Page 33 of Deadmen's Captive

“Well, yes, I had considered it,” I admitted. “I just didn’t want to let him down.”

David shrugged. “He's a guy, there’s other girls. He'll get over it, Paige. you have to think about what’s best for you.”

I nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Maybe I will stay home.” I could tell him I got sick and couldn’t go. I could tell my mother that too. She’d never know.

David cleared his throat, stood, and stretched his arms. "Well, I should be getting back to work. Don't stay here too long, Paige. Give yourself some time to relax.”

I nodded, "I will."

He left the room, glancing back with a smile before disappearing into the shadowy hallway.

Once he was gone, I packed away my things, thinking. I’d call Tristan on the way back, tell him I wasn’t well. I glanced back up at my painting. And that could just be painted over on Monday. What a waste of time and paint, I thought.

It’s because you’re no good at this, the whiny little voice in my head told me. You’re not good enough, not talented enough to even be here. God knows why you got a place, let alone won a scholarship. You’re useless, worthless. A waste of oxygen.

I shook the voice away, shoving my sketchbook into my bag with more force than necessary. I didn’t need to listen to it. I didn’t need to take it seriously. Just because I couldn’t concentrate today, didn’t mean I was a failure. It just meant…

I had to be good enough. This scholarship had to mean I was enough. I’d fought with my mother to take art for my degree. She'd wanted me to take business or law, something that would give me status, but although I had the academic results, they weren’t areas I wanted to pursue. I just wanted to paint.

I’d even argued with my mother over it. I never argued about anything with her, just accepted her word, her way, but with my degree, I’d fought to do art. She hadn’t taken my disobedience well, and I’d come home from school one night to find every painting in my room had been slashed with a knife, leaving them in shreds. She’d thrown the paints at me, and the palettes, covering me and my clothes in paint, and then attacked me, screaming and raging as she dragged me back to the spare room by my hair. I’d had to wear long sleeved shirts for a week, even though the weather had been really warm. No one was allowed to see the bruises.

I’d pleaded with her, and begged her, saying I would do anything, if she would just let me study art and painting. Eventually, she agreed and given in, telling me I owed her, and that one day she’d come to collect. I couldn’t think of anything else my mother could take from me, so I agreed. Three years later, and she had enrolled me in this masters course. I was baffled, but there was no way I was turning it down, and I’d jumped at the chance.

Now I was standing here with substandard paintings, and a sick feeling of my stomach of what might happen if I failed. I couldn’t go back to that house. I needed to keep her happy and I needed to make it work. If that meant using Tristan to get to Nate or one of the other guys, then I had to make it happen. Any way I could.

My phone rang suddenly, making me jump and I answered it without looking at the screen.

“Hey there, sunshine.” Tristan’s voice came over the line, warm and friendly, and I immediately felt better.

“Hey.”

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Just at the art room.”

“Shouldn’t you be at home getting ready? I thought girls took hours getting all glammed up,” he teased.

I grinned. “Yes they do, and I’m heading back now.”

“You got a costume?”

“I did.”

“So what is it?” he asked.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” I teased back, grabbing my bag and heading out of the door.

“You kill me, Paige. But I can’t wait to see you. Pick you up at half seven?”

“That sounds perfect, but um…”

“What is it?”

“Well, I was wondering if we could give my friend a lift? Our other friends have already left. Something about pre-party drinking but Kate hadn’t finished her costume. It’s fine if you don’t want to, though," I added hurriedly, already feeling guilty for even asking.

“No, that's absolutely fine, sunshine. I’ll have to borrow Bast’s car, but he’ll not be needing it till later tonight.”

“Who’s Bast?”

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