Page 39 of Wicked Vile King
She purses her lips as my hand finds my throat, and I massage away the memory of where the collar bit into my flesh. I can still feel it there, strangling me even now.
"I don't think I can survive in here with him," I say with a swallow. "I'm not strong enough."
I leave the rest unspoken, the words that wonder when I'm not strong enough if I'll crawl back to him and that solid comfort he shouldn't give me but does.
Trixie frowns.
"I can't eat. I can't bear the thought of going to the dining hall and seeing him. I can't go to class, or whatever passes for class in this shithole, because I know he will be there. I know when I sleep it will be nightmares of him. And my father won't even call me back—yes, I tried to reach him, I left seventeen messages—and not that I really want to talk to him anyway, but now I think it's up to me to fix this. I tried telling Dr. Cross, but he wasn't in his office, so I tried telling a guard, and they rolled their eyes and said at least I was still breathing."
"Ah, Willow," Trixie says, rubbing another hand through her hair again. "I'm here. You can talk to me. And it's probably a good thing you didn't catch Dr. Cross because you have to remember all of them, every worker in this building, reports to Dr. Boucher, and that man is downright evil. Don't give him the opportunity to twist your words and put you in solitary. And don't trust anyone here, no matter how nice they seem."
"But you're nice," I say. "I trust you."
Trixie shrugs. "But I'm one of the few people who have no reason to lie to you. I'm heavily medicated and just counting the days until I graduate or run away. I have no intention of going to Chryseum's sister college. Plus, if we were out there," she points at the exterior wall like she can see through it, all the way to her past life, "then you wouldn't be calling me nice. I hurt a lot of people before I came here."
"People change," I remark.
"I don't know if that applies to us," she says with a frown.
"I can run away with you," I offer.
She shakes her head. "I can barely take care of myself, chica. I can't be responsible for you too."
She shakes her head before she shrugs. "Look, it'll buy you some time if you get Saint thrown in the hole, for sure. Minimum hold time is seventy-two hours, so you get a little bit of freedom and with any luck, he'll screw up and be stuck in there for a couple of weeks."
"I don't needthesolution," I say. "I just need a solution to buy me a little time until I can figure something else out, because I can't do it, Trixie. I can't imagine sitting next to him for hours each day for days on end."
A beat of silence passes between us.
"With his fingers always on me," I add.
Setting me on fire.
"And his voice always in my ear, calling me his pet."
Scattering goosebumps across my skin.
"His presence, lingering like a shadow."
Making me feel warm and safe.
Trixie reaches into the pocket of her cardigan and pulls out a screw, long and thin and covered in rust. She's going to need a tetanus shot just for touching that thing.
"I don't know how," she says, "but you can use this, I guess. I got it at Phys. Ed. today. Coach never pays attention to anyone. I'm pretty sure two of our classmates were having sex in the locker rooms, and she either didn't care that they were missing or didn't notice. I was going to use it for the window, but it sounds like you need it more than me instead."
"Thank you, Trixie," I say as she drops it into my open palm.
"You're welcome, but remember the only way he goes to the hole," she says, "is if you manage to get Saint to use that as a weapon, either on you or against someone else, doesn't matter. But, girl, I got no clue how you're going to do that. He's going to be careful with you, and he'll know you're up to something. He's weird like that, got a sixth sense for bullshit."
I roll the screw between my fingertips. It's long, sharp, thin, and feels like hope. I tuck it beneath my pillow, clasping it between my hand as I fall into a dreamless sleep. I awake the next morning to the sound of roll call, and I do what is required of me.
I dress like I am expected to and stand with Trixie like I'm going to breakfast. I'd rather wait until dinner before facing him again, but if I miss breakfast that'll be three meals, and Headmistress had said if I missed three meals, I'd end up the recipient of a wellness check or in the hole. I may not have been there, but I know it has got to be harder to escape this place from the hole than from the general population.
After roll call is complete, we line up with the rest of the girls and follow them downstairs. Trixie stops and gets her meds at the prescription dispensary line before we turn and head into the dining hall. The massive wrought iron chandeliers, gnarled and twisted high above us, scatter prisms of redirected sunlight everywhere, including to where Saint and his two friends sit, already at a table in the center of the room. They each have a tray in front of them, surveying their bullshit kingdom.
Saint's smiling lazily and laughing at something the blond one has said, Killian, I think his name is. He looks up as I walk in, and my stomach pinches, winding tightly in the center of me. Whatever courage I've mustered up over the past day withers beneath his stare. I can't wait any longer. If I do, I'm going to chicken out. I skip the line for breakfast and head straight for him.
I walk across the hall, the gazes of curious students catching on me and holding. My heart skitters in its cage like it knows something I don't, something that would send me running away from him if I did.
