Page 95 of Wicked Vile King
Her gaze dips to my shoulder, and she frowns as more girls walk inside. "Did Saint hurt you?"
"No." I give her a wry laugh. "That was his crazy ex."
"What?!" she whisper-yells, sitting down beside me, dropping a bag of candy on the seat in between us. "Tell me everything."
And I do. As the last of the girls show up and we leave back for campus, I spill my guts like a split fish. I tell her about Alice and how I think she killed someone. I tell her about my fight with Saint. I tell her how I think I love him. She just holds my hand, not saying a word, until I'm done.
"Well, at least that chick didn't kill anyone," she says as I take a deep breath, "though I think she got close with the girl she attacked, though, Marjorie." She leans in and whispers across the seat at me. "I overheard the guards whispering about it. The EMTs had to airlift her off the highway and transport her to a trauma center."
"Oh my God," I say. I feel sick again.
I didn't think I had any more tears left, but I start to cry.
"Oh, it's okay, Willow," Trixie says, wrapping an arm carefully around my shoulders, her brow knitted with her concern. She smells like cotton candy and sugar, and I squeeze my eyes shut as Saint's words tumble through my head.
I find possessing you to be a challenge, and I find that challenge to be interesting.
The only thing interesting about me to Saint was that I was the opposite of Alice. I didn't beg for him. I gave him an actual challenge.
I wasn't interesting or special.
I was just something for him to figure out andpossess.
And it fucking hurts.
As we arrive back on campus, the thoughts pile up, one on top of the other. Trixie wants me to go to the nurse's station, but my shoulder can wait. I need answers now.
I need to understand.
Correction. I need to understandhim.
Once inside the building, I take the stairs two at a time and beeline for Dr. Cross's office, bolting down the hallway and knocking on the door rapidly. The glass window in the door rattles with the movement.
There's no answer, so I sit on the floor in front of his office and wait. I'm not sure how long I am there, an hour, maybe more, before Dr. Cross finally appears, turning down the hallway. He sees me and hurries to my side, his shoes tapping against the floor.
"Willow," he says, "oh my, are you all right?"
At the sight of his face, the tears start to fall again.
"Oh no," he says, pulling me in for a hug. "Shh, now, it's all right, it's all right. Come on in. We'll talk about it, okay?"
"Okay," I agree with a nod. He unlocks the door and steers me inside his office. It smells like lemons today, and I walk to where I always do, directly over to his chaise. I sit down on the riveted black leather, and Dr. Cross immediately reaches for a box of tissues on his desk and hands them to me.
"It's okay," he tells me, sending me a small smile as he settles in his seat. "It's okay, just breathe."
I do, or at least I try to. Every breath is loud and wet.
"Are you hurt?" he asks, his gaze lingering on my arm. "Is that bothering you?"
"No." I shake my head. "It's okay. It can wait."
"Are you sure? I'm sure I have a first-aid kit around here. I can take a look at it for you."
"No." I shake my head again. "No. It's all right. I'll go see the nurse afterward."
He frowns at me, his gaze stuck on my shoulder. "If you insist."
He crosses his hands in his lap.
