Page 19 of Made in Malice
“I’m certainly here.”
There’s this long pause where neither of us know how to continue before she looks down at some papers on her desk to remind her why I’m sitting in her office. “I don’t usually handle scheduling, but we want to get you into class as soon as possible,” she tells me as if she’s doing me a favor. “I have your transcripts. Am I understanding you were in an accelerated credit program so you could graduate on time?”
“Yes, I missed a lot of school after the accident.”
“Understandable. What are your strengths and interests?” Mrs. Quade gets right down to business after the awkward initial meeting, and we spend the next half hour discussing class options and getting me set up in the system so I can do a few placement tests. I have no doubt I’ll be in the low classes with all the freshmen, even though I’m older. These kids all probably came from private schools, but I’ll eventually catch up…hopefully.
“The library is right across the hall. I already reserved a study room for you to get started on testing. The sooner you get them done, the sooner we can get you into the appropriate classes,” she tells me as if I’m going to go over there and twiddle my thumbs.
“Thank you,” I tell her, rising as she hands me a sticky note with my student number and temporary login credentials.
“Let me know if you need assistance figuring anything out,” she tells me as I’m leaving, and I don’t know if she’s genuinely willing to help, or if it’s her subtle way of reminding me I’m clueless.
I feel the girl at the reception desk eye me as I leave the office and head over to the library. There are several more people in the Union than there were this morning when I entered the office. I ignore them and hurry across the hall, but before I can reach the door, someone steps in front of me.
“If it isn’t Charity,” he drawls slowly, pleased with himself. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where I was going to be today. I’m certain his presence isn’t an accident. I told myself I would ignore him the next time we met, because I knew there would be a next time, and it would just be easier if I didn’t make myself a target for him, but the moment I hear his little moniker for me, my good intentions go out the window.
“Couldn’t wait to see me again, pretty boy?” I don’t meet his eyes, I don’t even look up, which means I get a good view of his upper chest and neck. His shirt is black today, but it’s still tight enough that I can see the barbells through his nipples outlined by the fabric and the tattoos that seem to cover almost every inch of him but his face. I thought rich guys wore pressed pants and loafers, not dark jeans and boots.
He takes another step closer to me. He’s trying to get me to back up, but my feet remain planted on the ground. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little frightened. Even the hair on my arms is standing up as if my body can sense the barely restrained violence coming from him.
I’ve never been in a fight. I would probably crumple like a sack of potatoes if someone hit me, but I still can’t back down. He’s close enough now that I can smell his cologne and feel the heat coming off his body, and it does nothing to alleviate the tension tightening my back and shoulders.
I should try to get around him, but I know he would stop me, so I just stand here, waiting for whatever it is he wants to say or do. His hand moves, and I flinch, but he just gently touches my chin and lifts it, forcing me to look up at him.
Our eyes lock, and I know he can read the question in my gaze. What could you possibly want with me? His expression is much harder to read, so I give up trying.
“Go home, Charity. No one wants you here.”
The words sting, but I try really hard not to let it show. I can feel people gathering around us, but not one of them steps up to break us apart, not that I expected it anyway. I’ve seen my fair share of public fights, physical and otherwise, and everyone loves to witness the train wreck as long as it’s not them who’s getting clobbered.
“It should be fairly easy for you and everyone else to ignore me then, pretty boy.” I blink slowly before jerking my head back so he’s no longer touching me, but we’re still in a stare off.
“Nova, there you are.” Rory’s voice is hard and tight, despite his words seeming to convey his relief. I still don’t back away from Morningstar. It would be a sign of weakness I can’t afford if I want him to leave me the heck alone.
“I was hoping I would catch you.” Rory comes over so he’s standing right next to me, but he turns his attention toward the man in front of me. “Lucian, I didn’t know you attended class on Mondays, or any day for that matter.” My grandfather wraps his arm around my shoulders and guides me away from the immoveable wall apparently named Lucian.
It’s not until we’re in the library that Rory releases his hold on me. His reaction to Morningstar being in my face confirms that I should stay as far away from him as possible, but I have a feeling our encounters are only just getting started.
I close the top to my shiny new laptop at eleven when my eyes are blurry from looking at the screen all night. When I got home this afternoon, I told Astrid that I didn’t think I would be down for dinner. She seemed a little disappointed, but beyond asking how my first day went, she let me be. I glossed over the part about Lucian Morningstar and the way all the other people didn’t seem to know how to act around me, and gave her the highlights about my lunch. I might have exaggerated about my confidence on how well I did on a few of the tests, but I did it for both of our benefits.
I throw myself back on the bed, sinking into the soft pillow top, and my eyes fall closed. I have a ton on my mind, like how I really did on the tests, what kind of classes I should take, and maybe, most importantly, how I can get Morningstar off my back.
The soft knock on my bedroom door has my eyes ripping open, and I realize I must have fallen asleep, or I was very close to it.
“Miss Devlin.” Alden’s voice comes through the door.
“Yes?” I croak out. It’s been hours since I’ve spoken, and it’s easy to tell.
“I thought you should know your grandfather informed me this evening that I will be accompanying you to your classes.”
“He what?” I ask after tearing the door open to face Alden, certain I misunderstood him.
His eyes go down, and I realize I took my pants off hours ago. I’m only wearing the same too small shirt I wore to school and Walmart underwear. I slam the door in his face.
It’s a shame my first thought isn’t embarrassment. Instead, I’m relieved that he wouldn’t have been able to see my scars. The shame will come later when I remember how chubby my hips and thighs are, how my stomach isn’t flat, and I can’t remember the last time I shaved.
“I thought you should know, so you can prepare,” he continues through the door as if I didn’t just flash him, always the professional.