Page 24 of Pawn

“Get us out of here,” I say. “Just go.”

Christian sighs before he starts the ignition. Sinking in my seat, we pass an angry Damien as we leave the lot. Willow’s hair scrunches behind her as her head hits the back of her seat. Pulling out her phone, she scrolls through, not even asking what crazy shit I’m in today. Neither does Christian. He ups the volume on the stereo while we drive down a road.

If I was thinking this was gonna get me away from Damien, I was wrong. It’s not even fifteen minutes before we’re pulling into King’s driveway, gate already open.

“Wait. Why are we back here?” I ask.

Christian turns off the ignition before he turns to look at me. “You can’t stay with me. With us.”

“What? Why?”

He sits up, turning around. “Why? Because I’m freaked out, that’s why.” Christian looks around the driveway, his eyes filled with guilt. “I don’t know what happened with you, Damien and Marion on that ro—”

“Okay, fine. Whatever,” I cut him off, not wanting to relive that moment. Not wanting Willow to ask any more questions.

His head hits his seat. “I just think you’re better off at King’s.”

Willow takes the hint, climbing out of the car, her face still glued to her screen. It already feels like she’s shutting me out, something only I could’ve taught her.

“Well, thanks, Christian,” I say, opening my door. “‘Cause that makes one of us.”

* * *

Not talking to Damien is hard when he’s forcing me to live with him but he’s not winning that easily. Baldy did a good job cleaning the place up, no trace of Marion in sight. I’d ask what he did but I’m way too fucking nervous. Locking myself away in one of the empty guest-rooms is my last attempt to keep distance between us. I’m happy he lets me. Surprised, but happy.

At least I’m supposed to be.

So why do I keep looking at the door for him to come in? If I want space, why do I wish he’d come in and scoop me up in his arms like he did that night?

Not like I’ve been getting any sleep. Not with that night in my head, not with his voice in my mind.

When I take my headphones off, curled up in bed with my math textbook on my lap, I can hear the sounds of a giggling Willow. The grumble of his voice.

It warms my heart to know that she’s okay with him. Makes me feel good that he’s making an effort to keep my sister’s worries at bay. If only he could do the same for me.

Damien keeps his distance the rest of the week. He sends me to school with his friends or a car and he’s there to pick me up every afternoon. I’d say it’s suffocating but at least it’s consistent.

As consistent as the surprises he leaves me.

On Wednesday, after Geography, cuffs hang off my locker when I get there. Some students stand around, gawking, taking photos.

Georgina yells, “Slut” as she walks by, nudging my back with her shoulder. “Or should I say, criminal?”

On Thursday, Allie and Nate catch the next one. I’m eating a sandwich in the hallway by my locker when my backpack starts to vibrate. And I don’t mean phone in pocket vibration.

It’s loud, my bag shaking against the wood. Digging inside, it doesn’t take me long to find the culprit. It’s long and purple, velvety soft.

“Ew,” Allie says, a mortified face when she walks by.

Nate snorts, “Oh my god, Scandal, is that the Poon-Pleaser Five-Thousand? Couldn’t wait to get home?” He smirks with a wink before Allie tugs him along again.

When Friday rolls around, I’m exhausted from it all. The push and pull, the good and the bad. Fortunately, Fridays mean swimming and it’s becoming another place I can relax, even with Georgina in it. A zen haven to go along with the library. I’m even starting to float on my back. The pool is in another building away from the sheep of ERA, and the warm water it’s filled with is super calming. I miss art, but this will do.

Coach Davis, our swim instructor who’s ripped like the former olympian she is, is almost as motivational as Clara. Unlike Coach Richards, she actually stops any jeering and name-calling from happening in her class. She’s strict about it too, sending anyone who doesn’t comply out of the pool. This keeps Georgina and her posse in check. For the most part.

When I get back to the locker room after learning to tread water, I’m on cloud nine. That is until I see my green metal locker wide open, my clothes and backpack hanging out.

“Of course,” I mutter, Georgina’s titter coming from behind me. When I look over, she’s tending to her locker, taking out her uniform as water drips off her yellow bikini.

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