Page 83 of Lesson Learned

“Keep this up, and you never know,” he whispers, “you might grow to be my favourite.”

I expect him to go, want him to go, but he stays, brushing my hair, straightening my clothes.

“On Friday, Marnie’s heading home for the long weekend.” He leans back against the bathroom wall, drying his hands on a towel. “Keep using those plugs to stretch yourself out. Send me a photograph every morning to prove you’re keeping me in your thoughts, and I won’t have to come here and shove one into you. Friday afternoon, get yourself properly clean, inside and out, and wait for me.”

My head shakes from side to side but the denial just seems to amuse him.

“Or don’t,” he agrees. “I don’t mine forcing you. It’s your arse, love. If you want me to tear it apart, with no preparation, I’m happy to try it your way.”

He folds the towel over, hanging it over the countertop, moving forward until I’m cowering in the corner.

“You also need to sit with Marns again at mealtimes.” He grips my chin forcing me to face him. “You’re hurting her feelings sitting with Brooke instead.”

I stare at him, struck dumb with disbelief.

“What?” he asks, easing the pressure until he’s stroking my face rather than gripping it tightly. “It’s not how friends act, is it? You sit with us at every breakfast and dinner and if you need to skip a meal, you ask permission, got it?”

My tongue is glued to my upper palette. The best I can manage is a curt nod.

“Good.” His thumb strokes along my cheek. “I’ll have my two girls with me, every day.”

I start to think he won’t go. He’ll stay and stay and stay and with every passing second, I’ll grow smaller and smaller until there’s nothing left of me at all.

Then he clears his throat and steps back. “Tell anyone and I’ll send a recording of you and Mr Bradley to the school board. The education ministry as well. He’ll be fired before the day ends. Chances are no one will believe you anyway, but I’ll still tank his career.”

And I locate my voice again. “He’ll kill you.”

“Or he’ll just move on to someone easier. Not everyone likes a complicated fuck.” He chucks me under the chin, hitting against the wound, making me wince. “I’m special that way.” He clamps a hand around my throat, increasing the pressure until I can barely breathe. “I think you’re special too, aren’t you Paisley? I think you enjoy being forced because then you can pretend it’s all someone else’s fault.”

He takes his hands off me, putting them on his hips, towering above me like I’ve shrunk to the size of a mouse.

Then he claps me on the shoulder. “Send me that picture by eight tomorrow morning, yeah? I want to look at it while we’re eating breakfast together. I want to know that you’re getting ready for me.”

James turns on his heel, sauntering into my bedroom and out the door like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

I run, securing the lock against him. Wishing the locksmith had got back in touch today. Knowing it wouldn’t have made a difference to what just happened.

Back in the bathroom, I wash my hands until the cold water makes me shiver, then I crumple to my knees, folding into a concertina and wrapping my arms around my legs. Small and wishing I was smaller.

Wishing I could just disappear.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

PAISLEY

I don’t knowhow long I stay folded into the tiniest shape I can make in the bathroom. My phone beeps with an incoming text, then another. I want to check them in case they’re from someone I like but I can’t.

If I see something from James, my mind might snap.

The image of Conner’s bruised hands keeps reappearing in my head.

I think what it would feel like to wake to the news that James was on the neuro ward rather than hovering like the black plague down the hall, waiting to infect me. The joy would be savage, excising painful chunks where he’s infected my life, my self-respect, the friendship I treasured.

But I won’t do that only to see Conner take the blame, to watch as his life is upended. He’d be trespassed from the school, his teaching licence rescinded, his career gone. And more. To see him arrested, imprisoned, would be its own torture.

I clearly remember when I pleaded for him not to tell the head about us. Remember his anguished expression, the way he had to press a hand to his chest to drive back the panic.

We might not have been together long, but I have big feelings for him. Bigger than just his good looks and charm, his money and thoughtfulness. Sometimes when he looks at me, it feels like he’s peeking into my very soul.

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