”
“I came by your room at six thirty and you weren’t there,” she says. “Your bed didn’t look like it had even been slept in.”
This is one of the many things people without military parents will never understand. “I got up early to run. And if I get up, I have to make my bed immediately,” I explain. “It’s physically impossible for me not to make it.”
Carina makes a revolted sound, stepping over me and sitting down beside me. “Sounds like you were living under a dictatorship before you moved back to the States,” she says. If only she fucking knew. “Running sounds horrible, too. Did you nearly kill yourself? Is that why you’re star-fished out here on the lawn all by yourself in the wet grass?”
I can’t tell her that I ran myself until it really did feel like I would die, and then I collapsed here, unable to move, because I was too lost in the memory of trying to climb Wren fucking Jacobi like a tree. So instead I nod, groaning very loudly and very miserably.
“Damn, dude. Physical exercise is bad. I highly recommend you avoid it in future,” Carina advises.
“I’m used to working out hard every day, actually. It’s the only thing that makes me feel human.” I grab a handful of the grass I’m lying on and tear it out at the root, sprinkling the loose blades through my fingers, letting them fall to the ground.
“Clearly it didn’t work this time,” Carina observes. “No need to go taking it out on the grass. What’s up?”
“No, no, no, I’m totally fine!” I say it too quickly with far too much enthusiasm. Carina looks at me like I’ve got a screw loose.
“Okay. Well I’m gonna pretend like you’re not acting super fucking weird and I’m gonna wait for you to ask me how last night went.”
“Last night?”
“With Andre! Damn, Elle, I told you I might not come home last night and now here I am at eight in the morning, wearing the same clothes as last night with mascara smudged all over my face and you can’t put two and two together? Spit it out right now. Tell me what’s up with you. Did you have another run-in with Wren?”
My cheeks burst into flame. I sit bolt upright, shaking my head so vehemently that I can feel my brain rattling around inside my skull. “No! Who said anything about Wren? Why would you think that? I haven’t seen him since he waltzed out of Fitz’s class yesterday. Two fifteen? I think it was around two fifteen in the afternoon.”
Carina frowns deeply. “Okaaaay. That was oddly specific.”
“How did everything go with Andre?” I ask, diverting the conversation into safer waters. “Did you enjoy the movie?”
“Fuck the movie. I saw the opening credits and that was it. Ask me what happened. I’ve got no idea. As soon as the lights were out and people started acting, we were all over each other. It was so intense. Like so intense. Have you ever kissed someone, and everything just faded? Reality just slipped away? Have you ever felt like you were melting into someone so viscerally, both physically and mentally, that you don’t even know who you are anymore or what planet you’re fucking on?”
Wren’s hands cupping my face.
Wren’s mouth, fierce and demanding on mine.
Wren’s hot breath, skating over my neck.
His teeth nipping at my skin.
His arms, pinning me to his chest.
The attic, pitching and swimming, fracturing into a million disjointed pieces…
I shake my head, blinking in a daze. “No. No, never. Can’t say that I have.”
“Sounds fucking dumb, but it was magical. Like, real magic. Once the movie was over, I walked with him back to his place, and, well…let’s just say I didn’t get any sleep. I’m exhausted, and my body feels like it’s been stretched in every direction. I can’t lay my legs flat on the floor without my hips creaking like a squeaky door. I’m telling you. That man knows exactly where a woman’s G-spot is. I didn’t have to provide a detailed road map or anything.”
“I’m assuming Dash needed some direction?” I say, closing my eyes. The sun’s far from out, but the sky’s really goddamn bright. I wouldn’t be so blinded by it if I sat up, but I’m still wallowing in too much self-pity to muster up the kind of motivation I’ll need to drag my carcass into an upright position.
“No,” Carina says bitterly. “He knew perfectly well, too. But we’re not talking about him. We’re never talking about him again. As far as we’re concerned, that boy is dead, and no one went to his funeral.”
I try not to smile. “Your wish is my command.”
