![]() My two Brussels sprouts of breasts-as my older sister Poppy called them-poked through my shirt without my sports bra, and he could see them. I felt my quilt rolling down my body, from my shoulders to my ankles in one precise movement. He wore his skin with arrogance, like a crown. Even in my haste to leave, I’d seen it on his face. No fire was as big and burning as one born of humiliation, and what I’d witnessed tonight had embarrassed Vaughn. I had no doubt he’d knocked out the guard who walked our hall at night to make sure nobody broke curfew or made silly ghost-like noises to scare the other students. The thought that he might kill me-actually, literally strangle me to death-crossed my mind. He moved in the dark, but I couldn’t hear him, which scared me even more. Summers in Carlisle Castle were unbearably humid, and I wore a tank top and shorts. I felt my knees knocking together under my quilt as I pretended to be asleep. It was like trying to breathe under water. The air in my room was suddenly thick with danger. There was no mistaking the energy Vaughn Spencer brought into a room, because it sucked up everything else like a Hoover. ![]() That’s how I’d once heard Uncle Harry-also known as Professor Fairhurst inside these walls-describe Vaughn to one of his colleagues. ![]() My body tensed like a piece of dried clay, hard but fragile. I felt a gust of wind from its direction, raising the hair on my arms wherever it touched. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |