Page 119 of Brutal Prince

Indi

As luck would have it, I don’t have any classes with Briar for the rest of the day. And it drives me crazy, because I don’t even bump into him in the hall, and I’m on tenterhooks to see how he’ll respond to me after the shit I said at lunch. But no luck. By the end of the day, my ego’s deflated like a birthday balloon a day after the party.

I trudge up the stairs to detention, feeling more than a little apprehensive at seeing Briar again. By now, he’d have recovered and thought up something nasty for me in exchange for embarrassing him in front of the entire school. And I have no choice but to be here in this classroom while he sets his plan in motion.

Room 301 couldn’t have made a more perfect prison. For one, it’s fucking tiny. The curtains on the windows block out all but the most stubborn chinks of light. I spend a few seconds thinking crazy thoughts about Denard and sunlight before I spot an old-school projector in the middle of the classroom.

Yeah, that makes more sense. But only barely.

Briar’s all the way in the back, but the rest of the kids are all in front. There are seven of us in total, and one very righteous looking Denard leaning against a small desk near a projector screen.

As I enter, Denard pushes away from the desk and saunters over to me. He sticks out an arm, and for a terrifying moment I think he’s going to touch me.

Cold, dry fingers and long nails — the stuff of nightmares.

Instead, he flicks off the lights.

“You’re late, Ms. Virgo,” Denard says as he walks back to his desk.

I barely manage not to roll my eyes. “Sorry, Sir.”

He pulls his mouth to the side, but then flicks his fingers at the middle of the row of seats. “You can make up the time tomorrow. I have somewhere to be this afternoon.”

Coffin shopping, perhaps?

There are enough chinks in the curtains to allow a little ambiance to filter through, but I still bump my knee on one of the seats as I weave my way past the filled seats. The closest open one is only two seats away from Briar, but it will have to do. As I turn around to sit, I happen to catch his eye.

His expression doesn’t change in the slightest.

I sit hurriedly and pile my books on the tiny desk. Dammit, I thought I could use this time to study. I need to complete last weekend’s assignment and hand it in to Mr. Veroza tomorrow. Then I have five chapters of Computer Science to catch up on. But it looks like we’re about to be subjected to an educational video made in the eighties and narrated by a chain-smoking pedophile.

“So I’ve been wondering…you really a virgin, or what?”

My spine stiffens, more from the touch of warm breath on my neck than from Briar’s question. In the gloom, I hadn’t noticed him moving closer. Now he’s right behind me, and the tiny fold-away desk between us is obviously not a big enough buffer to keep him away. His presence shouldn’t have put me on edge — we’re in a classroom full of students, after all, but it does, and that pisses me off.

“Fuck off, you deviant,” I whisper, doing my best not to move my lips.

Denard fiddles with the projector until it clicks and whirs to life.

True enough, the gritty title, ‘Getting High in High School’ blooms onto the screen. I grimace, and then shiver as Briar blows against the back of my neck.

“You trying to get yourself more detention?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder to glare at him.

He shrugs. “Got nothing better to do.”

“Then why the hell not just go to prison, huh?”

Even in the low light, I can see darkness flooding Briar’s eyes. He looks away, eyes now trained on the screen. Faded colors paint his face as the projector spews out its ancient lecture.

I face forward and do my best to zone out while the rest of the video plays, but less than a minute later, another breath warms the back of my neck. I stem the temptation of turning around and scowling at Briar. It won’t do any good, anyway.

Hands slide over my shoulder. They’re so big, his thumbs touch my neck and his pinkies almost don’t have enough space.

“Why so tense, Angel?”

I grit my teeth, but I force myself not to say anything.

Why am I tense Briar? Because I’m getting a fucking shoulder rub from a rapist, that’s why.

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