Page 27 of Ramsay

“I see. I’m sorry. That must be tough for you?”

I glance at him side-ways and open my mouth to say whatever in the hopes of getting out of this fucking conversation when Oliver appears with Ramsay behind him.

The door flies back on its hinges with a bang as Oliver stops up short and looks between us. I stare at the tic in his jaw, surely the first sign of emotion I’ve ever seen from him as Mr. Goodlow says in a low tone, “Can I help you, Son?”

Oliver’s eyes shine so bright with revulsion that my breath catches in my throat, but within the next instant, it’s gone, and I blink, wondering if I made the whole thing up.

“I’m here for Willow,” he says coldly, holding out his hand to me.

Frozen, I stare at that hand because I want nothing to do with Oliver Goodlow, but the alternative is to be grilled by his father, and although well-meaning, it’s unwanted.

Behind him, Ramsay’s stare bores into my skull and with a silent sigh, I take Oliver’s hand. He wastes no time tugging me toward the door and when I glance back, I spy Mr. Goodlow’s bemused expression.

Once we’re out the door, Oliver pulls me down the hall and pushes me into a corner. With his back to the crowd so no one can see us, he slams his hand over my head and rasps, “What was that about?”

Wasn’t I in the same position not a few hours ago with Ramsay? Talk about déjà vu.

Shit, before last Friday, they didn’t know I existed, and now I can’t turn a corner without them being there.

“Nothing, a fight with Sabrina,” I mutter.

He’ll know soon enough about Carmen, but not today. Not right now.

“A fight? He pulled you into his classroom over a fight?” he asks, raising a brow.

“I punched Sabrina in the mouth,” I say dumbly as Ramsay grabs Oliver’s shoulder. For once, there’s no void behind Oliver’s eyes. No, there’s a sick sort of desperation, which is confusing, to say the least.

“Why?” I ask.

He hesitates, his mouth forming a grim line, and I search his eyes, my stomach lurching when he looks away. Before I can comment, Ramsay says, “Nothing. Just stay away from his dad.”

“Why?” I ask again, but Ramsay shrugs. Oliver eyes me once more before he stalks off and unnerved, I watch him go until Ramsay grabs my chin and turns my attention.

“Oliver is quite protective of his family. I’d stay away from them, if I were you, hm?”

He too walks away before I can comment and with a frown, I head to lunch. Oliver’s expression sure didn’t seem protective to me, but what do I know? Nothing, that’s what.

The cafeteria is buzzing with activity, and I keep my head low until I find a spot where I can be alone and mull over everything.

I’m heartsore over Carmen's name being uttered by that bitch and weirded out about Oliver’s behavior. Is he worried about what I might say to Mr. Goodlow?

And how the fuck did Sabrina learn about Carmen? She just randomly did an internet search on my family a year later. Or has she been holding the information for an opportune time?

Not to mention Ramsay, I’m annoyed I can’t get him out of my damn head and seething over his assumption that he can pull something like that on me. My body is my last fucking threshold, my choice, and he took it away from me.

Besides, if my parents get wind of this, I could be sent back to the rehab facility, which will only send my mom further down the spiral. I do not want to think about how that might turn out.

The Sinners don’t understand where I’ve been and maybe in their world this isn't a big deal, but I vowed when I pulled myself out of hell that I’d never be the toy to some guy again.

∞∞∞

Later when I get home, my parents aren’t here, and I remember it’s Monday, which means they’re at a support group for parents of missing children. I went once, but it was so fucking depressing I never returned, and they didn’t argue.

Once in my room, I close the door roughly and stare around me at the blank walls. I refused to truly settle in here because I didn’t necessarily want to leave home, the only place Carmen would know to return to, even though I knew in my heart of hearts she was dead.

More than likely, she overdosed, but even if she didn’t, there are many dangerous ways to die in the world of drugs. I should know.

Laying atop my bed, I stare into my past because Sabrina’s foul mouth opened a chasm of darkness I can’t contain, and as painful as it is to remember, if I don't, I’ll give in to the need surging through my veins.

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