Page 44 of Swallow Your Sorries

“So about sixteen hours of one-on-one contact?” Bae cocks his head, his long strands tumbling over his shoulder.

“Who says I’m average?” I snort. “I’ll do it in ten. Still, it’ll be tedious, but watching her shatter will be worth the while. I’ve waited two years already. I’m patient. I can wait a little longer.”

Bae raises his coffee mug in a mock toast. “Godspeed, Your Grace.”

Elle

Hot water scalds my skin, sloughing off the first layer and turning it a ghastly shade of red that competes with my hair.

Still, it doesn’t feel hot enough to get rid of Gant’s urine. His spit. My humiliation.

My guilt.

Sure, I felt somewhat vindicated by staking my own claim on Gant. I’d briefly revelled in his shocked reaction and that of the crowd, but then he’d smiled. A cruel smile that showed all of his perfectly straight, white teeth as he’d laughed straight in my face.

And so did everyone else as he patted my head like I was a three-pound yapping Chihuahua.

Then, he strolled out of the auditorium and somehow his silent dismissal was worse than his acknowledgement.

Still, I hadn’t cowered, and I hadn’t cried. My composed, unassisted journey off the theatre floor, out of the dark opera house and into the sunlight gave me an ounce of dignity. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes instead of a loser running from a puddle of piss.

Or maybe that’s just what I keep telling myself so I won’t break. Bend, but not break.

Still, I feel myself splintering.

Dead.

Madame is dead… and he, the boy that just violated me, thinksIkilled her.

He thinks I killed his mother.

The thought’s been stabbing at my brain, chipping away the grey matter ever since I left the head office. Mrs. Cardot had flagged me down and she didn’t so much as flinch when she spotted me drenched in urine. Nor did she ask any questions. She only confirmed what I already knew to be true. An anonymous donor paid my tuition and now I know it’s from yours truly.

I may not know anything about the social hierarchy here, but from the way the staff turned their heads at the sight of me and the students from my golden shower as it was happening, it’s obvious Gant Auclair and his minions run this school.

The red-haired cunt is mine.

Sic her.

As I travelled down the path to the dorm, I swear I could see the wheels already turning in people’s heads. They whispered amongst themselves, but they never called out or tried to touch or trip me. No, I bet that’s too petty for their tastes. They’re plotting, and I don’t even want to know what terror they have in store for me. But their silence was unnerving, frazzling me more than if they were outright with their disdain that Gant had infused them with.

The gravity of it is slowly starting to sink in.

Eight hundred and seventy-two people, students, seniors, andstrangers,hated me for something I hadn’t done.

Or had I?

Had my leak indirectly caused Madame’s demise?

Was it her husband? Gant’s father? Had he gotten violent with her?

I swallow, letting the water scald my back.

Had she taken her own life?

The thought takes my breath away and the steam filling the bathroom doesn’t help. And yet, I can’t bring myself to turn off the scorching water that’s my torture, and my relief. I press my forehead to the cool shower tile and inhale.

Breathe.

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