Page 24 of Distortion
She stares at me. She doesn’t look upset or angry, just dead tired.
‘You know, there’s food downstairs in the kitchen. It’s for everyone, so you can help yourself,’ I say, and then, for some insane reason, I keep talking. ‘Mary-Anne, she’s our housekeeper.’Shut-up.‘She usually does our groceries and makes sure the maids keep everything clean ... but you won’t meet her until after Halloween.’Stop talking. ‘We make the pledges do everything for the first six weeks ... for hazing, you know ...’ I finally stop my babbling.
She doesn’t say a word, just watches me.
‘Do you want half my sandwich?’ I blurt and then wince.
Internally, I close my eyes, swear at myself, and facepalm. What the fuck is wrong with me?
‘What’s in it?’ she asks very quietly.
‘Ham and cheese.’
‘Okay.’
I hand her the plate and she takes it.
‘Thank you,’ she murmurs, not looking at me.
She closes the door in my face.
Taken aback because ... well I guess I’m used to girls making a bigger deal out of me helping them out, I go back to Blake’s room to resume my semi-disturbing spying. Could be worse, I muse. At least I’m not beating myself off while I watch the weird, but very pretty girl eat my sandwich.
She sits on the bed and takes a bite, looks thoughtful and takes another. When she’s finished, she puts the plate on the nightstand and looks at the clock. It’s only eight-fifteen, but she said she was five hours out this afternoon, so it must be past one am for her.
My jaw drops with the tiny towel when, for a split second, I see everything before she climbs into bed and turns out the light.
I do want to make sure Shade’s baby sister is safe, but ... I admit it to myself. I want her.
I close Blake’s laptop and go back to my room where I take out my dick and stroke it to the repeating clip I’ve saved to my phone of her dropping that towel.
Could beworse.At least I’m not in there with her, standing over her bed while she sleeps. I mean,thatwould be creepy.
4
DAISY
Iwake at four am. Nine in the UK and technically an hour late. I stare at the dark ceiling above me. If I was still in bed this late at The Heath, my day’s jogging privileges would already be revoked and Crewes or Harrison would be ripping my blanket off. I’d be given thirty seconds to get dressed and then I’d be dragged into the breakfast room. Then, my breakfast would be chosen for me as punishment … probably brown toast, which they all know I hate. There would be a hissed promise to tell Stoke I was speaking out of turn if I said anything, or didn’t eat it, which would mean no dessert at dinner at the very least.
So, I don’t get up despite the rolling of my gut that I’m breaking the rules even though no one will know. I give myself a few luxurious minutes to lay in bed to prove to myself that there’s no reprimand waiting for me. I think about the day ahead. I’m meeting with my new and only friend at Grinder, class at ten and then my first shift at the café before Nineteenth Century Literature.
My stomach flips at the thought of all the firsts that today will bring, and I’m not sure if I’m excited, or terrified. Bothwould be logical, I decide. All of this is new. Change. I’m doing quite well with it all, actually. Last week, I wouldn’t have believed I’d be here, outside The Heath with my life ahead of me.
Hopefully.
My fingers idly stroke the comforter that’s over me, and I frown. When I left the room to shower last night, I’m sure the bed was still unmade. Someone came in while I was in the bathroom and put the sheets on. I was too tired and too overstimulated last night to really take anything else in, though I remember Mav talking to me about housekeepers and the kitchen. I eye the empty plate on my nightstand. He gave me half a sandwich.
At the time, I was hungry, and I didn’t question it, but I wonder now why he brought me it. I didn’t think he liked me all that much, and he seemed very annoyed that Shade had told him he was going to be taking me to class today.
Thinking of school, my eyes fall on the envelope that I can just see on the desk. I have a map, now and ... I’m my own woman! I don’t actually need them to show me anything.
Emboldened, I wait until seven-thirty before I get up. I get dressed in the skirt, white shirt, and blazer that I wore to my mother’s funeral yesterday, and, as I stand in front of the mirror brushing my hair, I think about the last time I saw my mom. The day she and John left me at The Heath. I’d thought for sure she’d come back for me, but she never did. She never called. She never even wrote.
I push the thoughts away, not liking the feelings they elicit. Instead, I contemplate the large, full-length mirror as I put my hair into a high ponytail. The one I had in my room at The Heath was a tiny square behind my door.
I tilt my head at my reflection. Mary Poppins was right. Itismuch nicer to see one’s entire face all at once.
I put on the heels, wincing in pain as they dig into my already sore feet. But I ignore it as I walk across the room and make sure I have my map. As I open the large envelope and read quickly through the documents, I see with a sinking feeling that I need to buy at least five textbooks for my classes.
