Page 12 of Cruel Promise
That stinging sensation behind my eyes persists, so I ignore him and sink into my seat, looking everywhere else but at him. Waves of grief threaten to overwhelm me.
Why did he have to say that? Why did my professor have to pretend like he knew what I was going through? A single tear slips past my defenses to slide down my cheek and I furiously swipe it away, cursing Dominique for making me come back to class today.
I’m not ready. Doesn’t he get that?
“Everything okay?” The note of concern in Deacon’s voice sets me on edge.
My spine stiffens and I swallow hard. “I’m fine.” I bite out the words before pulling my books from my bag, letting my hair fall forward to hide my face.
I can feel more than see Deacon as he turns to face me. “You don’t seem fine,” he says. “What’s going on?”
Mr. Fisks comes in, saving me from having to give Deacon an answer. I’m being rude as hell, but I just — I can’t. Not today. Not with him. He’s so happy and smiling all the time, and I can’t handle it right now. Not when I’m barely keeping my shit together.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to make small talk or have a conversation. I just want to do my work, figure out a way to pass my fucking classes so that I graduate, and go back to my room where I can pretend this is not my life right now.
“Kasey?”
I grind my teeth together.
“Kasey?” He doesn’t bother to keep his voice down.
Heads turn our way and curious gazes flick between the two of us.
“Mr. Hunt?” our teacher calls out. “Do you need something?”
Deacon is still facing me, completely ignoring Mr. Fisks' thinly veiled reprimand.
“Ms. Henderson?”
I shake my head without looking up. “No. Sorry.” I mumble.
“Alright then. Today we’ll be covering—“ I don’t hear the rest of what he says because the next thing I know, Deacon’s pulling me to my feet, throwing me over his shoulder, and stalking out of the room.
“Mr. Hunt!” Fisks exclaims.
Our classmates snicker. A few whistle and make catcalling sounds. And me, I hang like a limp noodle on Deacon’s shoulder, not even bothering to put up a fight because what would be the point?
The halls are nearly empty when we exit the classroom. Deacon makes his way down a more secluded hallway before setting me on my feet and as soon as my feet touch the ground, I move to leave but Deacon turns me to face him, hands gripping my shoulders so I can’t get away.
“What’s going on with you today?” His voice is soft, soothing, and something about the concern in his voice makes a fresh wave of tears spring into my eyes.
Dammit.
Deacon shoves my hood back and wipes my messy hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ears so he can get a better look at me.
Averting my gaze, I blink hard, desperate to keep my emotions at bay. It’s only my first day back.
“Hey.”
I jerk away from him.
“Hey.” He tries again, leading me over to a bench with a hand on the small of my back. “Talk to me. Does this have anything to do with Price?”
I bark out a humorless laugh and shake my head. Boy problems are the least of my worries right now.
“Okay. Okay.” He’s quiet for a moment before asking, “This the same stuff you were dealing with before when I found you during practice?”
Swallowing hard, I consider denying it, but again, what would be the point? So instead, I give him a single nod. A few days after Mom died, Dominique had to go in for practice, which normally wouldn’t matter, except he was in full-on hovering mode—understandably. I was a wreck at the time. He dragged me to practice with him, refusing to leave me at home alone and I was too out of it to bother fighting him on it.
