Page 14 of Wicked Ends
He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re both wound tight, not used to being on the sidelines.
Lucien hesitates, then rests his fingers on my cheek, gentle where Helena’s slap still hurts. He sweeps his thumb lightly over my cheekbone, then lets go. Soren gives my arm a squeeze, and then the two of them head off in the opposite direction, muttering in tense voices.
I watch them for a second, wondering if I should have let them walk me to the dining hall like I’m six and it’s the first day of school. But I can’t. I need to be alone. Just for five minutes. Just so I can hear myself think, or, more preferably, not think at all.
The hallways are almost empty as I get closer to the dining hall. Everyone’s probably hiding in their rooms, plotting how to survive whatever Jasmine’s version of Battle Royale will be. I shuffle toward the dining hall, hoodie up, hands shoved in my pockets, head down.
When I get there, I experience a moment of whiplash. The place is open. Lights bright, food trays hot, a couple of students lounging at tables like it’s any other night. Someone justassassinated the headmistress, took over the school, and we’re still doing pizza and salad bar.
How very Serpentine.
I make straight for the food, keeping my head down. The smell is inviting and familiar, but I’m not hungry, I’m just doing this to appease Lucien. I request a small slice of the prosciutto and grilled red pepper pizza, and grab a bottle of sparkling water, then I reach for an apple and stick it in my pocket so it can be breakfast tomorrow morning.
I head for the exit, food in hand. My only goal is to get back to my room before I have to interact with another human being. But of course, fate, or whatever sick force runs this place, has other ideas.
Thorne is halfway down the hall, coming toward me.
She’s walking with big strides, hair perfect, face like sour milk. She’s headed in the direction of the Headmistress’s office, and from the way her shoulders are set, she looks ready to take on the world, or at least brown-nose her way to the top of the new food chain.
We lock eyes for a split second. Just a look.
Thorne’s is pure contempt. I give her my best “fuck around and find out” stare, and for a second, I think she might actually say something. But she just tosses her hair, rolls her eyes, and keeps walking, eyes straight ahead.
Whatever. All I can think about right now is getting back to Hank, my bed and sleeping for a week.
Seven
When I finally get tomy door, I have trouble with the lock for a second. My hands are shaking. Probably adrenaline. Or maybe it’s just that I haven’t stopped moving or thinking or fighting since this morning. Or yesterday. I can’t even remember. When was the last time I slept?
Inside, the room is exactly as I left it. But everything feels so different now, like time has been divided into ‘before’ and ‘after’. I drop the food on my desk, shed my hoodie, and just stand there for a minute, in silence, before I realize my hands still haven’t stopped trembling.
I can still feel Helena’s blade at my throat.
I need to take a shower. I need to get clean. I need to feel like myself, or at least a human being, for five minutes.
My clothes are chucked in the direction of the corner of the room, but the state of my floor is the least of my problems. I walk to the bathroom and then stand there for a second, staring at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I look like hell. There’s dried blood on my cheek, and the mark on my arm isan angry red. My eyes are barely half-open, with dark shadows under them.
The water takes a few seconds to warm up, but once it does, I turn the tap all the way hot and step in.
Steam fills the room instantly, fogging the mirror as the water scalds my skin. I stand under the spray, letting it hit my shoulders, my back, my face. I scrub until my skin is red and raw, until I can’t feel the day anymore. I wash my hair twice, then just stand there, eyes closed, listening to the water rush down on me.
I try not to think, but of course that’s impossible. My brain replays everything. Helena’s hand in my hair, the knife at my throat, the look on Jasmine’s face as she snapped her sister’s neck like it was nothing. Soren’s voice, Lucien’s hands, the way Drake glitched in and out like he was dying in front of me.
I want to scream, but I don’t. I just keep standing there, letting the water wash it all away.
Eventually, reluctantly, I get out, wrap myself in a towel, and walk back into my room. I dig through my drawers for the oversized t-shirt I arrived at the academy wearing, soft and worn and a reminder of my life before all of this. I pull it over my head and collapse onto the bed.
The room is quiet except for the wind outside rattling the window. I turn off the lights, crawl under the covers, and try to will myself to sleep.
No luck.
I toss and turn. I check the time. Count sheep. Nothing works. My body is exhausted, but my brain refuses to shut down. I missHank, though I’m glad he’s not here right now. But eventually sleep sneaks up on me.
I dream of Jasmine.
She’s standing at the foot of my bed, silver hair moving around her like snakes, eyes glowing an unnatural yellow. She’s humming the same creepy tune from the Hall earlier. She glides closer, and my body refuses to move, as if I’m paralyzed.
She puts her hand on my chest, right over my heart. I can feel something warm being tugged out of me, and it pours upward in a twisting column of light, like the sea being sucked into a tornado. I try to scream, but nothing comes out.
