Page 12 of Quiet Rage (Wicked Falls Elite #5)

Tamson

It’s a beautiful day. Surprisingly cool, with a nice breeze that lifts the hair on the nape of my neck while I sit under a tree, eating my lunch on the fringe of campus. If I get any further away, I won’t even be on campus anymore.

Would that be a bad thing?

If it wasn’t for Dad pinning literally all of his hopes on me, I wouldn’t be here anymore.

I mean, how many times does a person have to walk into a closed fist before you have to wonder if there’s something wrong with them?

Like if they have a death wish or something.

That’s how it feels now, pretty much hiding from everybody, trying like hell not to be noticed.

To be noticed is to be ridiculed, ashamed, used. The way Kellen used me a week ago.

It’s getting easier to live with what happened, even if it will never actually be easy to accept.

It’s amazing I have skin on my right hand after scrubbing it raw so many times, but I still feel so dirty.

I guess it’s the kind of thing I’ll never be able to wash away.

But here I am, still showing up for class, still leaving myself open to the laughter and the whistles.

I’ve turned ignoring catcalls into an artform, keeping a wall around me at all times while I crumble inside.

Every day, I’m a little less than I was the day before.

All thanks to them. And I still don’t know why. I guess I never will.

It’s little moments like this that make things more bearable.

Sitting alone, taking deep breaths of fresh air.

When I’m almost hidden away from my tormentors, I can appreciate how pretty campus is.

I can almost trick myself into feeling at peace, if not exactly happy.

Happiness isn’t something within reach. Not for me. I know better than to look for it.

After unwrapping my tuna sandwich, I open the little baggie of potato chips I packed along with it.

Jason always ate them this way, with the chips crushed up and sprinkled on top.

“Try it and you’ll never go back,” he used to say when I would tease him.

Then I did try for the first time and I found out he was right.

It was freaking delicious. I’ve never eaten one without chips since.

It’s funny how we carry people with us through little things like this.

I need to carry him with me. I can’t forget him.

I’m in the middle of chewing the first bite when a deep voice rings out nearby. A voice I’ve heard in my nightmares countless times in the past week. “I was wondering why it smelled like fish out here. I thought it was just you.”

Goddamn him. The food sours in my mouth, and my hands are shaking as I lower the sandwich to my lap, appetite gone. Why can’t he leave me alone?

I keep my gaze lowered—the last thing I want is to make eye contact with this psycho. I don’t say a word. I barely even breathe. Like if I don’t acknowledge him, he’ll go away. I know better, but it’s the only thing I can do to help myself when I feel so damn helpless.

“Look at you, hiding from everybody,” Kellen taunts, chuckling. Like he can see through me. Well, I guess it doesn’t take a genius to know I’m trying to avoid everybody. I stare down at my hands, fighting like hell not to cry while he adds, “I hope you don’t think you can hide from me, Dragonfly.”

It’s obvious he’s not going anywhere until I react, so my shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. “What do you want? Don’t you have anything better to do than seek me out?”

“Listen to you,” he murmurs. There’s something extremely dark and menacing in those three words. The growl in his throat sends goosebumps racing over my arms and makes me wish I hadn’t said anything at all. “Listen to that attitude. Be careful. You might end up regretting it.”

And exactly what the hell is that supposed to mean? I know better than to ask—I would never get a straight answer.

“The only thing I regret is making it so easy for you to trick me,” I reply as I force myself to lift the sandwich to my lips again and sink my teeth in. He has already taken so much from me. I will not let him take this, too.

“It wasn’t a trick. There really was a study session. I taught you a few things, didn’t I?”

His laughter brings back every ugly memory I have tried so hard to push way down. My stomach turns and threatens to send what I just swallowed back up and out. Only a few slow breaths make it possible to hang on. He has a talent for making me feel like I’m going to throw up.

He has to know what he’s doing as he stands so close, pretty much blocking out the sun with his huge frame. I hear the laughter in his voice when he suggests, “We’ll have to study again together sometime soon.”

Here’s the thing. He sounds like he means it. Until now, I’ve been able to act like none of this is bothering me, even as I tremble inside. The promise in his voice, the nastiness, makes me shiver the way I would if I touched a snake.

