Page 85 of Deliverance

“I really am sorry. I don’t want to be that person anymore. I want to change…and change starts within.”

Okay fuck, that was corny. Maybe I should go write fucking greeting cards in my spare time.

“Sure,” Skyla says, hesitance still evident in her tone. “Well, good luck with that. Try not to break any plates over people’s heads.”

I grimace at the reminder of my actions. God, I was such a psycho bitch.

I can’t help but steal one more glance at Maggie. It fucking hurts to do so, though, especially when she won’t fully meet my eyes. A hand reaches down, squeezing Maggie’s thigh and stealing my attention. My eyes drag up to see Maryia Sewall’s eyes on me, jealousy and a vile smugness in them that has me ready to set her on fucking fire. Yeah, that bullshit about wanting to be good within is exempt for this bitch. She rubs me the wrong way and not just because she’s with Maggie. Crazy recognizes crazy, and this bitch is fucking nuts. She just does a better job of hiding it. If she hurts Maggie, I swear to god….

Clenching my jaw shut, I blow out a heavy breath and turn, head for a corner table just to the end of the dining hall. I debate on going back to my room entirely before I take a seat and try to eat my lunch.

Setting my tray down, I slide into my seat as I reach into my purse. I meant to pull this out after my ‘date’ with Thomas last night, but clearly, I didn’t, and I’m kind of glad about that. Lifting the flask to my lips, I feel that it’s still at least half full. I take a healthy swig, wincing as the vodka burns. It tastes nasty as shit on its own, but it works faster than anything else, and right now, I could use the instant relief.

I hear the sound of laughter and conversation filling the room, and I fucking hate it. I just want silence. I need it. Another sip and the burn goes straight to my chest this time. It only takes minutes for the head change to hit, and then, things aren’t so bad. For a little.

Chapter Thirty One

Maggie

Tonight is Asher’s induction celebration. He is officially an Elder of the Brethren.

Poor soulless bastard.

Okay, calling him a soulless bastard might be a little much. He clearly cares for Sky. I mean, he put her through hell, but over the last few months, he’s made it up in a big way, and now the two are practically inseparable. At least when her other four, count them,four, boyfriends, aren’t hogging her. She’s getting dicked down so much I honestly hardly see her. Don’t blame her, though. Who has time to even breathe, let alone hang out when you’re full of that much cock?

Okay, okay. I’m done with the jokes.

For now.

None of the Elders are here yet, traditionally so. Being the ostentatious pricks they are, they love to make an entrance. So, the rest of us common folk are here at Putnam Manor, waiting for our glorious lords to grace us with their presence. Bridgette and I have managed to avoid all eye contact while she and Brad go off to mingle. I try to split off as well when my mother catches my arm, hauling me into her side.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asks as she and Harry walk on either side of me.

“Oh, you know, here and there,” I say.

My mother shoots me an irritated look, all while maintaining a smile. It’s amazing she can even make facial expressions with how much plastic surgery she’s had. Medical journals should document this phenomenon.

“Cut the sarcastic shit for one night, okay?” she snaps, finishing off with a sickly sweet tone.

I go to give her a smart ass remark, because she said nothing about being a smart ass, when I see our destination. Ah, fuck. Here we go again.

“Bethany, Nicholas. Milesss,” my mother practically croons as we approach the Reynold’s family.

They all smile at us, Nicholas and Harry shaking hands, my mother and Bethany exchanging air kisses, and Miles and I stare at each other. He doesn’t look nearly as enthused to see me as he usually is, which is progress, I think. Maybe he’s gotten the hint that I’m not even remotely interested and will fuck right off. It will save me the headache of disrespectfully declining the match.

Like I even have a choice, though.

“Margret,” he says stiffly.

“Miles,” I return.

My mother nudges me in the side, and I paste on a smile as I look at him.

“Tell me, how is your boat? Still above sea?”

He looks excited for a moment before his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Do you actually want to know, or are you just making small talk?”