Page 87 of Fractured Fates

“What did you do to piss Tristan Kennedy off?”

“Oh you know, just sharing my usual sunny personality with him.”

“There’s nothing sunny about you, Blackwaters,” he says with a darkness that almost has me shivering again.

I shrug. “Well, beats me.”

“You must have done something. Kids are skipping out of college grounds all the time. I’ve never known Kennedy tell on anyone else.”

“What can I say? Most of the student faculty hates my guts.”

“Because you were unregistered.” I glare at him. He takes a step forward. “I know all about Tristan Kennedy. I know what bullshit he gets up to in this school. I know how he treats girls and …”

His words falter off as I stare at him aghast.

“Are you asking me if I’ve slept with him?”

He doesn’t flinch. “I’m asking if you haven’t and that is why the asshole is giving you grief.” He folds his arms across his chest.

I cock my head to one side. “You don’t need to ask me anything. We both know you can just stroll inside my head and look for yourself.”

“Your mind is a cesspit. I don’t want to go anywhere near thoughts about your fucking sex life.”

What sex life? I think. Then curse in my head. Third time today.

The professor smirks at me with satisfaction, like hearing I have no sex life is the best news he’s heard in a long time. I don’t want to examine too closely why that may be, especially when he’s standing right in front of me ready to read every one of my theories.

“Can I go now?” I ask with my voice dripping in contempt.

“You may,” he says, still grinning as I spin around and storm off, heading in the direction of the gymnasium.

Coach has had us running sprints in the last few classes which means I’ve actually been allowed to join in with the others and haven’t had the pleasure of being partnered with Spencer again.

Not today though. Today it’s back to combat training and back to the mats with the dueling team star. Today, however, I find I don’t mind. Today I’d quite like the opportunity to take some of this pent-up frustration out on someone. Especially a dickhead like Spencer.

Unfortunately, his mood seems as black as mine this morning. As I hurry over to the mats, he scowls at me so hard I’m surprised sparks aren’t flickering out of his nostrils and his ears.

I don’t even receive a hello before I’m flipped over and slammed onto my back.

As usual the wind is knocked from my lungs, but I push at his chest hard, kicking at his legs and shoving him off me.

“Asshole,” I mutter.

He wipes his hands on his shorts and rolls up onto his feet. Smacking me down on the mats has done nothing to improve his mood, in fact it only seems to have made it worse.

I don’t even make it to my feet before he flips me over his shoulder and down hard this time on my stomach. I try to clamber upwards but he leans the entire weight of his body down on top of me, pinning me to the mat.

“Break free,” he spits. I don’t move. “Break free,” he repeats, this time louder.

“We both know I can’t.”

“So you’re just going to give up,” he says. “Is that what you’ll do if you’re attacked?”

“Just let me up,” I mutter.

He doesn’t move and for several seconds I hear his angry breath puffing in my ear.

I’m not playing his games. Not when we both know I have no chance of winning.