Page 41 of Wicked Chains
The campus is busy the next day with staff darting around carrying armfuls of exotic blooms, people wearing white gloves polishing every surface until it gleams, and a woman with a clipboard and the tightest bun I’ve ever seen, barking orders like a tiny general. All in preparation for Family Day, where rich parents come to make sure their money is being well spent on their precious offspring. Meanwhile, I'm trying not to think about the ghost who promised to stay, but vanished before morning. Again.
I watch as two men struggle to carry an ice sculpture of a serpent. Because what this place needs is more snakes, like the people here aren’t snaky enough. The sun catches it just right, and I have to admit it’s quite beautiful, even if it’s a little sinister. All this for a bunch of parents who'll spend exactly two to four hours pretending to care about their kids' education when really they're just here to network with other powerful assholes.
"Careful with that!" Clipboard Lady shrieks as the ice serpent wobbles precariously. "That cost twelve thousand dollars!"
Twelve thousand dollars. For ice. That will melt.
I shake my head and pull my hood up over my head. At least classes are canceled for the day while everyone prepares for tomorrow's extravaganza. Small mercies.
Hank shifts in my pocket, his small frog body barely weighing me down. At least someone sticks around.
Unlike Drake.
I woke up alone again this morning, the space beside me cold and empty again. No explanation, just gone.
"You wouldn't leave me, would you, Hank?" I murmur, patting my pocket gently.
A soft croak answers me, and I smile despite myself. I'm talking to a frog regularly, but it beats talking to myself. But honestly, he's more reliable than most of the people in my life right now.
I need to get out of here, away from all this Family Day nonsense. The decorations and preparations are just reminding me of everything I don't have. No mom to fuss over my hair. No dad to pretend he's interested in my classes. No one at all.
"Let's go for a walk," I tell Hank. "Before I start feeling sorry for myself and do something stupid."
November in New England is making itself known with every biting gust of wind. I pull my hoodie tighter around me, wishing I'd grabbed Lucien's coat before leaving my room. But I left it draped over my desk chair this morning, not wanting to wear something that reminded me of him and that kiss that's beenplaying on repeat in my head. And if Drake noticed, he didn’t mention or ask about it. Kinda glad he’s not the jealous type.
Students mill around campus in little groups, some helping with preparations, others taking advantage of the free day to lounge around. I walk toward the wooded area at the edge of the grounds. It's quieter there, fewer reminders of tomorrow's event.
I'm almost at the tree line when I hear it.
"Well, if it isn't Charity Case."
I stop, tensing up automatically at the sound of Thorne's voice, loaded with her particular brand of sugar-sweet poison. I turn slowly to face her and her perpetual shadow, Harry.
Thorne stands with her arms crossed, blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight, not a strand out of place. She's wearing a green cashmere sweater set and a pleated miniskirt, knee-high socks and patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Harry looms behind her, bulky and smirking, in a matching green sweatsuit.
"Hello to you too, Thorne," I say, sounding bored. I don’t bother to acknowledge Harry.
"Harry thinks it's a little early for the trash to be taking itself out," Harry says, referring to himself in the third person as always, which never stops being weird and creepy.
"Heading out to practice trying not to look pathetic for tomorrow?" Thorne asks, her smile big and bright. "Or are you just trying to find somewhere to hide during Family Day? That must be so embarrassing for you, having no one come to visit."
I should walk away. I really should.
"At least I'm not desperately trying to impress a father who probably sees me as nothing more than an acquisition," I shoot back. “Did he arrange a corporate merger for you yet, oh sorry, I mean a marriage?”
Thorne's perfect smile falters for just a second before returning, sharper than before. "Daddy's flying in on his private jet just for me. What's your mother taking? Oh wait, she's dead, right?"
The words hit exactly the way Thorne wants them to, making my lungs seize. Hank stirs in my pocket, agitated.
"Harry heard she was a junkie," Harry adds, grinning. "That true, Charity Case? Mommy OD in some flophouse?"
"Shut. The fuck. Up," I warn.
"I bet that's why you're so desperate for attention from the professors," Thorne continues, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Daddy issues, mommy issues, damn girl, you've got the full set. It's actually impressive how completely unwanted you are."
"I said shut up." My voice drops to a dangerous whisper.
"Maybe she's hoping Professor Malric will adopt her," Thorne stage-whispers to Harry. "Or maybe she wants to call Lucien 'Daddy'. You saw them kissing out by the willow tree. Isn't that right, Harry?"
