Page 29 of Disobedient Pawn

I shrugged. “It wouldn’t, but Myles will be sad.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her textbook, not bothering to answer the question. Reaching out, I smacked my hand down on the paper she was working on and noticed her fist tightening around her pen like she was debating stabbing me with it. This would be harder than I thought, and I loved that. Before today I would’ve bet I had her in bed with me by the end of next week, if not sooner, but now…I wasn’t so sure.

“I asked you a question.” Leaning in close to her ear, she shivered ever so slightly. “I won’t tolerate being ignored. Bad things happen to people that do.”

“You threatening me,” she said, her voice just as soft as mine, but the heated look in her eyes was next-level intense. Suddenly I saw fire dancing in their depths and wanted to know if she would fuck the same way.

“I’m just letting you know the rules. I own this place and everyone in it, which means you as well.”

She snickered and then sighed as if I was boring her. Ren clicked her pen, and my eyes instinctively went to the sound. “Don’t you have a fancy swim meet this weekend?” I raised my brow at her, not sure where she was going with this. “It would be a real shame if something happened to your hand and you couldn’t compete.”

The pen she held clicked again, and the look in her eye told me all I needed to know. She would fucking stab me and take whatever punishment was coming to her, just to get me out of her face. I was impressed. I didn’t impress easily, but she had drawn a line in the proverbial sand. My lips curved up in a smile as the teacher walked in, giving me the perfect excuse to back off without backing down.

“Don’t think I won’t remember this,” I said under my breath.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she sniped back.

“Our next lesson is Mutations, genetic diversity, and natural selection,” Mrs. Grey called out as she wrote on the whiteboard. I wasn’t sure why she still did this. We all had texts and laptops, but no matter what, she wrote down every lesson, old-school style. “Also, we will be doing pair work, so look at the person beside you. They will be your partner until the end of the semester.”

“Fuck me,” Ren mumbled and covered her eyes.

“Oh, I plan on it, Princess,” I mumbled back.

NOVEMBER 6 – SATURDAY 9:33 PM

Ren

Sketch pad under my arm and key in my hand, I silently made my way over to Bowfield Hall. Vicky had invited Raquel and the other girl, who I now knew as Jennifer, over to do each other’s nails.

I honestly didn’t care that they were laughing, talking, and playing music. What I had a problem with were the constant comments obviously directed at me, but as if they weren’t. It was mental warfare that I had no extra energy to fight.

Stepping outside, I took a deep breath of the air. It was the kind of cold we said held bite back home. Basically, it was a sharp cold, and there was no moisture in the air. I shivered in the simple cotton pants and sweatshirt I wore.

I liked how everything here was well-lit at night. All the walkways had old-fashioned street lamps. They also lined the driveway and the outer jogging track that circled the property. I’d seen several people using the track as I stepped outside.

Pulling open the door to Bowfield Hall, I paused inside and took a moment to appreciate the utter stillness. The silence didn’t unnerve me like it would other people. This was the sort of quiet I enjoyed.

The main hallway was brightly lit and comforting. Room twelve was near the end of the building, and as I wandered along, an uneasy feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. All the doors were locked, and the windows were black. I felt like I was being watched, and a set of eyes were going to appear in one of the small windows, which was insane. Suddenly nothing about this place felt entirely safe. Then again, would any place ever feel safe after what happened? All the things I took for granted like sleeping through the night, not jumping at the sound of a door slamming, or not shivering when a man yelled, bothered me. I tried to hide it, and ignore it as best I could, but they feelings were always right there waiting to pounce from the recesses of my mind.

Reaching my destination, I used the key that Dean Henry had given me and unlocked the door to the art room. There was a distinct hum when I flicked the light switch as all the fluorescent bulbs came on and warmed up. I closed and locked the door behind me and smiled the first real smile in what seemed like a lifetime.

The room was huge, with stairs leading up to a second story. Workstations were set up with easels and various paints, charcoal, and pencils. When I was here for my first class yesterday afternoon, I didn’t want to leave and asked Mrs. Frey if I could stay. She said I could stay as long as I liked, and I’d done just that. Even though I knew I should be studying Spanish, I just couldn’t tear myself away from the painting I’d started.

Walking over to my easel, I took a moment to appreciate my work. I’d always loved painting and working with clay. The ability to create something beautiful from nothing filled me with purpose. It made me feel like anything was possible. It also allowed my mum and I to stay connected and gave us something to do as her health declined.

Mum would’ve loved this piece. I could almost hear her saying I made her look like an angel, but that was what she’d always been to me. Now that was how I liked to keep her in my heart. An angel watching over me so I didn’t feel so alone.

I remembered all too clearly the first time she collapsed on the floor and how my heart had raced as I called 911 for help. Her hand had felt cool to the touch, and I had refused to leave her side even when they said they didn’t have any space in the ambulance.

They had finally conceded and let me sit up front when they realized they would have to knock me out to get me to let go of Mum’s hand.

“Would you like to wait for your husband to arrive, Mrs. Davies,” the doctor asked my mum.

“No, that’s okay. He’s caught up at work.” The doctor’s eyes flicked in my direction, and I knew the news wasn’t good. No one gave the ‘Are you sure you want her here?’ look when it was good news. “You can speak freely in front of my daughter,” my mum said, holding my hand.

Was I too young to be in the room at twelve? Possibly. But I wouldn’t have left without guards carting me away. Stubbornness had always been my number one trait.

“Very well. We found a brain tumor, but we are unsure if it is cancerous. We won’t have that answer until the tumor is out and the pathology report is back. Due to the size and location, we can’t wait to perform surgery, and I’ve scheduled you for the day after tomorrow.”