Page 63 of Bound By Obsession

“So who would like to tell me why I have six members of our football team being treated for injuries, their parents screaming at me down the phone, the school board pushing for a swift punishment and our investors asking how I’m going to sweep this under the rug before the media gets a hold of the story.”

Silence follows, no one daring to answer first so he continues. “Not to mention that on the second day of term, I’ve had to arrange transport to collect one of my students from the police station.” I bravely look up, wanting to ask if Garrett is okay but the sharpness of the Dean’s eyes gives me pause. He analyzes each one of us in turn. “Please, don’t all speak at once.”

“You know how it is,” Huxley takes the lead, trying to play off the chaos we pulled up to yesterday afternoon. “The usual rivalry ahead of Midnight Madness got a little out of hand, is all.” The Dean doesn’t buy Huxley’s smirk and shrug.

“Well your little rivalry skyrocketed when the families involved discovered this fight was led by the son of Nixon Hughes. There’s talk of pressing charges.”

“I didn’t lead shit,” Wyatt straightens in his seat. I briefly close my eyes, quickly seeing the situation plummeting south. “Riley Buckshaw stepped onto my property first, spewing vile lies. I was well within my rights to defend myself. Add in the homophobic slurs and you had a recipe for disaster. Perhaps instead of questioning us, your time would be better suited teaching your football team about the consequences of prejudice.”

Wyatt’s hand twitches on the rim of his seat, as if it’s taking a conscious effort to remain in it. I catch sight of his long fingers, the veins popping along the back of his hand and disappearing into his hoodie sleeve. The orange hoodie I once clung to, inventing a connection to Wyatt through the soft cotton. I catch myself staring at Wyatt’s hand and shoot my gaze back up, chewing on my bottom lip.

“Be that as it may,” Dean O’Sullivan drawls, his sole attention on Wyatt now. “We made a deal when you requested that house for just the five of you. I could have taken on another ten to fifteen students, raising our grade standards and bringing in more external funding.”

“Unless they shared a singular brain cell like your football team,” Huxley mutters loud enough to be heard. He’s another one in this room who hasn’t slept, putting it on himself to watch the street through the windows all night. Dax warns him to not make it worse so we can leave soon. I don’t want to be here either, I want to be still in bed cradling Axel’s swollen face into my chest. Alas, all of our presence was mandatory.

Wyatt’s bruised knuckles crack. “I’ve held up my part of that deal. My trust fund pays our way and Huxley funded your new gym. Dax has straight A’s, Axel hasn’t relapsed. I even keep Garrett on a tight leash, otherwise he’d be a regular at the police station by now. Nothing has changed.”

“What about Avery?” the Dean asks, raising a single brow. Lorna pauses her writing to peek up through her glasses, gauging Wyatt’s reaction.

“What about her?” the man beside me bristles, speaking as if I’m not currently sitting right there.

“Is Miss Hughes living in your residence now too? And is she aware of the rules? Whoever stays under your roof must maintain good grades and not cause any issues.” That last part is emphasized to us all. The Dean leans his elbow on the arm rest and presses his fingers against his temple again, that headache returning in full swing. Wyatt continues to command control, letting the rest of us shrink into the background.

“Avery still has her dorm room place; she can choose where she stays. As for her grades, Avery is the best dancer this school has ever had the fortune to host. Whatever she decides to do in the future, Waversea will be continually noted as the school who enabled her. I would count your lucky stars she’s here, rather than insinuating she’s causing trouble.”

I sit, stunned into silence, my eyes flicking up to Wyatt’s tensed jaw. He ignores me, as usual, but his words are out there now. There’s no taking back the skip of my heart or the prickling awareness that he knows me better than I realized. He’s been paying attention to me.

“I see.” Dean O’Sullivan steeples his fingers, his expression unreadable. “Well, I haven’t found any sort of clarity thus far. I’ll need time to consult with Lorna and some other senior faculty members to come up with a fair punishment for all parties involved. I’m afraid when things become so public, it’s no longer in my control to bend the rules in your favor, no matter what your circumstances, Wyatt.”

