WHEN WE ARRIVE BACK AT school, I almost wish I could have stayed on my impromptu adventure with Archer. Sure, we haven't been getting along our best all day, but I'll take anything over my stomach churning in anticipation and my hands balling at my sides.
He has no qualms about going in. Shifting his bag over his back, brimming with art supplies, he starts to jog in with no regards to the fact he's leaving me in his wake.
I take a moment to glance back to his car. He can't be too mad if I take it for a spin, right? I'll even pick him up with it right afterward.
No. He has his keys, and I don't want to integrate car thievery into my vocabulary. There's also a voice at the back of my mind reminding me that all I'll be doing is proving Archer right; proving Rebel right, and it might be the only thing they agree on, but it only makes me burn worse.
I close my eyes. Fifth period is ending, and the front gate is deserted. I have every opportunity to run, maybe not look back, maybe get on the first train to a different part of the city where no one knows my name and disappear until midnight, until Ebony apologises or until Archer stops being so cold.
No one's stopping me. Leaving would be easy.
I could just―,
"Ivory!" A voice shatters my thoughts. I turn my head to the source of the sound, and wicked caramel eyes bore into mine. "Mr Rose sent me to find you." Rebel Montenero hurries down the stairs so we're at eye-level, despite me being a few inches taller. She glances me up and down with a disparaging stare, her signature cutthroat smile hiking up over her red-painted lips. "For his sake and yours, I hope you're wearing something sexy under that drab uniform."
Her words make me clutch at my arms, hugging myself. "It's not like that."
"Oh, honey," she drawls, dipping closer to me. "There's no shame in attracting older men. It's easier to just take what you can get."
I freeze as she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and presses a kiss to the corner of my lips.
This is wrong. I've never been her type.
I push her away, my hands remaining on her shoulders. "You were never any good at that, Rebel."
"Because I've always known what I've wanted." Her hot breaths swirls across my cheek. I jerk my head away. "But you never realised."
"Don't lie to me," I mutter. I close my eyes, but she's still there, branded into the darkness by hot coals; blazing amber eyes and bleeding crimson lips, and the soft sensation of her mouth fitting into mine. Part of me has always wanted her. Part of me has always wanted this moment so I could grasp it with both hands.
But I'm not a person to Rebel Montenero. I am nothing but her toy. "You had so many chances. You only want me now that I'm gone."
"Go, then." She smiles, peeling my hands from her body. "Run back to Mr Rose. Do as he asks, instead. You'll never be anything more than a favour, Ivory. Why do you think that nobody ever believes you?"
Ice-bourne shards dig into my chest cavity. Hitting too close to home, with nails like claws gouging out my heart. The problem up with growing up with someone is that they know you inside out; they know what makes you think and react and tick, and even if you're strangers now, that knowledge will always be there, ready to tear you apart.
"You're sick," I seethe, ripping myself from her touch entirely. Stumbling up the stairs, away from one demon and into the jaws of another.
She watches me from the bottom of the flight, hands propped on her hips.
"Ivory Blue…" Her voice is taunting. "We both are."
Mr Rose is waiting for me at the school entrance. I can't even fathom darting away before his fingers close around my arm.
"Ivory, you didn't come for your session." He smiles, predatory in all it is innocuous. "I missed your presence."
"I'm sorry." I shrink into myself, but I'm not sorry at all.
"That's quite alright. We can go down to my office now, if you want," he says, and though I'm poised to refuse, the words don't get to leave my lips before I am being led down the West wing to his office.
His fingers don't leave my arm; they seem to grasp on tighter, kneading into my flesh.
Mr Rose bends over me as he eases me into the chair in front of his desk, his face looming in my vision.
I swallow, wondering if he can smell my fear. A bloodhound, feeding off of the reek of it; ravenous for my submission and my silence, allowing him to edge himself between my legs and do what he likes with me.
Maybe my mother and Ebony would finally listen. A sacrifice of my sanity for the greater good.
"So, how have you been, Ivory?" He asks, his movements deliberately slow in leaving my side. He crosses the room with purpose, sitting down across from my and propping his chin in his hands, his smile saccharine. Devouring.
Does he truly want a taste of me, or am I demonising a man who only wants the best for me?
My spine bristles. Maybe my mother and Ebony are right. Maybe I'm the one in the wrong.
"Good," I try, the first dose of openness on my tongue. "I...didn't really think I needed this appointment, though."
"Well, are you glad you came?" He questions.
I make myself laugh. "Well, I'm missing lessons to be here, so that's a bonus."
I know it's a start when he laughs too, but the sound makes my heart sink. This man isn't a monster. I just turned him into one.
"I can't fault that way of thinking," he says, and this time, I force myself to see his smile as kind. Inviting. Non-threatening. "How has the whole family been, then? I spoke to Ebony earlier, and I thoroughly enjoy my conversations with your mother."
"We've been good." I smile, flattening my hands across my lap instead of toying with my skirt hem. "Just...like family, I guess."
"That's good to hear. I've always perceived your family to have a strong relationship," he says, his eyes sparkling. "Do you talk to each other a lot? You and Ebony are both at points in your life where good communication is important."
I nod, though it feels like a lie. "Yeah. I guess we're close."
Mr Rose stands from his desk, bracing his hand on the desk to prop himself up. "Do you talk about your dreams? Your worries, your fears?"
I think of this morning, and acid seems to spill through my veins. "We try to."
"Try?" He takes a step closer―I swear he does. I'm not imagining it this time. I'm not making it happen. "Define try to me, Ivory. Try with me."
"Well…" My mouth goes dry. How do I explain the fear I was trying to share was one of him? How would he feel? What would he say? He would think I'm terrible; awful. An attention-seeker. A liar.
"Come on," he encourages. Stood right in front of me where I'm sat, towering over my head. My breath catches. I swear he's a hair-breadth away in all aspects―I think that's his breath against my cheek, his body hovering over my hand, his fingers grazing my own―but he can't be, because I'm not making him.
I'm not telling myself that he's a predator. Why is he still so close?
"Talk to me, Ivory." His smile widens into a grin. His bent knee nudges mine, parting my legs.
I'm face to face with his lower abdomen; a part of him I don't want to see.
If he's not a predator, why is he still so close?
My body lurches back, but he's quick to make up the distance. Pushing the chair, forcing it back against the wall. That tears down one method of escape.
"Well." I rack my brains for one excuse―just one―to buy some time. A few precious seconds. It's after the end of the day. Maybe someone will come in―,
―there's a tremulous knock at the door. "Mr Rose?"
It flings open. Isla Everdeen stands in the doorway, clutching a piece of paper in her hands so tightly that it's moments from tearing. Her eyes wander to me, trapped in the chair while his body shadows mine.
When I meet her gaze, I know she sees my fear.
"There's someone outside wanting to talk to you," she says, her voice more confident this time.
He nods sharply. His groan of annoyance is saved only for me, and the look he sends back in my direction is a promise that he'll continue this later.
Mr Rose leaves, and my body sags in relief. I stand up on trembling legs, hands flushing near-white from the strain of my grip.
"What's going on?" She asks, approaching me. "I know it's not what Rebel says. I know it's not your choice."
"Thanks," I whisper, the smile on my lips infinitesimal but full of forgiveness. She offers me a hand, and I take it.
The non-predatory nature of her touch is enough for me to want to buckle.
There's silence between us. She breaks it again. "Ivory, are you okay?"
This time, I answer, wrapping my arms around her. "No. No, I'm not."
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