Page 53 of Firefly
“You’ve become an embarrassment.” Hit one.
I swallow hard but say nothing. I just keep staring ahead because if I look at him right now, I might scream. Or cry… or finally tell him I know Hayden is alive and watch his entire carefully constructed world burn down around him.
Instead, I say nothing as we get out of the car and into the house. He grabs my arm and drags me towards his office.
Once there, he forces me into the chair, and when he shuts the door, it suddenly feels colder than usual.
“I defended you after the overdose,” he says calmly while loosening his tie. Hit two. “After the Dungeon incident. After your increasingly erratic behavior towards Brayden,” he grits, his eyes sharpening. “But this?”
I cross my arms tightly around myself. “She deserved it.”
His expression darkens instantly.
“You attacked another student over a boy.”
“No.” My voice shakes. “I attacked her because she wouldn’t stop talking.”
“About Hayden Marks?”
The sound of Hayden’s name coming from my father’s mouth makes me sick.
“You need psychiatric help,” he says flatly. “Not romance.”
Something inside me cracks.
“You don’t get to talk about him,” I spit, and his jaw flexes.
“I’ll talk about whatever I please inside my own home.”
“He loved me!” I scream. “At least someone did!”
The room goes deathly still.
Fuck! I’m swimming in shark infested waters.
My father steps closer.
Dangerous. Controlled.“Do you know what happens to girls who can’t behave?” he asks as ice crawls down my spine.
Because I do know. Everyone does.
The Brimstone House.
A finishing school wrapped in hellfire. A place where wealthy families send daughters who embarrass them. Girls come back quiet afterward.
Obedient.
Hollow-eyed.
Rumors about that place slither through Brimstone High like nightmares. Women trained through humiliation. Punishment disguised as etiquette. Powerful men using girls however they pleased because their families signed the paperwork allowing it.
Fear tightens around my throat instantly.
“No…”
My father watches the panic spread across my face calmly. “That house belongs to your mother’s side of the family. Not mine,” he says, his voice turning to disgust. “Cynthia’s bloodline, while yes, she is a Fitzgerald, and I took her name because of what it holds… has always specialized in correcting women.”
Tears burn my eyes. “Please…”
