Page 35 of All Bets Are Off

“Right, thanks,” I murmur, lifting my wrist against my chest as Vanessa tugs at me.

“Dahlias still your favorite flower?” he asks and I freeze, cocking my head to the side as I stare at him. Was he the one that set up all the little surprises today? “I saw a massive bouquet of them in your pile of presents,” he explains, pushing his hands in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels.

“Oh, yeah. I saw those too,” I hesitate. “But umm, I actually prefer sunflowers.” The usual lie slips past my lips without much thought.

He nods his head but something flashes across his face that I don’t recognize. “I’ll remember that. See you soon,” he promises, winking before I turn back around and let V pull me towards the car. Even as I reach them, I can still feel his eyes on me. Something about the small interaction unsettling me.

“Do you think…?” V asks, squeezing my arm tighter.

“I don’t know,” I answer her honestly, turning back to find his eyes still on us. He lifts his hand in a wave and I give a forced half smile before Ash pulls my attention back to him.

How weird.

The sound of the shower starting startles me from my thoughts and I hop out of bed as fast as I can move, my clothes for the day already where I left them stacked last night on my desk. I pull the sweatshirt I slept in over my head quickly and toss it into the hamper. I can feel the soreness in my arms as I strap my bra into place and I have to force myself to slow down as I hiss in pain.

The oval shaped bruises that spatter across my biceps make me flinch as I catch sight of them in the mirror. They look even darker than they did yesterday, but maybe that’s just the lighting. I don’t know how to feel about the marks as I gaze at them. Don’t know what to think.

Do I keep telling myself that I’m in control of this? That I can handle Carson and whatever he throws my way? That maybe I’m just exaggerating or remembering wrong?

Or am I drowning without the four life rafts that always kept me afloat?

The memory I had been lost in haunts me. I had always been wary of Carson, but my fear of him has only grown tenfold since we first showed up at this campus. I’m positive now looking back that he was behind all of the little gifts on my last birthday. With every day he’s hiding less behind that porcelain mask of his. It’s only a matter of time before the cracks the guys are purposely creating make the whole thing shatter and rip me to bloody pieces in the process.

The bruises paint a clear enough picture. Easy enough for just anyone to be able to picture a hand gripped too tight, yanking and pulling on me in different directions, forcing me to do as someone else pleased. But there are others, random splotches of blue and purple coloring from his pinches. Truthfully, I’d take the bruises over the kisses any day. Who knew I would ever become this person to crave the violence and detest affection?

Can you even call it affection when it’s dripping in poison?

It’s only myself in here. I can at least be honest with myself, it’s not like I can be with anyone else. We can call a spade a spade. It’s all just different forms of abuse. It’s all leaving marks on me, some I just have to work harder to hide from others, while some will stay buried deep.

I can't do nothing.

I won’t do nothing.

I nod, strong in my conviction as I gaze at the dark stains against my pale skin. I don’t have much time before I need to cover them from Shelby’s curious gaze. She already has so many questions about Carson. About the guys. But I have enough time to at least do something.

It’s only a few moments later that I hear the shower turn off and I know time is almost up. I toss my phone back onto my bed and pull my sweater over my head before pulling on a skirt and stockings. At least the weather is cooling off. The long sleeves I have no choice but to wear won’t be such a burden, or draw any unwanted attention.

By the time Shelby does come out of the bathroom, I’m sitting at my desk writing in my journal. I’d never bothered to journal before, but since everything happened with Carson it just seemed like a good idea.

I’ve started writing in it a lot more frequently as I spend more time here. More and more words that I need to get out of my head and onto the paper. I don’t look up as I try to finish this thought while Shelby gets dressed.

I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t look up from my notebook.

“Are we going to walk to class together?” she asks carefully. I wince at her tone. I think I may have been too short with her yesterday and just a little too good at avoiding her questions about the party. I just don’t know how to answer her honestly, and spewing lies to her is just unappealing.

“Of course,” I reply with a genuine smile. She nods but still looks at me speculatively as she slips on her beat up Converse. I slip my journal into my bag. I don’t want to risk it being too far away from me and anyone looking at it. The pages have too much information that can’t be spread. Not yet.

We take our time walking to class, stopping to get coffee and talking about Shelby’s weekend. I’m relieved and selfishly jealous that she’s found friends other than me she can hang out with.

The slow, easy going morning was exactly what I needed to settle my nerves over turning in my paper today in my first class. I’ve never had much anxiety when it came to schoolwork. I’ve always genuinely enjoyed most of my classes and I thought it would be the same in college. For the most part it is, when I’m not trying to ignore the whispers and dirty looks. It’s just that a lot of the topics we discuss push me out of my comfort zone, challenge things I thought that I knew, and for the first time I feel like I put more of myself, more time and thought and effort into the paper I’m turning in. It’s a lot more nerve wracking than turning in a paper about the allegory of a white whale.

I take my normal seat in class and pull out my journal, adding a few more details that I thought about while walking to class with Shelby. I've become accustomed to tuning out the words around me, they’re generally not all that nice to listen to, so it takes me a moment to notice the sudden shift in the air.

I glance up to find Hudson sitting in front of me. I sigh as I close my journal and tuck it back into my bag. This is the last thing I need him to get his hands on. I fold my hands on my desk and raise my eyes to meet his, waiting for whatever new torture they’ve devised. Nothing good ever happens when they choose to sit by me.

Only, he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at my bag. I use my foot to nudge it back under the desk and out of his sight, worry thrumming through me that his interest lies with my journal. He finally looks up and smirks when he finds my eyes narrowed on him.

“Morning, Sunshine. Heard you had a good weekend.” I flinch at his words and the harsh tone. I never knew my nickname could sound so caustic. I shrug and look away, not bothering to respond. Anything I say will just make matters worse.

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