Page 45 of Revenge At Raleigh High
My stomach revolts, nausea climbing up the back of my throat, making my mouth sweat. “Why did he do it?”
“I don’t know. I made him angry. Why does Jake do anything? He tried to kiss me. He kept smashing the back of my head against the wall—”
Oh. Fucking. No. He. Did. Not.
“—then he tried to drag me into the boy’s locker rooms, and I…I just snapped. I punched him. I kept on punching him until he let me go. Next thing I knew, he was on the ground and I was on top of him, and my hands were bleeding. I couldn’t stop hitting him. I think I broke his nose.”
I root myself through the kitchen floor, mentally sending out anchors down into the basement, down through the house’s foundations, deep into the frozen earth below us. I fix myself in place so that I can barely move a muscle, and it takes every ounce of strength that I possess.
I’m going to fucking kill him. I’m going to fucking skin the bastard alive. He’s going to die screaming, and I’m going to relish every last second of it.
I exhale out a shaky breath, pressing down the dark thoughts that rear up inside my mind, filing them away to be dealt with later, when I don’t need to prove to the girl I love just how reasonable and calm I can be.
I ask the only important questions that matter in this moment. “Are you okay,Argento? What can I do?”
Silver lifts her chin, steel forming in her eyes. With a swipe of her hands, she bats her tears away. She’s a complex creature, this one, but I know how the gears and cogs turn inside of her. She and I are very much alike. She’s hurting and she’s afraid, but I can’t treat her that way. I can’t walk around the kitchen island and hug her. Not right now. Maybe in an hour or so, I’ll be able to take her into my arms and press her to me. I’ll be able to make her feel safe. If I so much as think about coddling her now, her hurt and her fear will take a turn for the worse. She’ll lash out in a destructive way, and that won’t help. Against my own better judgement, I stand fast and let her breathe.
“I’m okay. A little sore but I’ll live. If you want to help, then maybe we could all just act normal. Just have a nice night and make some food. I don’t want to think about it anymore. Is that okay?”
Not thinking about it anymore is tantamount to burying your head in the sand, but things are tenuous right now and Silver needs time to process things. After a long moment, staring into her face, I give her what she wants. “Fine. But if I find out you’re one of those monsters who put pineapple on their pizza, I’m gonna have to reassess this entire relationship. Some things just can’t be overlooked.”’
She smiles, and it’s like the storm brewing inside the kitchen has just broken without ever reaching its climax. I’m relieved. I’m able to pretend, to joke and to laugh. To not look at the bruises she’s wearing and go to DEFCON 1. I’m able to do all of this because I got really fucking good at hiding my feelings back when I lived with Gary fucking Quincy, and I can stow my emotions when I really have to. But inside, I’m a fucking mess.
Cam returns, and the evening continues like nothing at all is out of the ordinary. The three of us laugh and shoot subtle digs at one another as we construct our food. As we eat, we talk about light things. Unimportant things. I ask Silver if she wants to come and see Dread Station II with me and Ben on Friday. It’s almost as if tonight is a normal night, the same as any other, and we’re all having a great time. The underlying, niggling current of tension in the Parisi household, however, is studiously ignored but felt by all.
This is not okay. This is not okay. This is not okay.
At just after ten, Silver pushes her plate away, groaning, and looks at her dad. “Alex is staying the night?” She poses it as a statement, but really it’s a question.
Cam opens his mouth, looking down at his own empty plate, but I speak before he has a chance. “I actually have to get back to Salton Ash. There are a couple of things I have to take care of back at the trailer.”
Yeah. I have to Google a few new interesting torture methods and sharpen my fucking throwing knives.
Silver looks disappointed, but I think she’s still exhausted from the nightmare of a day she’s had. Cam leaves us alone while I say goodnight to her at the bottom of the stairs. “If you need me, text me and I’ll come running,” I whisper into her hair. Now’s the time for that hug. I pull her into the circle of my arms, and the righteous vengeance I’ve been tamping down all evening roars in my ears, deafeningly loud. She feels so fragile pressed up against my chest. So small. There’s barely anything to her. The thought of Jacob Weaving laying his hands on her, when she seems so vulnerable with her head nestled into me, below the crook of my chin, makes me want to raze all of Raleigh to the ground.
“I have a meeting with the social worker first thing tomorrow morning, but I’ll see you at school?”
Silver tips her head back and I kiss her deeply, stroking my thumbs over her cheeks. It takes more will power than I possess to let her go. It’s insanely hard not to follow up the stairs behind her, but somehow I find the strength to do it.
I don’t leave immediately. I wait at the foot of the stairs until I hear the door to her bedroom click closed. Then I head straight for Cameron’s office; I enter without knocking. The guy’s standing in front of his imposing desk, leaning against the polished oak, his hands driven deep into his pockets.
Obviously, he was expecting me. “Well?” he asks.
I set my jaw, flaring my nostrils. This is a bad idea. It’s a really bad fucking idea, but I don’t really care anymore. It has to be done. “The guy’s name is Jacob Weaving. And don’t worry. You aren’t gonna be the only one doing the hurting. We have until Friday night to make him suffer, and there’s a bag of tricks in the trunk of my car that’ll make the job easy.”
18
ALEX
“Everything seems to be in order. I’m impressed that the place is so clean and tidy.”
Maeve Bishop, my official social worker, stalks around the trailer like she’s inspecting a prison cell and she’s pleasantly surprised by the conditions. I grunt from where I’m slumped in my seat on the couch, waiting for her to sign off on her never-ending paperwork so I can get the hell out of here. “I’m not an idiot, Maeve. I do know how to wash dishes and tidy up after myself.”
She gives me a reproving look over the top of her clipboard. The infernal fucking clipboard. I’m sick to death of the sight of them. For years I’ve had them brandished at me like they give the person holding them some sort of power over me.
“No need to get pissy,” Maeve rebukes. “Just doing my job. You know you should have told us you weren’t living with Montgomery anymore. You should be thankful they’re signing off on your new living arrangements at all. It’s highly irregular that they’d let a teenager, still in school, live alone, let alone someone with your track record for…”
“Anarchy?”
