Page 92 of Degradation
He lets out a long breath. ‘That’s for damn sure.’
When he looks away from me, he seems to realize that we’re next to his car. He opens the door for me, and I slide in.
He gets in the other side.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re sure you’re ok to eat at Deb’s?’
I nod, but then frown. ‘But no Novelle dinner rules, okay?’
‘No. No rules. I promise. Eat whatever you want. Drink whatever you want. Hell, you can stand on the table and do the Cha Cha if you feel like it.’
I smile wide. ‘I’m not sure I know how to even do the Cha Cha. But I’ll dance on the table if the mood takes me.’
He chuckles, but then frowns. ‘There’s something we need to talk about.’
Does he know what I’ve been up to? Does he know I’ve gone behind their backs and started working on Envy? Does he know I’m close? What my plan is?
I keep my nerve, taking a small, steadying breath. He can’t know anything. I haven’t spoken about it. I haven’t left a trail. I haven’t even worked on it on camera.
‘The Christmas Gala. The Forrest family throws it every year.’
Oh.
Okay.
‘Um. Right.’
‘I have to go. Novelle duties. But...’ He glances at me before putting his attention back on the road. ‘Would you come with me?’
I think my mouth drops open in surprise. ‘You’re asking me to go? With you?’
‘Yes.’
I blink. ‘I thought I was banned from the public eye after I fell into that table of Champagne glasses that Easter,’ I mutter.
He gasps. ‘I remember that! Oh my God! Dad was so pissed.’
I scowl. ‘Out of all the things to be banned from parties for, I can’t believe it was that. I literally tripped over a cord that someone had left on the floor. It could have happened to anyone!’
‘Come on, Marguerite. You were clumsy as fuck. You were always falling over or bumping into things! You always had bruises all over you.’
I scoff. ‘Even if that’s true. I didn’t break all those glasses on purpose. John acted like I was throwing rocks at them or something. Not my fault! And at least some of the bruises were from the other kids.’
He glances at me. ‘What?’
‘At school,’ I clarify. ‘There was a bet, or something. You know how Larson used to pick on me and make sure I got in trouble if I ever fought back.’
‘Yeah,’ he whispers.
‘Anyway, he got a lot of the other kids to hurt me when no one was looking. Poke me with pencils, push me into walls, shut my fingers in the lockers. That kind of thing. It was a game. Larson was winning, I’m pretty sure.’
‘Fuck, Daisy. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell anyone?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I guess I just thought no one would care or believe me.’
