Page 147 of A Dead Man's B-Side
His dorm was no longer a dorm. Of course, there was a bed and dresser and a desk. But every surface possible was brimming with boiling flasks and the soft rumble of funnels. There was a tray of vials and a shelf of glass jars, each a different colour and each with a different scrawl of labelling stuck to the front. There was a large book held open against a stand in the middle of his desk, as if giving life to it all, pulsing with energy.
“Wolf…” I muttered before stepping closer, my curiosity pulling me like a thread. A vague memory formed in my mind of something that had felt like it happened decades ago. Of Wolf in the science lab, pulling out similar equipment to the ones littering his desk. “I don’t understand. You’ve been… hiding your love for chemistry?”
I understood why he might be hesitant to show this to anyone. The Quarter monitor might not be too happy about what his dormlooked like, and putting the dean aside, the matter would be taken to Rain.
The linear structure of my thoughts continued down a hypothetical series of events. Rain would, in turn, be reminded of Wolf’s past, the very reason for the obvious estrangement, and possibly send him back to rehab on assumption alone.
However, Wolf’s father passed, and unless Evander Kingsley returned into his brother’s life, he doesn't seem to have anyone holding his actions accountable.
I could be wrong.
A strained sound made its way out of Wolf’s mouth before he tilted his head side to side. “I wouldn’t say that exactly. But we’ll go with it anyway.”
He nodded, happy for the excuse and moved around me to brush off any further questions.
Like hell—he wasn’t going to keep me on edge all semester and then finally invite me in just for him to cast any questions aside.
When I moved closer, the remnants of powder and sliced plants became more apparent against the glossy wooden surface. In between a flask and a tray of vials, I reached a finger over to swipe up at remains and take a whiff, wondering why plants would be the main ingredients in the liquids he stashed into labelled vials. I couldn’t read the scrawls, and before my finger could reach anything at all, Wolf’s hand grabbed my wrist in a moment’s notice, tightening to get the point across.
Don’t.
I turned my head and met his eyes before moving my gaze to his fingers, causing rumpled folds against the arm of my uniform. My brows drew closer, a cautious furrow forming.
He seemed to have moved without thought, out of instinct, because he pulled his tight grip away, as if he’d touched a scorching coal, and reached up to scratch a supposed itch at the back of his head. “Er… Sorry, it’s just… I didn’t want you to get hurt. Lots of chemicals lying around.”
I narrowed my eyes at his shifty gaze and shuffle of limbs. “What do you really do here?”
Wolf paused, his lips taking on a contemplative purse before he sighed and waved a hand towards the table. “I trust you, Sasha, so I will tell you.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. He only nodded softly and watched me. I raised a brow, my lips parting, jaw slacked in a mix of disbelief and judgment. “Are you really trying to stall right now?”
He blinked. “Oh! Sorry, I was waiting for a ‘why thank you, Wolf. You are too kind to trust me.’”
My mind seemed to falter.
Blank stare, blink, slow head tilt. “Have you… taken something?”
I never would have believed that Wolf, with all his self-restraint and holier-than-thou attitude, would fall back into old habits so subtly. Surely, I would have noticed.
Like you did with Paris?
I sent that thought into the abyss with an aggressive shove.
Wolf threw his head back and groaned, running his hands over his eyes, pulling the skin underneath along with them and giving himself a rather unflattering look. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I–... I practice toxicology.”
I reared back. “Poisons?”
Wolf nodded, eyes meeting mine when I seemed to know what he was referring to. “Yes, it’s a very respected practice, I’ll have you know, and if you have even a word of disagreement to even utter, you can keep it to–”
“I was not going to say a ‘word of disagreement’,” I said, lifting my hands up in air-quotations. “Why are you so defensive? Marigold cuts animals for art. Ajax killed his best friend, Rain blackmails students for power, Paris… Well, Paris isn’t all that bad. I think this,” I waved a hand around his desk, “might sit between August and Paris.”
I reminded myself to check in on August before returning to my dorm tonight. He didn’t try to let on, but I could tell that what had happened affected him more than he wanted anyone to know.
Every night, he’d shuffle into my dorm, which I began leaving unlocked for his sake, and throw himself onto my bed. The cigarettes I kept buying had become a habit entirely for him at this point.
It was why I began snapping them in half and blaming it on the packaging. Hoping it would force him to cut down on the amount he consumed. It was a loss on my end, having my stock depleted so mournfully quickly.
Whilst looking around at the room—trying to commit it to memory, since it might be the only time Wolf lets me in here—I heard a quiet, almost ghostly chuckle. Hearing it made me want to wince in a way I couldn’t explain.
