Page 59 of The Venom We Bleed

Principal Long disrupts the quiet in the room first. Leaning forward as her chair creaks, she clasps her hands together on the edge of the desk that separates us. "Grief is hard for everyone,” she states.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying not to allow myself to act on the annoyance those words bring out in me. "I'm notgrieving," I reply, opening my eyes and fixing her with a bored look. "No one's dead."

Yet.

I’d wanted to though. I’d wanted to burn her skin off. Scar her for life, maybe even slit her throat. The power I’d wielded over her had been a drug, and now that I’m coming back down from the high, I realize how dangerously close I’d gotten to the point of no return.

It would be my luck that a Scorpion King had pulled me back from the edge.

Had I always been this way or is this what happens when everyone abandons you and you find yourself in the gutter, struggling for survival?

"There are other types of loss, Juliet," Long says.

On a good day, I don't like it when people look at me with sympathy. Even if it's kindness that spawns the emotion, it feels far too close to pity for me to feel even remotely comfortable with it. Considering Principal Long had been on a wrathful war path up until we crossed the threshold of her office not but two minutes ago, this is too much of a one-eighty for me.

Sitting back in the thinly cushioned and frayed chair that's positioned before her desk, I crack my neck to one side, stretching the muscles there. "What's the verdict?" I ask. "What's my punishment?"

Expulsion? Suspension? Being strung up by the angry townspeople and beaten with the business end of a bat?

Ironically, that last option doesn't scare me as much as it once might have. Pain is an emotion. It's a sensation. Right now, I feel like anything would be preferable to this icy numbness that's crept up my insides and flooded my veins.

Long sighs and props her elbows up on the edge of her desk, steepling her fingers together before she leans down and rests her chin on them. Her eyes are too knowing, too compassionate.They make me feel like bugs are crawling up my spine and all over me, but always in places I know I won't be able to reach. No scratching can make the sensation go away. She sighs, the sound an echo of her disappointed expression. “I don’t know yet,” she admits.

Fuck. That can’t be good.

"Of course, you'll return to ISS for the rest of the week," she continues, reaching forward and ripping a tissue from the box stationed on the corner of her desk.

She offers it to me and I glare at her, but take it anyway. I'm not going to fucking cry, but I use the offering anyway, balling the material in my fist and crushing it, wishing that it were a good stress ball.

"I understand that things aren't easy for you here at school and I know you've got other things going on, but what you did today can’t happen again.” I nod my agreement. What I almost did today can’t be repeated—certainly not in public. Nolan was right. If I’m going to lose control like that, then it needs to be somewhere out of the public eye. I need to have plausible deniability.

“Being out of control isn't good for your mental health," Principal Long says.

I almost smile at that comment as I loosen my hold on the tissue and then flatten it out on my thigh. Staring at the white, gauzy material, I slowly and methodically begin to rip it into lines, up and down, up and down. Despite what Principal Long may think, I wasn't out of control today. It was the opposite. I haven't felt that in control of myself in a long time.

Riiip. Riiip. Riiip.

"I want you to have regular sessions with our counselor here at school too. She's trained in more than preparing students for what happens after school. She's a licensed therapist."

I snort. "You think therapy is going to help me figure out my fucked-up life?"

"I think you're on a very dangerous path, Juliet," Long replies, eyeing me. “Your whole world has shifted in a very short span of time. You’ve gone from relying on friends and family to…” She drifts off.

“To not having any friends or family?” I guess aloud, arching a brow in her direction.

Her lips press together briefly before she starts talking again. "Something needs to change or you'll find yourself in trouble when the real world hits."

My hands still over the ripped tissues in my lap. "The real world has already hit me.” It hit me months ago on my eighteenth birthday when I lost everything. Literally. No home. No parents. No boyfriend. No friends. No money.

The old Juliet Donovan died that night and sometimes I think I’d have been better off if I’d died with her.

“I’m already in trouble,” I murmur.

Not with myself but with this fucking town. Silverwood is a wound. A festering, ugly, puss-seeping wound full of bacteria and infection. I don't want to cure it. I just want to get out.

"This isn't a suggestion or a recommendation." Long's eyes harden as she makes her decision. She lifts her head away from her steepled fingers and lets her hands fall. "This will be part of your punishment—counseling with Mrs. Beck. Now, where'd you get the lighter? Are you smoking?"

I shake my head. "I don’t smoke.” It’s not a lie, but there’s no point telling the principal it was someone else’s addiction that gave me the weapon. Long hums in the back of her throat, narrowing her eyes on me as I go back to ripping the tissue paper. The strips turn into tiny squares.

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