Page 91 of The Black Table
The bleachers explode with cheers. Lanz stands still for a minute. Stop. And when he takes off his mask to shake his opponent’s hand, his face is utterly shocked, like he can’t believe he did it.
Believe it,I think. I’m so proud of them and I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s just the sheer joy of watching people with talent execute something flawlessly, or almost, I think, looking at Kingston. Maybe it’s the team spirit of the place catching up with me. Or maybe it’s just that…
“See?” Morgan says, clapping herself. “Like I said. Swords are cool.”
I’m about to agree, when—splat.
Something soft and wet smacks and sticks against the back of my neck.
“Look out below,” someone yells, laughing.
“Oh my God,” Morgan shrieks, “are you okay?”
“I…don’t know,” I say. I’m stunned more than anything, and clutch at the back of my head to figure out what it is. My fingers sink into it with a little stick.
It’s chewing gum. But not just a single wad. A whole ball, like someone had been chewing and spitting and chewing and spitting, specifically to build this projectile.
“Jesus, Gwenna.” Morgan wheels around. “You absolute shitheels! What the fuck is wrong with?—”
“It’s fine,” I hiss at her, “it’s fine. I’ll just…there’s a bathroom in here, right?”
“Yeah,” she says. “That door over there, hallway to the locker rooms.”
“Thanks.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I rush across the field house, fighting the stream of people exiting, presumably headed to Porter’s or dorm rooms for after-match celebrations. I follow thesigns for the women’s lockers, fling myself in front of a sink, and rake at my hair with my fingers.
I get it,I think furiously.Okay? I get it. You hate me. I hate me. I should never have fucking gone out and paraded myself in public like this. Should never have gone fuckinganywhereafter what I did.
Shame floods through me like liquid fire, and I pull harder on the hair, yank more desperately at a knot that will never come undone.
Even if it was a fucking accident.
I still did it. Somewhere inside me was the capacity to be that destructive.
Elena didn’t deserve what happened.
Her father didn’t deserve it.
No one did.No one did.
Except me.
I pull at my hair, pain lacing my scalp.
Then I pull harder.
I deserve this.
I deserve this.
I deserve this.
In one final yank, the strands rip from my head.
It hurts,burns, but it’s gone. Done. And I feel…
I don’t feel better.
