Page 81 of Tears of Ink

Faith Hitchin: have a great day.

But he’s gone. I’m still smiling, and I stretch in my bed.

He’s making me a whirlwind of irrational emotions. I’m a walking and talking contradiction. Maybe I should text Abi and check she’s okay? I’ve an uncontrollable urge to talk about Eli. I never talk about the opposite sex with anyone but Abi. Well, let’s be real, I never talk about them full stop.

I’m typing out a message when there’s a light tap on the door. “Miss Hitchin?”

I sit up and pull the duvet close around me. “Yes, come in.”

Jennings, who I’m beginning to think is the master of discretion, manages to walk in and firstly not look at my skin, and secondly not look at all embarrassed.

“I haven’t missed breakfast, have I?” I hope not, I’m starving after all that making out.

“Not at all… there’s a bit of a scene in the house… I’m hoping you can come and help.”

“Scene?”

Maybe the witch’s broomstick snapped.

“Yes, ma’am, with the new guest.”

Lewis!

Crap! I leap out of bed and Jennings swiftly hands me my dotty dressing gown.

I’m almost entirely sure that what I’m about to find isn’t going to be a great start to the day.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - T H R E E

The shouting meets my ears as I walk along the hallway. The house, so normally calm and tranquil, muted almost in its regal splendour, is being ripped apart with the morning cry of, “You can all go fuck yourselves. I don’t know why Elijah brought me here, but it fucking sucks.”

Yikes.

I kind of skid into the room, making more of an arrival than I’d want when wearing my spotty dressing gown, with my unbrushed hair, and blatantly bruised lips from kissing too much. Dark burning eyes land on me and I wince at the sheer hatred that flows from them.

“Hey.” I think it’s a strong opening line.

“What the fuck do you want?” Jeez, this guy. He’s young, his face marred with a sneer of scorn, and he’s also sporting an angry black eye.

“Wow, how did you get that shiner?” I ignore his question and go with one of my own. I grew up in a tattoo shop frequented by drunks—black eyes are something I know rather a lot about.

“Fucking pigs, heavy-handed bastards.”

This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this line before either.

There’s a tut from the other side of the room followed by a grumbled, “Charming.” I turn and find the wicked witch standing there with a china cup and saucer poised in her hand.

“I’ll organise some ice,” I say to Lewis, AKA the boiling bundle of hatred trapped like a wild quarry the other side of the breakfast table.

“Don’t bother.”

I wave my hand like it’s no big deal parading around a national treasure of a house in my fluffy robe. “No bother, up to you if you use it.”

Tabitha is cowering at the end of the table and I turn to face her, giving her a warm smile and ignoring the teen with the rage. “All ready for today, Tabs?” I ask.

She nods, her head mechanical as it jerks up and down, but doesn’t say a word.

“Honestly, Jennifer,” the clear-cut tones of Connie Fairclough slice through the dining room. “Is our home to be a halfway house for delinquents now?”