The Certainty (Book Four in The Illusion of Certainty Series)

Russian Roulette

I was bruised. Boy was I bruised. I felt like a walking dark half of the rainbow. My muscles felt like liquid and my bones felt like rubber. Luke set me up in the living room with a pint of ice cream and a Julia Roberts romantic comedy. By the time my family came back the movie was over and the ice cream was half gone and melted.

“Hey,” I said. “How did the second round go?”

My mother smiled. “I think they all did very well. Except Chloe has a sprained ankle and Tommy broke his pinkie.”

“Whoa, really?”

My father nodded. “It was fairly interesting.”

“You could hear the snap reverberate through the arena,” Sebastis said grinning. “It was awesome.”

“Good lord, Bast.”

“How are you?” my mother asked.

“Oh you know…beaten, bruised, and not bloody coincidently.”

“Oh honey, I’m sorry. Jamie was completely out of line doing what he did.”

“Yeah but he got what he deserved. I don’t think that guy is ever going to have kids,” my brother said laughing. “You dealt him a hearty blow, sister. I think all the men in the seats cringed when you did that. Blunt testicular trauma.”

I shrugged. “Guy should learn not to manhandle girls.”

“That’s right,” my mother said, sitting down next to me, “It doesn’t matter if it was just for show. He shouldn’t have gone off script.”

“He was just trying to display his awesome skills,” I said. “He was tired of being beaten up by a girl.”

“Should’ve requested a partner change then,” my brother said as he went to his room. “Everyone knows they’re liable to receive a beating if they’re paired with you.”

“He will be reprimanded,” my father said. “Hektor will see to that.”

“He doesn’t have to do that,” I said. “I’m sure it was just heat of the moment, nothing personal.”

My father just gave me an icy stare. “The boy tried to choke you, Georgiana. That wasn’t in the script and he knew it. You’re lucky you don’t have a crushed larynx.”

I sighed. “I think I’m going to take a walk. The mood has gone sour.”

“Georgiana,” my mother said.

I ignored her and grabbed my light jacket, boots and keys. I went out into the hall and slammed the door. Was it so hard for them just to say good job Georgiana? Or you did great Georgiana? No, my parents had to worry over my “injuries” and seek punishment for the hand shaped bruise wrapped around my throat like a choker.

I paused in the lobby to put my boots and jacket on. No one followed me thank god. I didn’t think I could take any of their encouraging pep talks. I loved my family, even though the relationship was a bit strained at the moment, but sometimes they were suffocating.

My iPod was shoved in my pocket and I put the ear buds in and cranked up Aerosmith’s Jaded. I took a walk around campus, mulling over the demonstration and what I could’ve done differently, done better.

I settled on one of the metal bleachers that sat in constant vigil over the football field and stared up at the stars. The good thing about Nebraska was there was always a light show at night. There were tons of stars and if you knew your constellations you could spend hours outside naming them all. Unfortunately I didn’t know any, nor did I want to. I just liked looking at them, letting the stars go nameless and sparkly.