Page 121 of Satan's Spawn
Otherwise known as my current babysitters who are never more than meters away.
“Not really,” I argue, “because I’m still doing double the school work, and he has Saint carrying out his debauchery.”
Archer pops a crouton in his mouth, raising his brow. “It must be real grueling, since you willingly take rides to the bagel store with him every morning.”
I glance over at the table again, locking eyes with Saint who nods at me in acknowledgement.
Ugh. Fair point, but it still doesn’t change the fact I feel like he’s only smothering me for his friend. Even though Saint makes it a point not to talk about said friend.
I don’t get his relationship with Crayton any more than I getmyrelationship with Crayton.
Or lack thereof these days.
I’ve become so obsessed with knowing where he is I wake up during the night to check if he’s there, watching me.
And when I come up empty every time—somewhere deep inside me feels a bout of disappointment I can’t ignore.
I don’t feel his dark presence around me anymore, and it’s something I would never imagine actually missing.
I push my plate of food away, just as I expected I would after opening this can of termites.
“Whatever. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Gladly.” Archer raises his chin. “Thought you ladies would like to know my tuxedo has finally finished being tailored, and is now ready for me to slay it on Friday.”
I’m trying to avoid the nausea, not shove a proverbial finger down my throat, Archer.
Damn this dance.
“That’s awesome Archer,” Hendrix smiles through a mouthful of burger, “we’re gonna make one hell of a trio walking into that bitch.”
Archer wiggles his eyebrows. “I’d never deny the opportunity of escorting two beautiful ladies under my arm to a dance.”
Hendrix shakes her head in jest. “You know damn well this is a lifeline you’re throwing us.”
“Call it what you may, Hen, but we’re gonna party hard at that dance. Especially since a particular tattooed psychopath is nowhere to be found.”
* * *
“Miss Dawson!”A male calling out my name makes me jump as I make my way out of last period lab.
I turn around to find Mr. Beckett rushing over through the crowd of student traffic waving papers in his hand.
“Yes Mr. Beckett?” I squeeze the handle of my bag, eyeing Saint who’s staring curiously at us as he leans against the lockers across the hall.
“I apologize, I forgot to give you Crayton’s rubric for the essay due Wednesday.” Mr. Beckett hands me the paper and tries to catch his breath, as if he’s been running a mile.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
He collects himself with a wave of his hand. “Oh, I’m fine. Just wanted to make sure I caught you before I left for the day. Give Mr. Shaw as much time as possible to complete his work as he gets better.”
There’s that lightbulb again.
An open window…I think to myself.
It’s the first time anyone besides me has drawn real attention to Crayton’s whereabouts.
“Gets better?” I ask, seeming genuinely concerned. “I didn’t realize he was sick. Nobody has mentioned anything about why he’s missing so much school.”