Carina dives into a full explanation of what happened with Andre. She paints a vivid picture of his house, w
hich he shares with three other guys from college, and how clean and tidy his bedroom was. She told me about his shelves, bristling with football trophies and academic awards—“See! Not all jocks are dumb!”—and then she tells me in intimate detail how Andre made her come three separate times before coming himself, which apparently makes him a gentleman of the highest order.
And the whole time, I lie in the grass, my sweat gone dry and itchy on my skin, and I try not to think about my illicit rendezvous in the attic. Thoughts of Wren plague me. He’s an affliction I can’t escape, no matter how hard I try. The look in his burning green eyes, when he pulled away and ended our kiss, was…fuck, it felt honest. He didn’t seem like he was putting on a show. He appeared to be as flustered and stunned as I was, which just doesn’t seem possible. My gut tells me otherwise, though.
“Elodie? Are you listening? And why are you holding your fingers to your mouth like that?”
Shit. My fingertips suddenly feel singed. I lower my hand, guilt gouging dagger-sharp claws into me. I wasn’t listening. I was replaying the kiss, remembering Wren’s mouth crushing down on mine, and the way everything that was important to me before that moment became so irrelevant and small.
“You need to get out of this damn place,” Carina informs me. “We should go to the arcade tonight.”
“I can’t.” The words are out of my mouth before I can trap them behind my teeth. “I have something…uh, something I need to do.” I cursed myself out for my own stupidity for at least an hour before I fell into a fitful, restless sleep last night. I promised myself I wasn’t going to go back to the attic tonight, but I fear I may have been lying to myself again; it’s becoming a troubling habit. I want to go back. Against every instinct I possess, I want to go back and hold up my end of the bargain I made with Wren. I know that, if I don’t, he’s never going to let me live it down. Heat pools like a boiling pit of lava in my stomach. The prospect of another kiss… Damn it all to hell, what the fuck is wrong with me?
Carina says, “That’s very cryptic. And here I was, thinking I was your Wolf Hall bestie. Have you been making friends behind my back, Stillwater?”
“Haha! No, of course not.”
“All right.” She seems neither happy nor convinced. I know she’s only playing around though. “So long as you’re not planning on replacing me with Damiana then I guess I’ll be okay with you keeping your mysterious secrets.”
“Nope. Nothing mysterious. Nothing secret. Just got a group video chat with some of the guys back in Tel Aviv, that’s all.” Lie, lie, lie. It’s all I’m good for. I’m the worst, most deceitful cretin to ever live. “I also have to get some work done or I’m gonna have to cram all of my assignments into tomorrow, and I don’t feel like frittering away my Sunday like that.”
“This weekend’s workload is unusually punishing,” Carina agrees. “You feel like hitting the library for a couple of hours this afternoon, then? We can combine research notes for English.”
Relieved that she’s not going to press a hang-out later on tonight, I relax into my shame, attempting to ignore it. “Sure. Okay, that sounds great.”
* * *
Given my obsession with books, it’s surprising how little time I’ve spent in the academy’s library. I inspected the place briefly when Carina gave me the nickel tour of the school, but I’ve only been back once to get my library card since then. Cool afternoon light floods in through the vast banks of windows that form one side of the massive space. Carina leads the way through the loaded book stacks, her hips sashaying as she weaves a route through row after row of reading desks, complete with Emeralites and piles of scrap paper, toward the desks that have been arranged right next to the glass, giving a view out over a steep hill that leads down to a large, immaculately groomed playing field with goal posts at either end.
“Wouldn’t have pegged Wolf Hall as a football kinda school,” I mutter, dumping my bag down onto the desk and unzipping it, rooting around inside for my notebook.
“It isn’t.” Carina shrugs. “The football field, the basketball courts and the tennis courts are all for show. They’re to encourage parents who care about sports to enroll their kids here. Wolf Hall only cares about academics, though.”
It’s true, I haven’t attended a single P.E. class since I got here. Now that I’ve realized this, it does seem weird. “Surely they have to do some form of physical exercise here?”
