Page 60 of The Venom We Bleed

“I’ll talk to our counselor and arrange for your meetings with her. She should be ready for you to start by the time you leaveISS. You can decide when you see her. That's your decision to make, but youwillsee her.” She glares across the desk at me as if her expression can force me into compliance.

“One missed session"—she stops and holds up a single finger—"just one and we'll have a problem. You could go to jail for what you pulled today—not juvie butjail.” She repeats the word and the intended effect strikes home. My heartbeat stutters and my hands fall still. “It was dangerous,” she continues. “You threatened another student."

"She shouldn't have started what she couldn't finish." The words, despite sounding tough, fall flat. She’s right. Fighting in school is one thing, but I am eighteen now and if they wanted to, those bitches could press charges. Maybe they don’t know that yet, but how long will it take for them to figure it out?

Long's fuzzy ponytail waves against the back of her head as she shakes it back and forth. Leaning over to the big, boxy computer set to the side of her desk, she types something on the wired keyboard. “The counselor will reach out and discuss what time you two can meet regularly when she’s ready," Principal Long says, ignoring my statement.

My eyes linger on the computer. In quiet places like the principal’s office, the differences between Silverwood Public and Silverwood Prep become so obvious that it’s difficult to ignore. The Prep Academy had been built within the last fifteen years. Everything from the desks to the computers used by both teachers and students was updated yearly. Principal Long’s computer looks like it’s been here since the nineties. There’s even a curve to the front monitor and when she types. I close my eyes and my hands still over the shredded mess in my lap. There’s no point in noticing these differences. My custom laptop had been left behind along with my several thousand dollar wardrobe when my father had been carted off to jail. The rest … doesn’t matter.

The sharp click-clack of Principal Long's keyboard stabs into my ears like ice picks, pulling me back when she speaks again. "Alright, the email is sent," she announces. "I'm going to walk you to your locker where you can gather the rest of your things and then you'll go to ISS for the rest of the day."

I frown and glance down and around, realizing I'd dropped my backpack in the hallway when everything was happening, but—oh—there it is. Someone must have gathered it for me and set it just inside Principal Long's office door. I don't even remember hearing it open, but I'm relieved to see it there. I get up along with her and reach for the strap before realizing that standing had sent a rain of ripped little tissues to the floor. With a groan, I bend down and gather them all up, tossing them in a nearby waste paper basket before meeting her at the door.

"Just one more question, Juliet," Long says, her tone lowering as her hand hovers over the doorknob.

"What?"

She looks back, eyes settling on my face. "Have you heard from your mother or talked to your father since everything happened?"

My spine goes rigid as I quickly adjust my backpack strap over one shoulder and look away from the penetrating look she's giving me.

"No," I grit out. "My mom dipped the second she could. She knows as well as I do that no one in town would've been kind to her had she stayed." It was just too bad she hadn't thought to take her daughter with her. Selfish bitch. "And I have no plans to talk to my dad after everything he did."

"He's still your father," Long says. "Life is already hard enough when you feel so alone. I know he's being held in a prison that's only a few hours away. You might consider visiting him."

I cut a hand through the air. "I don't want to talk about my parents," I snap. "So drop it."

Principal Long's hand falls away from the doorknob and she turns completely, pivoting to face me as she folds her arms. The stretch of the gray pantsuit she's wearing makes her look severe even when her fuzzy curls stick out all over at the back of her head, held in place by the thinnest of hairbands.

"You could've stayed with Morpheus Calloway," she states. It's not a question, so I don't respond. I do, however, take a healthy step away from her and give her the evil eye, waiting to see what else she'll say. For a while, the two of us just stare at each other.

Silence permeates the room, broken occasionally by a ringing phone outside in the front office. The sound of the office secretary's voice, her words muffled by the thin walls that desperately need an upgrade, fills the room along with the buzzing of ancient electronics.

Finally, Principal Long asks her real question. "Why didn't you?" Her head tilts to the side. "Your life could have remained virtually the same had you stayed with Morpheus Calloway. He's a kind man. I know he offered to pay for your prep school tuition and even help you get into the college of your choice." She unfolds her arms to wave around her office. "Why would you give all of that up and come here?"

Because I couldn't trust that it wouldn't all go away again. Because Morpheus isn’t my father and he’s not my uncle—not really. They were business partners, friends. Not blood. Morpheus Calloway isn’t my blood, but even if he was—I still wouldn’t trust him. If my own mother couldn’t hack it in this town for her own daughter, then why the fuck would someone who has no responsibility for me do so.

I eye her for a moment, the words on the tip of my tongue. Hefting my backpack higher on my shoulder, I step past her andreach for the door. Just before I turn the knob, though, I pause and the words escape. "When everything you've ever known is ripped away from you and all of the people you've trusted turn their backs on you, there's no such thing as trust anymore. The only person I can rely on now is myself. If I'd stayed with Mr. Calloway, I would have just been pretending like everything didn't happen, but it did. I'm not my mother.” A mother who is, no doubt, off somewhere at the bottom of a bottle, acting like her husband isn't in jail and her daughter isn't half-starving in a town full of piranhas. “I'm not going to close my eyes to the truth,” I tell her.

Not again.

25

NOLAN

Sweat drips into my eyes as I push up from the ground. Grass digs into the palms of my hand as Coach’s sneakered feet stride by. He barks out.

“Down!”

We go down.

“Up!”

We lift back up.

The muscles in my upper arms are burning today, but all I can really think about is the look on her face. The emptiness. The hollow panic that invaded the second she’d realized what she’d almost done.

Juliet Donovan is a danger to us all.

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