Page 23 of Reign

Callie steps back, and with slow, stilted movements, she gets dressed. I watch her in silence until her last shred of clothing is slipped on, then follow suit.

“I want them destroyed. You want them reformed,” she says as I’m fixing my jacket at the collar. “Maybe you’re right. We can’t be together with such opposite goals in mind.”

“We can’t be together for a lot of reasons. I’ll admit I’m hot for you and have trouble keeping my dick in my pants every time I see your tits, but it stops there. I can control myself for the greater good.”

I brace for Callie’s reaction, knowing I’ve hurt her. As expected, her inner flame flickers out, yet I wonder, while her heart turns to cinders, if any embers of protest remain, like how I lost myself in her heat, or the way her strokes create tremors across my skin and she makes me see stars.

Perhaps it would mean something to her if she knew no one else has ever been so successful in my undoing.

I sling my bag onto my shoulder. “I assume you know the way out. See you around, possum.”

Then turn my back on her.

Unfortunately for both of us, I’ll never be the one to confess.

9

Callie

Chase’s abrupt departure allows me to make it to my English Lit exam with one minute to spare.

I huff into my seat, still smelling like him, the tips of my hair carrying his cologne and my body lingering with the sweat of our sex as I fish through my bag for a pencil.

As the professor hands out exams, floating through aisles with the flutter of paper and the expected, monotone speech about the consequences of cheating, my heart sits like a spade at the bottom of my stomach, its sharp, bottom edge spearing me with every fidget, every thought, every frown, involving Chase.

He wants to make my life hell from here on out. Little does he know, I’ve been living in that fiery pit since my mother was killed.

What will a few more rumors do? Or heightened forms of harassment? Christmas break is coming up. I’ll escape, regroup, and find the calm I need to slit Sabine’s fucking throat.

I tell myself this as the exam is slipped onto my desk. Simple essay questions meant to revolve around our reading assignments for this semester, but all I see is, you might be able to handle more Briarcliff trash thrown at your face, but what about Chase’s cold, soulless stare? How will you handle the facets of his smile as it transforms into a sneer, or the blackening of his heart the longer he tortures you? Explain these points as thoroughly and with as much detail as you can in the below section.

For bonus points, opine about your dead best friend and how it feels having her dried blood on your soul.

The pencil snaps in my hand.

“Here.”

The soft, wispy voice comes from my left, accompanied by a manicured hand dangling a spare pencil.

I follow the thin fingers to the delicate, pale wrist, all the way up to bottle-clear, gray eyes fringed with black lashes.

My lips part on a scoff. “I don’t want your lead poisoning.”

Falyn flicks the pencil with a perfect arc of her fingers and falls back into her chair. “Suit yourself, possum. I was only trying to be nice to my new sister.”

Hate fills my body so fast, it leaks venom through my teeth. “You talk about sisters like it means something, when the blood of one of them is still wet on your marble floor—”

“Ladies!” the professor barks from her desk, the lenses of her glasses flashing white with her sharp look. “One warning. That’s it.”

Falyn’s lower lip juts out, feigning proper chastisement, and she goes back to her exam.

I no longer have anything to write with and we’re not allowed to go through our bag once the exam starts. There’s no sense of panic in my chest, since leaving an exam blank is the least of my problems. I bury my head in my hands instead.

When the bell goes off, I pry my eyes open, away from the soothing black, and return to the overly bright, obnoxiously loud classroom, the remaining students popping out of their seats or feverishly scribbling the last of their desperate attempts onto their papers.

“Pencils and pens down!” the professor calls while students jostle each other and scuttle from their seats.

My limp hands lay on my exam, palms open and empty.

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