Page 9 of Depravity

I can’t blame her. Not really.

They used to be nice to me, friendly. And then Giselle caught one of them laughing and joking, and that was enough to earn the poor girl a beating, to earn us both one because she should know her place, that she is here to work and not have fun.

And me? Well, I’m a Monclere, I’m not meant to fraternise with people far beneath me. Even if I am a bastard, even if I am the lowest of the low. It’s still noble blood in my veins, isn’t it?

The maid nods her head politely at me, then exits like she can’t get away from me fast enough.

As the door shuts, the smell of toast wafts into the room. So they brought me breakfast. I guess that’s my aunt’s doing too. She wouldn’t want me in the dining room, wouldn’t want me anywhere near her precious fiancé.

For the first time in my life, I’m actually grateful to her. I figured I’d be going hungry, would have to steal food from the kitchens and pray I wasn’t caught. But if she’s seeing to this, then at least my confinement won’t be quite as miserable as I anticipated.

I shuffle across the room, perching on the stool and scoff down the slices, only realising how ravenous I am once the taste of melted butter hits my tongue. If I were smart I’d keep some back, put it somewhere for later because there is no guarantee this isn’t my only meal of the day.

But I’m too hungry to care.

I practically lick the plate clean, picking up all the crumbs with the tips of my fingers, and I’m dying for a drink too. I guess a scoop full of water from the bathroom tap will have the suffice.

I don’t know how long I have, but I know I’m running out of time. The car is waiting for me. I need to get going, butthe thought of leaving this room, this refuge makes me feel physically sick.

“Brynn.”

My grandfather’s voice makes me freeze.

He rarely comes to this part of the house, and especially not to my bedroom. So, this can’t be good.

“Why is it so dark in here?” He snaps, crossing the space, yanking the heavy curtains apart, and a brightness I was not prepared for fills the room.

I throw my arm up, trying to shade my eyes and he spots the movement, grabbing hold of me.

“When you’re done skulking.” He says, dragging me out.

My heart seems to leap. I don’t know where we’re headed, I don’t know where he’s taking me, but every step sends more panic through me.

I try to speak, to ask him but my words catch in my throat and I can’t get a single syllable out. I hate the effect he has on me. I hate the way my fear manifests itself in this way, rendering me mute.

We go down a flight of stairs, then another, when we get outside the cool morning air hits me like a tidal wave.

“The car has been waiting for over ten minutes.” He states and with relief I realise that’s all this is. I’m late for school.

He narrows his eyes before grabbing my chin. “You think you’re the only one who needs it?” He snarls. Like he doesn’t have a dozen other cars he can use, like he doesn’t have a helicopter too, and a private jet. “You think this entire house revolves around you?”

“Nuh nuh nnnoo.” I stammer, forcing out a gasp.

He rolls his eyes before shoving me on.

“I’ll be speaking to the school. Ensuring they understand your tardiness is not because I had any need of you.”

I wince, hearing the unspoken words. That I’ll be punished for this. Beaten. As a Monclere, I’m allowed to be late to class if my family has some urgent business, if there’s a legitimate reason for it. Only, my grandfather is ensuring they know that’s not the case this time.

It’s my own stupid fault. My own failure for letting my fear take over and for not paying better attention.

“And I’ll be having another word about your damned speech.” He says as he pushes me into the back so hard that my face smacks into the leather.

I don’t have time to reply, not that he wants one. He likes me seen and not heard. No, he likes me not seen and not heard. Better he pretend I don’t exist at all than have to look at me and see the sins of my mother. To be reminded of the daughter he believed was perfect, until she wasn’t.

I lift my hand, rubbing at my throat like that might be the magic fix, like that might somehow sort my speech impediment.

The car shoots off, slamming me back once more. My eyes meet the drivers through the rear-view mirror and there’s a hint of sympathy, but he makes sure he doesn’t say anything. We’re being watched. Every inch of this driveway has security cameras pointed at it. It’s another reason I need to plan my escape very, very carefully. I can’t simply grab my bag and wander off.

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