Page 14 of The Oath We Give

No, they’re all either outcasts or drug addicts, rotten apples that taint my image. They don’t give a shit that these people cannot move forward in this society because what happened keeps them frozen.

Their experiences and trauma make them turn to drugs, some of them so desperate to be numb, to forget, that they fill their bodies with chemicals. They can’t work regular jobs because most of them are afraid to leave their house. No one cares about what happens to them because they should all beluckyto have survived.

Like that’s fucking enough.

None of them would dirty their reputations to understand them the way I do. Inside? I’m no different from any of the girls who walk through those doors.

I’ve just got the money to dress up my trauma up in a pair of pumps made by Manolo Blahnik.

“People like what? Survivors?” I wipe my mouth, trying to get the bitter taste out of my mouth. “Did you know a fifteen-year-old comes into my studio? Fifteen. She was thirteen when she was kidnapped and then sold. Tell me, what kind of person is she exactly, James?”

“Coraline,” he warns, flicking his eyes around to remind me where we are.

As if I give a single fuck.

I shake my head at the impossibility of their privileged umbrella, tossing my napkin onto the plate in front of me.

“Sorry. Maybe you two should pick up a local newspaper for a refresher. It seems you’ve forgotten that I also was one of those girls rescued from a human trafficking ring.” I pin my father with a cold glare. “Should I thank you, Daddy dearest, that your friendship with Stephen spared me being sold? Or my mother for those cursed genes that made me special enough to keep?”

My voice is just above an acceptable level. They may give a shit about what others think, but I’ve been called cursed by this town my entire life. What they believe of me doesn’t keep me up at night.

Demons do.

“Don’t speak to us like that,” my stepmother hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “It’s my money that keeps you in that apartment and allows you the freedom to give those free classes. You’d do well to remember that.”

“My father’s money, Regina. Did you forget? You married into this family with nothing but cheap shoes and hope.” My lips curve into a vicious smile. “But by all means, cut me off. I won’t need it after I sell my portion of Elite.”

Both of them seem to lose their tongues, reminded harshly that my late grandfather left me a large share in our family’s petroleum engineering company that no lawyer can take away. It would be easy for me to sell it to a rival, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing when Lilac graduates.

Irritated, somehow still hungry, and bored of this conversation, I press my hands into the table, pushing my chair back, ready to leave.

“Cora,” Lilac says delicately.”Don’t leave.”

I stand up, bending down for a moment to lay a kiss on her forehead, the smell of her perfume sweet and floral. When I straighten my back, my thumb smooths the wrinkles from her brow.

“I’ll see you tomorrow before your game. Text me if you need help with your chemistry homework tonight.”

She nods, accepting this peace offering. I’ve done my very best to protect her from everything, what I experienced, but even still, she knows being around Regina and James is difficult for me.

I allow them to show me off, parade me around like a pony, just so they will leave her be. If everyone’s attention is set on the cursed one, they won’t have the time to taint Lilac. She can exist in peace.

“I’ll call the car for you.” James clears his throat, an apology in the back of his mouth he’ll never say out loud.

“No need.” I step away from the table.

“Coraline—”

“Just let her go, J.” Regina wipes an invisible piece of lint from his suit, smiling. “No need to cause a scene. We’ll see you Sunday at the brunch?”

I don’t give her a second glance, let alone an answer. I simply walk away from our corner table, heels clicking against the floor as I make my exit. I can feel every set of eyes on me, practically hear the heads turning in my direction.

Let them look. Let them gawk at me. Maybe they’ll have something better to talk about after I leave.

When I finally make it outside and the fresh air hits my lungs, it takes me only seconds to reach into my purse, feeling around for the pack of cigarettes and lighter. I need something quick to take this edge off before I cuss out a streetlamp.

My phone illuminates at the bottom of my bag with a text.

Forgoing the nicotine, I grab my phone, ready to speed walk to my apartment, but find myself unable to move. When I look down at the unknown number on my home screen, my backbone crumbles, my sharp tongue dulls, and my shields fall.

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