Page 133 of A Dead Man's B-Side
I didn’t make friends at my old schools, my mind was on other things, and I couldn’t believe that the wiring of my brain, that had been formed and reinforced after so many years, would change so quickly.
Chapter Twenty-three
Alexandr Miroslav
1982
“I miss my mother.”
I’m sorry to hear that.
“I haven’t seen her in years, you know?”
No, I didn’t. I hope you see her soon.
“I hate my father.”
I’m sorry.
“He brings me suitors, did you know?”
I do.
That was what I’d returned to when Paris had woken up. After wordlessly eating the new meal I’d brought her—this time it was a pasta and shrimp dish that gave off a calm whiff of lemon and salt—she took to watching the ceiling as if there were answers hidden between the paint.
Gradually, as the sun began to set, she spoke.
After she’d mentally found her footing and returned to herself, she asked me about what she’d missed, turning her head against her pillow to meet my eyes.
Skipping the small moment of violence, I instantly filled her in on what we discussed in the meeting, and she nodded attentively.
She was quick to comment that she hoped there wasn’t a riff, as we worked so hard to get along.
I doubted there would be one, considering everything had returned to normal once we’d stepped out of the library.
August had asked why I was filling up another plate to take, and I waved him off with, “Long night studying.”
Wolf, however, angled a look towards me before looking down to the plate, sliding his eyes back up to me, before looking away to focus on something across the Dining Hall. I found him looking at Mr Browne, who’d just entered from the staff entrance.
As quickly and stealthily as I could, I slipped out of the Dining Hall unnoticed. I chanced a look back over my shoulders and found Mr Browne speaking to Wolf as the boy looked around him in a circle before his eyes began searching the length of the hall.
I coughed at the burning sensation in my throat and forced myself to take in large gulps of air to calm my beating heart.
It wasn’t only that I was avoiding a teacher whose classes I kept missing consecutively, though not by any intentional means–of course. But also, I still wasn’t ready to face Mr Browne yet.
I blinked back into the present and waited for Paris to finish eating to break the news. When she placed her second plate down on her nightstand and stood on shaky legs, excusing herself to the bathroom, I let out a deep sigh and dropped my head between my shoulders.
It wasn’t out of exhaustion or frustration, but at the fact she’d thought turning on the faucet, the sound of running water, would conceal her choked retches.
Only once she’d returned to lay back down, did I speak, "Tomorrow's the day.”
She let out a strained hum as she stretched. “Yeah. D-day.”
I pursed my lips, forcing the words out and forcing myself to be ready for the outburst. “You won’t be at the Fenlon party.”
She paused with her arms raised above her before sitting upright and turning her thunderous features on me. “Excuse me?”
I winced with my eyes, squinting them at the volume of her voice before speaking in a calm tone, “You aren’t stable enough, Paris. I’m sorry.”