Carina scowls. “Yeah. Well. Just wait until spring properly sets in. We’re cross country runners here at the academy. Ms. Braithwaite says it builds stamina, fortitude and mental discipline.”
Cross country running. Hmm. “Sounds like a riot,” I grumble.
“What the hell are you talking about, masochist? You voluntarily went on a six-mile run this morning. You’ll be just fine.”
I will. I know I will. Colonel Stillwater ran me, screaming in my ear like I was one of his shit-kicking grunts, until I could easily clear fifteen miles. But still. There’s a difference running because you want to, to clear your head and escape your demons, and running because you have no other option. And running as part of a pack of people, all jostling and vying for the best possible time? Sounds like bullshit to me.
“That’s at least a month away, anyway. We have plenty of time to train for it if you’re interested. In the meantime, let’s get this assignment out of the way and ace this motherfucker. My mom promised I could go to Spain for spring break this year if I maintained my grades, and there’s this amazing tango festival in Granada I wouldn’t mind checking out. Hey! You should come! Oh my god, traveling through Europe together for a couple of weeks would be so much fun!” Carina’s enthusiasm’s contagious. I find myself nodding along with her, getting swept away in the excitement, but there’s no way I’ll actually be able to go with her. My father would never allow it. He’ll either expect me to stay put at the academy or come back to Tel Aviv, and I am so torn between the two options. I miss my friends and desperately want to see them, but staying with him in that house? For two whole weeks? I honestly don’t know if I would make it through to the other side.
We study, flipping through pages of textbooks and reference documents, sitting in companionable silence while we work, and the calm of the library sinks into my bones. The place is serene and full of light. I love being able to look out of the window and see the trees stretching on forever into the distance.
At around midday, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s on silent, but the vibration’s still noisy enough to get Carina’s attention. Her dark eyes flick up to meet mine, her brow arching into a question mark. “You gonna check that?” she whispers.
I take the phone out, tight-lipped, dreading what I’ll find. And sure enough, there’s Wren’s name blazing across the screen, sending my pulse rocketing skyward. “I’ll read it later,” I say, turning the phone over in my hand.
“Don’t be stupid. We’re miles away from the front desk. They can’t see you over here. Read your message. We aren’t prison inmates on lockdown.”
It’d be weird if I refused. I think it would be, anyway. I can’t remember how to not act suspicious now, and I’m questioning every little thing I want to say or do. I flip the device over in my hand, opening the screen with my passcode and the text messages open up automatically. Wren’s message sits there at the top in bold, ready and waiting for me to read it. My hand trembles as I tap his name, my eyes quickly skipping over the brief message that opens up for me.
WREN: Where are you?
Three words. Gee. I mean, I don’t know what I was expecting but three short, clipped words that somehow manage to convey the bastard’s extreme arrogance—well that’s underwhelming to say the least. Where am I? Like he has a right to know my location at all times? Uhhh, I don’t think so, buddy.
ME: None of your damn business.
“You okay, girl?” Carina asks, around the end of the pencil that she’s chewing. “You look like you’re about to hurl a chair through one of these windows.”
WREN: Are you at the academy or off-campus?
ME: I repeat: None of your damn business.
WREN: You might as well tell me. I’ll find you either way.
I send him the thumb emoji—the most passive aggressive of all the emojis.
ME: Good luck with that.
I stick my phone back into my pocket, resisting the urge to growl. Tapping the end of her pencil against the pages of the open book in front of her, Carina studies me sympathetically. “I’m lucky I get on with my folks. Seems as though every other student in this place has fucking sociopaths for parents. What’s your dad’s damage?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Yeah, y’know. Why’s he such a prick to you? Why does he treat you like dirt all the time?”
Because I remind him of my dead mother. Because I’ve seen what he’s capable of, and I know his self-righteous, holier-than-thou attitude is all an act. Because I could turn his world upside down with one tiny phone call.
“Because he’s my father. That’s just what he does,” I say softly.