Page 72 of Ramsay

And what the fuck am I going to do about it?

Chapter Fifteen

Willow

The remainder of the weekend passes quietly. I turned my phone off and laid in bed the entirety of Sunday. My parents never mentioned my absence and appear to have no idea they left me high and dry.

I’ve given up trying to make them see because I can’t control their addiction and the grief, they live in is surely as much a bad habit as mine.

I’m no closer to a solution or even a way through my loss. It’s coming at me from all sides, but I know I have to perform for the Sinners and as I lay across my bed and allow everything to flow through me, the only realization I come to is that Ramsay Yates has stripped back every layer that matters to me, and now I feel perilously close to nothing left to lose.

On Monday, I roll into the lot warily. The minute I hit the doors, I’m given a wide berth, stares following me through the halls. Stoically, I head for first period uninterested in lingering anywhere near these savages, but I stop up short when the phones all around me start to go off.

The discordant ringtones blare in my ears and when my ass buzzes, I pull it out, staring at a series of texts which are notes stolen from my treatment. This—protected health information, billionaire Ramsay had no trouble accessing.

I guess this is another of Ramsay’s diabolical gifts.

The words blur before my eyes, I don’t need to read them, I said them, I lived them.

I feel like my soul is dying. Or maybe it’s already dead. Is this what hell feels like?

I think Carmen’s dead, how could she not be? If I had just kept my mouth shut, Carmen would be alive today. She was the light, and I stole it from her.

Some days, it’s all I can do not to end it all. It would be so easy, rip open my flesh and bleed into the world. Who would care?

I hate my parents. They don’t see me. They don’t care, it’s always about fucking Carmen. I’m invisible, I’ve always been invisible. Becoming the very thing that stole Carmen from us, even that hasn’t brought them around.

Have you ever stared into the eyes of the devil? I have and I begged for more until everything I knew about myself was ripped away and now, I’m a bloody empty carcass.

It’s all sent via text, which makes the words flat and dispassionate. A shame since this baring of my soul, my deepest secrets to the world was all too painful at the time.

Does it hurt my soul? Absolutely, but they haven’t even touched the depravity I’ve exposed myself to. Which doesn’t bode well.

How far is Ramsay willing to go?

First thing the following morning I’m called into the principal’s office and plunked down before the school counselor. Apparently, my words made it as far as the faculty and they have no choice but to respond. Where every other painful act was ignored, bring in my mental health and now they’re concerned—the hypocrisy.

Staring into Ms. Carter’s blue eyes, the school counselor who’s only ever ignored her charges, I wonder numbly if anyone has gone back to the source and punished Ramsay for his misdeeds.

Of course not, Ramsay is untouchable. He is the king of the Sinners and I nothing more than a lowly fucking peasant.

“Willow, we heard about the series of anonymous texts sent out to the student body. Do you know where they originated from?”

“No,” I whisper through dry lips.

Ramsay is a dick with a billion dollars behind his name, to rat him out would only make me a snitch. He’ll never suffer any consequences. This entire conversation is a waste of my time.

“Okay, well we’re doing what we can to trace them back. Do you want to talk about them? That was some pretty heavy stuff.”

My first reaction is denial because I said my piece, gutted myself in therapy. Why go through it all again? Instead, I speak before I have time to think. Perhaps I have a better idea. “Yes, but if it’s alright with you, I’d like to speak to Mr. Goodlow.”

“I see,” she says sitting back, with raised brows. “Well, this is highly unusual.”

“I guess, it’s just he’s always been so understanding, and I feel more comfortable sharing the details with him,” I say, plastering on my most innocent but earnest expression.

She considers me for a moment, before saying, “Very well, if he’s agreeable, we’ll set up some time during one of his free periods.”

“Okay, thanks,” I say, exhaling slowly before I smile.

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