Page 82 of Riot Rules
Was this whole thing a game to him?
This suspicion is a dagger, twisting over and over in my chest. The blade cuts deep, and the misery hurts more than any other pain I’ve ever experienced. I thought I could trust him. I thought…
I thought…
God, I’m going to throw up.
Shame pools in my stomach as I heave into the pool of rainwater. I lean sideways, attempting to salvage some of my dignity by trying not to vomit onto myself, but what does it even matter at this point? I’m already humiliated.
I let myself wallow for another ten seconds, but then a spiderweb of lightning rips across the sky, throwing the side of the hill, the trees, and the academy below me into stark relief, and I realize that maybe sitting in a puddle of water on top of a mountain isn’t the best place to be during a storm.
My descent down to the academy is torturous. My ankle hurts like hell, and I can’t stop crying. When I reach Wolf Hall’s main entrance, I try to turn the large brass handle and the damn thing won’t budge. It’s locked.
This is truly impressive.Howcan this situation possibly have gotten worse than it already was? I lean back and sink down the door, stifling a sob. At least I’m out of the rain. I’ll stay here until I die, I think.
I’m cracked open.
I’m hollowed out.
I’m shattered into pieces.
I’m done.
34
CARRIE
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
Whoever said that time is the biggest healer is a fucking liar.
Six months have passed, nearly four times the length of the brief relationship I shared with Dashiell Lovett, and every day I wake up with the same dull ache in my chest. When everyone left to go on summer break, I stayed at Wolf Hall alone, wandering the halls like a melancholy ghost, stuffing my face with chocolate and watching documentaries on Netflix. There was one particular show about amputees who suffered from phantom limb syndrome. Even though their leg or their arm was missing, they experienced very real, very shitty pain, originating from a limb that didn’t exist anymore.
That’s what this feels like. I lost Dash. He was severed from me like a wasted limb, but he’s still there. Kind of. Not one word has passed between us since. Months of silence. Months of avoided eye contact. Six excruciating months, where I’ve trudged from one class to the next, never lifting my head, never engaging with anyone apart from Presley.
We’re all seniors now. Christmas has come and gone. A whole new year has begun. While others went overseas to visit their families for the break, I chose to stay at the academy and work. All three Riot House boys left the mountain, and the knowledge that none of them were within a fifty-mile radius was a relief.
When Dash returns from wherever he spent the holidays, he’s officially a year older. Eighteen. It’s hard to forget someone’s birthday when it’s New Year’s Day. He’s paler than before. His hair darker. Hewaswearing more casual clothes, even after our run-in at the observatory, but on his first day back at the academy, his attire has returned to business casual again. He’s also wearing a pair of black-framed glasses that he keeps taking off and putting back on again, presumably still getting used to them. He’s less sun god now. More pale and interesting. These changes in him don’t make him any less attractive. Ironically, he looks like he’s grown into himself while he was away. He graduated into manhood over the break, and it really, really,reallysuits him.
The bastard.
I need to get away from him. I count down the days until graduation with bated breath. The sooner I can leave New Hampshire, the better. The idea of being accepted into a college on the other side of the country and leaving this godforsaken place is all that keeps me going. But then, when I try to visualize what life will look like once that happens, I can’t seem to picture it.
My mind is incapable of constructing a reality for me in which Dashiell Lovett doesn’t exist. The worst part of it all? The part that keeps me up at night, burning like acid in the pit of my stomach? Imisshim. I was exhausted during the two months Dash and I spent together, but the hours we lay naked, tangled up in my bedsheets, were more precious than sleep. I miss his laughter. I miss the keen intensity of his gaze, edged with lust. I miss the way he used to touch me so possessively. How he could make me come with nothing but a fingertip and a slow-burning kiss.
In a very real way, it feels like someone close to me has died. The trauma of my loss is a cold shard of ice in my heart that never, ever melts. Dashiell didn’t die, though. I still have to see him every day. He sits on the other side of Doctor Fitzpatrick’s den during our English classes, looking like a distant, aloof, arrogant god, his distant gaze sliding over me like I don’t even exist, and every time it happens, I feel likeI’mdying.
I want the pain to stop. I’m sure I’ll go crazy soon if it doesn’t. Alderman offered to transfer me to a private school in Washington, but I was gripped by an illogical, unreasonable rage when I considered taking him up on the offer. A fresh start, away from all of this bullshit and away from all three Riot House boys does have its appeal, but then what would that say about me? I’d be coward, running away from my problems instead of facing them. Running from Grove Hill and my past there is one thing; I killed a man there. My mother allowed an alcoholic drug addict to barter me away like I was his personal fucking property in exchange for a line of credit with a demon. I was eleven years old. I don’t regret what I did to Kevin—I did what I had to do in order to survive—but that isn’t the case here. I won’t die if I stay at Wolf Hall. Even though it hurts like hell, none of this is outside of my control.
I can be strong. I can choose to ignore the pain that paralyzes my soul every time I see Dash, and Icanride out this nightmare until graduation rolls around…because I refuse to let him know how badly he has hurt me.
Once you’ve come on my dick, I’ll move onto the next pretty girl with a decent sized rack, and that’ll be that. You won’t hear from me. There won’t be any texts. We won’t go skipping hand-in-hand down the corridors of this dumpster fire. I’ll have ruined you. I’ll be this ugly sore of a memory that never goes away, festering in the back of your head, poisoning every future relationship you ever have because I made it impossible for you to trust men.
He was right about all of it. That’s precisely what he did. He went on with his life like nothing ever happened. Like I didn’t fucking exist. Presley wanted to murder him when I told her what I’d seen in the observatory. For weeks, it was hard not to burst into tears whenever I heard him joking around with Wren or squabbling with Pax in the hallways.
I was relieved when Amalie’s family relocated to Argentina in October and took her with them. Not having to look at her and remember what she did to my boyfriend helped some, but the pain never fully went away.
So, my interminable punishment for not heeding Dash’s warning continues. Maybe one day, in a year or two, when there are thousands of miles between us, I’ll wake up and feel like I can finally breathe again. But for now…
