Page 26 of Vying Girls

Only silence follows, but I still feel her there. It’s oppressive. Like she’s holding a pillow to my face.

I tense when she perches on the bed.

‘Your face is really bad, Nic.’

‘Thanks,’ I whisper.

‘Does it hurt?’

I don’t dignify that with an answer. Only hurts so fucking much that my nails are biting into my palms from where my fists are clenched.

‘Nic…’

I hold my breath. Here it fucking comes.

‘Can we talk?’

‘Not now.’

‘But soon, yeah?’

I release a sigh. If I don’t give her what she wants, she’ll never fucking leave.

‘Maybe.’

She still doesn’t go. Not only that, she somehow thinks it appropriate to snake a hand onto my arm and stroke there.

I swallow. It’s hard not to wonder what she’s thinking about. It’s all I’m trying not to do. It’s probably a deluge, all flooding back to her at once. I’ve had months to remember, to sieve through it. For her, it’s a hit and run.

I start a few moments later when that stroking turns to a closed fist whacking my leg. My eyes fly open, body jerking.

‘Fucker for not telling me this whole time. What the hell, Nic? Do you know how much—?’ She lets out a harsh sigh, eyes all on fire. ‘You owe me the biggest explanation.’

Resisting a groan, I roll away from her. ‘I don’t owe you shit.’

‘You do and you will.’ The mattress shifts as she finally gets up. She moves to the door, saying in a gentler voice, ‘I’m gonna make you an ice pack.Idiot.’

CHAPTER 5

Elly

It was a cute idea, even if the clouds aren’t as pretty as the first time we did it. We walk through the quad, on the way to the east tower to recreate our first ever ‘date’, five months exactly to the day.

Tilda claimed it our anniversary, and this is how she wants to celebrate. Even packed the picnic basket for us this time.

‘It’s so cloudy,’ she bemoans, tipping her head back at the grey-blue skies visible to us again.

‘It’s fine.’ Pulling her close, I land a kiss on her smooth cheek. ‘Won’t be looking at the clouds anyway.’

She smiles, that cute, embarrassed one I just love to elicit.

We enter the castle. It’s not too busy in here at this time, able to hear clearly the clopping of low heels as Margot Savage breezes through, accompanied by some blonde chick with legs up to her chin.

I’ve never had Margot for a lecturer, probably never will, but I still know who she is. A bit of a celebrity at Hazelhurst, or maybe more a notoriety, demanding a certain sort of reverence whenever you pass her.

I don’t think she’s all that. Her reputation’s founded mainly on being a shark on her business course, slaying more than a few young girls’ dreams. And of course, the fact she’s a Savage, a notable family name around here.

I don’t know the ins and outs of that, except that she’s up there with the Zaccaros.