Page 66 of The Casualty of Us
All of it culminates in me forcing my feet toward the table of shame this morning, though. Partly out of boredom and partly because, realistically, I can’t make Marley bring me food all week. Plus, if I put it off for too long, then I’ll start to look weak, and I can’t have that.
I frown at the small orange sign hanging off the edge of the isolated table at the back of the mess hall that clearly marks it as the designated suspension area. Keeping my feet moving toward it and thinking they probably could have left the sign off since its location alone pretty much takes care of that. Habit still has me sweeping my eyes across the rest of the room, though. Quickly noting that there are only a couple of other people around, and the sense of space has me blowing out a short breath of relief. Thankful that I waited until most morning classes had already started to make this trip.
No need to dive back into the morning rush when I have nowhere to be.
Although the oversized sweatpants and hoodie I’m rocking instead of the mandatory uniform aren’t exactly doing much to hide my appearance. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was putting my uniform on to just come down and grab some breakfast, though.
I take a seat at the table and unload the assortment of food I ordered from my tray. Carefully situating the pancakes in front of me and sliding my strawberries and tea to the right of them. Letting my backpack drop from my shoulders to the ground and ducking down to pull out the first book in the fantasy series that Ollie got me for Christmas. I double-check that everything is just right so that I can fully enjoy this little escape from purgatory and settle in to eat. One hand holding my book open to the first page while my other is free to manage the much-needed sustenance.
I pick up my tea, blowing on it absently and reading through the first couple of sentences when instinct starts trickling down my spine. Intuition kicking in about two seconds before movement comes from the corner of my eye with a voice rasping, “Don’t freak out.”
“Fuck,” I gasp, tea sloshing over the edge of my mug as the sound of Hayes’s voice makes me look up to find him standing at the edge of the table with a tray of his own in hand and wearing some black sweats. The split-second observation doesn’t give me much before his eyes catch mine, and the sudden flip of my stomach has me looking back down. “You’re not supposed to talk to me.” I set my tea down carefully to buy myself a second and reach for some napkins while clarifying. “I’m not supposed to talk to anyone when I’m in public places during suspension.”
Not that he deserves my clarification, but I did promise Ollie peace.
“Right.” He clears his throat. “About that…”
That instinct trickles down my spine again with the sense of being tracked, and I catch a shift of movement from him out of my periphery, but I still finish wiping up the tea. Steadfastly looking down until my stomach has been properly scolded and I’m ready to weather his onslaught again. It’s only then that I toss the napkins to the side, glancing up from under my lashes and finding where his eyes are waiting for me. “What?”
“So…” His brows shoot down, gaze probing mine with something careful flitting through it before he delivers tonelessly, “I got suspended.”
Silence reigns between us following his announcement, and the air seems to grow heavier with each second that ticks by until all that space I’d been basking in is gone. Nothing but him and what he did and what I didn’t see pressing in around me.
“I got suspended,” he repeats more strongly, walking to the spot directly across from me with a challenge rising on his face now. “For two weeks. For hitting Thomas.”
I purse my lips. “I see.”
Giving him one more blink before I look back down at my book and essentially dismiss him. I pick my tea back up and take a small sip, moving my eyes across the words to make it look convincing and hoping he takes a freaking clue for once.
We can share the table in silence. At least for today.
I’ll make peace tomorrow.
Or the next day.
Or whenever I get around to composing the right message, which somehow casually yet explicitly lays out the boundaries of our acquaintance from here on out.
Not in person, though. Definitely not in person. That’s a bad idea with how his—
“I was told,” he interrupts, sitting down and pausing like he’s waiting for my attention before pushing on. “To tell you that we have permission to talk to each other during meal times.”
I roll my eyes before pretending to read the same sentence again while grumbling, “Of course you were.”
“Something about facilitating lines of communication and making sure Sutton doesn’t see either of us in her office for a year.”
“Hmm.”
“O—”
“Goddammit,” I snap, dropping the book and jerking my eyes up to spit out. “Can I not have five minutes?”
His chest rises with a sharp breath, jaw tensing, but I lift my chin defiantly.
“You got two days, Ophelia.” He bites back slowly, each word coming out a little lower than the last. “And before that you gotpractically a whole week, and then—” he scoffs shortly. “Then before that, you got the last two weeks of Christmas break—”
I snort. “I swear to God, you’re worse than fucking Monday—”
“So you just let me know—”
