Page 38 of Wicked Vile King
The last time I felt safe was when I still fit in one of Papa's neat little boxes, the studious daughter with a perfect smile and a good violin arm. But then Mama started drinking, and he didn't look at me the same, like I was somehow sullied by her fall from grace. We both stopped fitting into his compartmentalized world after that.
I don't even think I missed it until I came here—that feeling of warmth and safety and someone there to protect you from the monsters in your closet—but now I've gotten a taste, and it's of the worst kind. Saint Laurier can't be the monster in my closet and the blanket over my head. What would my mama say if she knew what I was thinking, what Icravedfrom him?
Fuck, I miss her.
Mama.
I still see her face when I close my eyes, blanched bloodless and gaping at me. I see it when I try to go to sleep, when I try to wake up, and when I blink. I'd give anything to not see it again.
When Saint finally left me in the storage room, pulling his phone from his pocket and saying he had a mandatory therapy session to attend—whatever that meant—I went to find Dr. Cross. I wanted to tell him what had happened, that it was Saint who collared me, that I couldn't deal with him anymore, and that I don't belong in this place, but he wasn't in his office. I stood outside and waited for him until one of the guards told me to get back to class and come back another time.
When I told him I needed help, the guy just rolled his eyes, looked me up and down, and said, "You're in one piece, aren't you? What more do you want?"
It made me cry. I'm not proud of it.
I came back here to hide in my dormitory. I won't accept Saint's screwed-up offer. A trickster, a liar, and a thief can't be my protector in this place, no matter how safe he makes me feel. And I won't beg him to let me wear his collar either, despite him saying that I would. He's batshit crazy if he truly believes that will ever happen. It's like the world went upside down, and I'm the only one who remained upright.
I collapse on my bed, and I don't know how long I'm there, staring up at the ceiling, the starchy linen itching my skin like hordes of tiny invisible bugs.
I probably shouldn't skip classes, but what's the worst they can do? Put me in the hole away from him? I'd take it willingly rather than be forced to see his face again.
Hours later, Trixie arrives. She drops her book bag down on her bed and tosses a bag of chips at my face. It hits my nose and falls to the floor.
"Perk up, buttercup," she says. "Today couldn't have been that bad, right? Sure, the teachers suck, the food sucks, and the companydefinitelysucks—with the exception ofmoi—but there's always hope, right?"
I turn my head to look at her, and she freezes midway to her bed. Then she heads straight for me.
"Oh no," she says, her brow furrowed, "are you okay? What happened?"
"Saint is in every one of my classes," I reply.
"Oh no." She runs a hand through her short hair, tugging at it and making the strands stand on end.
"He made me wear a collar," I add.
"Ohhhh noooo," she says again, more panicked this time.
I sigh. "Also, I met Dr. Cross. He took the collar off and was nice, but then Saint found out, got angry, and locked me in an old typhus ward or something. I don't know. It was really dark, so dark."
I shudder at the memory as she grabs my hand, squeezing it tight between her cold fingers.
"I couldn't get out until he let me out," I add, "and then he hugged me and said he would always protect me."
"Oh shit," she murmurs. "I didn't think it could get worse. Anything else?"
"Nope," I say, my lips popping on the word.
She sits carefully beside me on my bed, the mattress creaking as she does. She smells like strawberries and sugar, too good for this place and too nice to be in here with me. I can smell it on me, the reek of the darkness, the decay, andhim.
"I shouldn't have left you alone with Saint," she says, shaking her head. "I'll talk to Headmistress, see if I can get transferred. Hell, maybe I'll just start going with you. I don't even think any of my teachers will notice if I go missing. It's pass-fail around here anyway, and I haven't seen a grade since I began. The staff doesn't care as long as you're alive and not bleeding too much."
She shakes her head and something I can only describe as bitterness sours her expression. "They aren't here to fix us. They're just here to keep us breathing until we graduate."
"What do I do then?" I ask, glancing over at her. "I have to do something. What about isolation or whatever?"
"Oh Willow," she says, "I don't mean this in the wrong way, but I don't think you'd survive in there."
"I don't mean for me." I shake my head. "I mean for him."