Somehow, I find it in me to lift my gaze and meet his. So sure of himself. Pleased, like he’s done anything worth being pleased about. “I don’t think so,” I reply, stone-faced. “I’ll study alone. And I’m not interested in anything you think you could teach me, anyway.”

“You say that now.” There is something so sinister in his slow, knowing smile. Like he’s promising something terrible. And as much as I want to know what it is, I can’t give him an excuse to linger any more.

I wish I could say it’s a relief when he walks away. I really do. But when I hear his soft whistling, I get the feeling he has something else in mind. He’s planning something, isn’t he? If he is, what am I supposed to do about it? Is there anything I can do? Or is he only trying to get in my head?

“Oh, I almost forgot.” My heart drops like a rock when he pauses and turns his head to call that over his shoulder. “How is your dad doing?”

My dad? “Why would you care?” I ask while an icy finger skitters down my spine.

“Oh, it’s just I heard he ran into a fist with his face.

I was wondering how he’s doing.” And as he speaks, he very slowly and deliberately flexes his hands.

He doesn’t wait for an answer—not that I can come up with one.

All I’m capable of is staring at him with my mouth open, hoping he isn’t insane.

Which it very much sounds like he is.

Is he responsible for hurting Dad?

And if so… why?

Just another mystery I will probably never solve.

Finally. I have always looked forward to Friday afternoon, as much as anybody else ever does. But something about feeling like every moment of my school day puts me in jeopardy makes the end of the last class of the week feel so much sweeter.

It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad, the way I basically jump out of my seat and almost bolt for the door.

I’m working a handful of hours at the store this weekend, but that’s all I have on my schedule.

Otherwise, I plan on locking myself in my room and staying there.

Away from the world, away from everybody and everything.

It’s a shame I can’t get away from my constant, gnawing sense of dread. I can’t get Kellen’s voice out of my head. Was he saying he’s the one who beat up Dad? Why would he do that? One more question on top of so many others.

All I need is a quick trip to the bathroom before I go.

I wish I could ignore my bladder the way I’m learning to ignore the assholes who still insist on hounding me over those pictures and memes.

But it’s either take an extra minute or bounce in my seat the whole way home, hoping there’s no traffic to hold me up. I would rather take care of this now.

It is beyond a relief to find the room empty, the stalls open. I duck into the first one and waste no time taking care of business. Maybe I’ll get lucky and I won’t run into anybody. That would be a nice way to start off the weekend.

The hopefulness that fills my heart doesn’t last long.

The door squeaks when it swings open and lets in the sound of fading voices in the hallway before it swings shut again.

Whoever just walked in doesn’t head for a stall.

She walks over to the sinks across from the stalls, instead.

I just hope she's in too much of a hurry to start her weekend and won’t care about seeing me.

That hope dies a quick death after I flush the toilet, make sure everything’s in place, and then open the stall.

Of course. This was all going too well. Tiana stands with her back to me, applying lip gloss as she bends over the counter to lean in close to the mirror.

Our eyes meet in the reflection – she doesn’t react at first, but goes back to her gloss, but I can’t afford to let my guard down.

I go to the sink farthest from where she’s standing to wash my hands, working fast but doing everything I can to look casual.

Like there’s nothing terrifying about being in the same room with her, one on one.

She’s just a person. How does she have this much power over me?

As it turns out, she answers that question without me needing to ask it.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asks in a soft voice once I back away from the sink.

I am not playing this game. She is not pulling me into her web. “Home,” I grunt, taking hold of the handle, ready to pull the door open and get the hell out of here.

“Are you sure about that?”

I shouldn’t let her get in my head, but something in her voice holds me up. Like she knows something I don’t. I look back over my shoulder to find her turned away from the sink, watching me. Her arms are folded over her chest and she wears the kind of smile that sends a chill down my spine.

“Well? Are you going to answer me?” she murmurs, her smile widening. “Are you sure you’re about to go home?”

Forget this.

“Yes. Bye.” I open the door, ready to get the hell out of here and not look back until I absolutely have to.

And that’s when they jump me.