Page 83 of Twisted Lies
Bryce manages to take my hand in his. “Dr. Rawlins, I snuck into Astrid’s room. I wanted to have something of hers as a remembrance.”
Dr. Rawlins rolls her eyes at his lameness. She either doesn’t believe him or doesn’t care. Her gaze keeps going to our hands—his gripping mine. His thumb strokes my skin.
Besides, I know Bryce is lying because he’s trying too hard not to smirk. She’ll blame me again, and I don’t want to hear it. “Is that all?” I ask, yanking my hand out of his. “May I leave now?”
Rawlins casts a laser glare at Bryce that should’ve split his hard head. She’s not done but won’t dare say what she wants to with him smugly sitting in that chair.
I frown at Bryce, sending him waves of resentment. “Maybe you should go, so I can speak with Dr. Rawlins in private.”
Bryce’s expression shifts from smug to insulted as he uncrosses his legs and prepares to stand. He hesitates, looking at Rawlins, and then places his hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be outside the door, Astrid, if you need me.”
Rawlins is pissed as she crosses her arms and doesn’t speak until Bryce shuts the door behind him. She sits down at her antique desk with the high-tech laptop and refuses to look at me. What the fuck does Rawlins know? So much of my life is fucked up that I have no idea why she’s annoyed now.
“Astrid, do you have a clue as to why I want to talk to you?” Her voice sounds like silk, but that will change shortly.
Blankly, I stare and refuse to crack under her unblinking gaze. Rawlins doesn’t get it. I’d rather look at her all day than confess to doing anything wrong at Stonehaven. In Weymouth, I’d flip my middle finger at authority and sashay away, but at Stonehaven, I wouldn’t dare. Dr. Rawlins may act like a lady, but the witch will beat my ass with her broom and not give a shit about her manicure.
Eventually, Rawlins gives up first. “I’m disappointed with you, Astrid.”
“You and everyone else,” I mutter.
Her lips flatten into a scowl, not pleased with my comment. “We had a discussion together with your father,” she continues. “A rather serious request was placed upon you not to reveal his identity. But it has come to my attention that your father’s identity is no longer a secret. Do you care to explain?”
I’m on my feet. “Seriously? He knocks my mom up and leaves us to fend for ourselves in a criminally infested town, but somehow his bad behavior is forgivable? Somehow I’m the one who’s the evil.”
Rawlins waves her hand as if to dismiss my mood. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”
“Then why am I here?” I walk to the window behind her desk and tap on the glass as she warily watches me. “And why is it your business anyway? I’ve never understood why you always seem to be in my family’s business. Why are you so interested in us?”
“Go sit down, Astrid.”
Her calm response dampens my heated tirade as I head back to my chair. I plop down and fold my arms, refusing to look at her, or I might scream. Rawlins shouldn’t be chewing on me, and she knows it.
“You were told not to tell for a very good reason.” Rawlins stands and sits down beside me in the other chair. Her hand casually dangles over the armrest, but she doesn’t dare touch me. “Several boys have taken an interest in you since you arrived. And they have become a dangerous distraction to you and themselves. Do you know what will happen now that the student body knows your father is Dr. Elliot Howland?”
I don’t answer her until she places her hand on my arm and applies pressure with her fingernails. I pull away, shaking my head obediently.
When Rawlins grins, it tilts her lips into a sneer. “It’s open season on you, Astrid Howland. Every boy that hasn’t hooked up with a wealthy fiancée will be after you by sunset. You think three is too much to handle?” She laughs as my wide eyes stare at her. How does she know about the boys? “That number’s about to pop off the scale,” she continues, “Boys who have no talent or drive, who need a trust fund to get through life, are going to be swarming around you. Your friends will slowly disappear and be replaced with greedy sycophants who will yes you to ruin while they spend your daddy’s money.” Rawlins stands and strolls back to her desk, ignoring my distress. “Your father was trying to protect you, Astrid, but for whatever reason, you told his secret.”
I raise my voice over hers. “I didn’t tell.”
Rawlins smiles in disbelief and then shakes her head as she sits down. “Did you do it to steal Bryce Shelton away from your sister?”
“No.” I stand up, pushing the chair away and almost tipping it over. I look around the room, clenching my fist and wanting something to hurl at her stuck-up head. My gaze lands on a painted blue and white vase positioned daintily on a pedestal by the wall between two bookcases. A spotlight shines on its smooth surface, showing off the intricate details of a country landscape.
“Don’t you dare,” she whispers.
I spin around to face her again. “Charlotte told me to sleep with Bryce!” I shout, “She wanted Bryce to get it out of his system before they married. And I did it. Not because of her, but because I liked him. Or I did at the time. And it was probably my only chance to be with someone like that.” I slump back down in the chair, leaning my head against the upholstered curve. “It was special that night, except the end,” my voice softens, “You know what he did? He paid me, Dr. Rawlins. An envelope of cash, because that’s all I am to him: a transaction. And you think they haven’t already used me.”
I put my face in my hands and inhale the tears. My body rocks back and forth as I press my fingertips into my temples to stop the pounding. I feel a hand on my shoulder and glance up. Dr. Rawlins isn’t mocking me now. She rubs my shoulder gently before leaning down and pulling me into a hug. I cry on her shoulder like a stupid baby, and though I need this, I know I’ll hate her later for seeing me this way.
“It’s okay, Astrid,” she says, “I meant to frighten you, but I went too far.” She lets me go and sits beside me again. “When I was a student here, I wasn’t rich or poor. I was middle class, which is the bottom. Rich people have money, and poor people have personality, and both have mystique. But middle-class people are forgettable—neither rich nor interesting. I had to learn a lot of things on my own. A lot of things I wish I could forget.” She takes her thumb and swipes it across my cheek, wiping a tear away. “It’s going to be hard, Astrid. Choose the boy that can protect you from the rest.”
“I can protect myself,” I reply, sniffing.
Rawlins stares at me for a moment, and the sternness returns in a blink. “I’m not talking about kicking ass across the campus,” she replies, “Find a boy that will watch out for both your interests. Even if that boy is Bryce Shelton.”
I look at her like she’s crazy. “He paid me like a whore.”