Wyatt’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. I have to wonder how much they know, how much Wyatt has confided in Lorna. I, onthe other hand, am still reeling at everything I’ve heard in the past five minutes.

Dean O’Sullivan shifts his gaze toward me, his intense eyes scrutinizing my reaction. “Miss Hughes,” he says, softer now, as though he’s moving from interrogation to a more personal tone. “You’ve been quiet so far. Is there anything you’d like to add? Or, perhaps, to clarify?”

I swallow hard. There’s a knot in my chest, the room becoming impossibly small. My mind spins through every interaction, every instance that’s built up to this point, everything I continue to hold inside. The blame for yesterday, the damage done to Axel, it all settles on my shoulders. I wasn’t even there but it’s still my fault. I made them all come back here.

In another slip of Wyatt’s character, his head slowly turns to face me. No emotion pierces his green gaze but his foot shifts to press against my shaky one. I freeze, interpreting his small nod as permission to speak my mind. I’m hit with the sense of validation, of reality. This wasn’t my fault at all, and since when have I sat back while other people fight my battles?

“Yes, there is something I’d like to say.” I sit forward, borrowing some of Wyatt’s bolster. Our sneakers remain pressed together. Both Dean O’Sullivan and Lorna lift their heads, indicating they thought we were done here. Clearing my throat, I level out my shoulders.

“I wasn’t present for the fight, and had I been, perhaps things wouldn’t have escalated so quickly. However,” I lick my lips, “there’s an underlying problem you’re failing to address. Since we have a counselor present, it may be more impactful to discuss how to best support your top students rather than reprimand them for protecting me when this college has failed to do so.”

“Excuse me?” Clearly, the Dean is caught off-guard. I feel Dax and Huxley tense up, rather than see it. Wyatt’s shoe pushes harder against mine, encouraging me onwards.

“Wyatt and his friends have been doing everything in their power to keep me safe, given that a convicted felon has managed to approach us on campus at least twice that we know of. I’m sure you’re aware of the police report we filed up-state. Rather than appeasing your investors and worrying about the students you could have taken in, maybe you should try to secure the premises for those who already attend here. Why is it we’ve been left to the mercy of my past and the paparazzi, without any crowd control from yourselves?”

I stare directly at Dean O’Sullivan. I may have started off somewhat tentative, but once the words started to flow, the more convinced I became that I’m right. It’s really no wonder that the boys snapped, taking violence into their own hands when the opportunity presented itself. We’ve been fighting invisible ghosts for so long now.

There’s a dangerous silence. Counselor Lorna shifts uncomfortably on her stool, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Avery,” she finally says, her voice gentle, trying to deescalate the harsh rise and fall of my chest. “None of this has been mentioned to me, from any of you. If you felt unsafe, my door has always been open. We can’t help if we don’t know.”

“But that’s the point, isn’t it?” I protest weakly, twisting the truth. “We were handling things just fine.”

“Until yesterday,” Dean O’Sullivan observes. My lids half-lower, my lips becoming pursed. Wyatt straightens now, his arms falling to his sides where his hand brushes over the back of mine.

“I believe we’re done here,” Wyatt’s voice is sharp, tipping the power scale back into his favor. “We accept responsibility for our actions and will take whatever punishment you see fit, as long as the football team incurs the same accountability. They can’t be allowed to go around campus spreading the shit they said.”

My eyes flick towards his tense jaw again, wondering what was actually said yesterday. All I heard is that the jocks called out Axel for liking men. Wyatt doesn’t stand immediately. Instead, he fixes his eyes on the Dean, a challenge in his gaze. For a long moment, it feels as though the air between them is crackling with unspoken tension. Dean O’Sullivan breaks the silence with a heavy sigh.

“In light of the stress you’ve all been under, I’m going to cover for you all this one time. Make sure no more violence happens on my campus. You’re all dismissed.”

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