Page 18 of Sticks & Serpents

There she stood, draped in a silk robe that barely covered anything, the fabric clinging to her like it was meant to seduce rather than conceal. My lips curled into a frown as she turned and noticed me.

“Oh, Damien,” she murmured, her voice dripping with a softness that only made my skin crawl. “Good morning.”

She glided toward me with that practiced grace, and it took every ounce of willpower not to back away. My instincts screamed at me to run, but I forced myself to stay still as she approached.

“What are you up to today?” she asked, her tone casual but laced with something else—curiosity or perhaps concern.

“A meeting,” I said through clenched teeth. “Dean Walker.”

“Have you been bad again?” A light laugh escaped her lips as she reached out to cup my cheek.

I flinched at her touch; the warmth turning icy in an instant. “No,” I snapped, pulling away like I’d been burned. The air thickened between us, and I could feel the weight of unspoken expectations pressing down on my chest.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing me with a mixture of amusement and something darker lurking beneath the surface. “Do I need to get involved?”

The question hung in the air like a noose tightening around my neck. I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned away from her—a coward’s move—but I needed to escape this conversation.

I didn’t want coffee here; I needed it from River Styx—the only place that felt somewhat safe lately.

With quick strides, I headed for the garage, ignoring how my hands shook as they gripped the car keys tightly. The engine roared to life under me as I backed out onto the driveway. Each thrum echoed my unease and pushed thoughts of her out of my mind—at least for now.

I gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as I tore through the streets toward Crestwood Academy. Each turn felt like a punch to the gut, anger surging through me like a live wire.

I hated this place. I hated that it had been reduced to nothing more than a backdrop for my mother’s games, her manipulations that still twisted my insides even after all these years. Every time I returned, I felt like I was slipping back into her world, and the mere thought made bile rise in my throat.

The rage simmered beneath my skin, boiling over with every passing car. Logan Hartley’s pathetic face flashed in my mind—the way he’d tried to make me look weak in front of Holly. It only fueled my anger further. That sack of shit thought he could just waltz in and take what was mine? Not a chance.

My mother had gotten into my head again, like she always did. The way she’d looked at me—her eyes so full of false concern—made me feel small and helpless. It was infuriating how she could still have that power over me. Why couldn’t I just stand up to her? I slammed my fist against the steering wheel, letting out a growl of frustration that echoed inside the car.

The campus came into view, looming like a prison I had no choice but to enter. Crestwood was supposed to be prestigious, but all it felt like was a cage—a place where expectations smothered any hint of freedom.

I parked with an aggressive jerk and climbed out of the car. My heart raced as I stalked across the parking lot, fury driving every step forward. How many times had I told myself that I wouldn’t let her get to me? Yet here I was again—fucking powerless.

“Get it together,” I muttered under my breath as I marched toward the main building. The air felt thick with tension as students milled about, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.

I pushed open the door to River Styx, the campus café, and was hit with the familiar scent of freshly ground coffee beans and sweet pastries. The place was a mix of old and new—exposed brick walls lined with local artwork, mismatched furniture that ranged from vintage couches to modern metal chairs, and a long counter displaying an array of baked goods under glass domes. The hum of conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional hiss of the espresso machine.

I made my way to the counter, ignoring the curious glances from a group of students huddled over textbooks. The barista, a guy with more tattoos than visible skin, nodded at me. "What can I get you?"

"Coffee. Black."

He turned to pour the steaming liquid into a mug, and I scanned the room. A couple sat in the corner, engrossed in each other, while a lone student near the window typed furiously on a laptop. I grabbed my coffee and found an empty table near the back, away from the crowd.

The first sip was scalding, just the way I liked it. I took my time, letting the heat burn away the remnants of my mother's touch. Each swallow grounded me, pushing back the chaos that threatened to spill over. I had no intention of walking into Walker's office shaken up. That wasn't how this game worked.

I leaned back in my chair, the worn wood creaking under my weight. The café was a place where I could blend in with the crowd or disappear entirely. It was a far cry from the sterile, controlled environment of my mother's house. Here, I could breathe.

As I nursed my coffee, the minutes ticked by, and the tension in my shoulders eased. The caffeine kicked in, sharpening my senses. I watched as students came and went, their lives a whirlwind of classes, exams, and social dramas. It was all so normal, so mundane. Especially how they avoided me completely.

Well, some did.

Girls stared a little too long, wondering if my reputation preceded me.

I wanted to fuck them, to show them.

And yet, it was a world away from the storm brewing inside me.

I took another sip, the bitter taste lingering on my tongue. I was in no rush. Let Walker wait. Let him stew in his office, wondering where I was. I had all the time in the world.

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