Bulletproof Hearts

17 | End of the Line

The things they'd discussed, however small, floated through her head hours after they'd walked away from those towering shelves of books. They carried her through her day.

She would remember it as she scribbled answers onto her Maths worksheet. What's your favourite subject? Definitely not Maths, he'd answered with a playful scowl.

Or as she walked by the art room, glancing in on the sculptures and paintings and drawings done by students. He said that he painted, or used to. Not so much anymore. She hadn't asked why for the same reason he hadn't yet asked about her admission in the hall or the line of discoloured skin and healed puncture marks that flashed one day when she'd accidentally rolled up her sleeves.

The track marks, the scars on her skin from her drug use, hadn't healed completely, despite the expensive creams that her mother had bought. Concealing them was easy for Freya, since she lived in England, where the weather often demanded long sleeves and since Arrowsmith's uniforms wholly consisted of long sleeves. She'd also invested in a hefty supply of expensive full-coverage, waterproof foundation for the occasions where long sleeves weren't necessary.

She'd felt his eyes lurk on them and had pulled the sleeve down immediately. She couldn't believe she'd slipped up like that, but he didn't comment, just grinned lazily at her and delivered her next question.

They had a strange understanding. One she valued.

When they were in the library, there was nothing else. Freya could forget about Amelie and her secret, forget about Julian and his worry, forget about Karsyn and his overwhelming desire to keep her from the world. She could forget about the dead lawyers even.

A quick Google search on Beverly Hills news told her what she already suspected. She'd delayed that search. When she'd finally gotten her answer later on Monday night, she almost threw her phone out the window and taken off for the woods, for the dealer in the dark. Almost.

She could not break.

They wanted her to snap.

She wanted to snap.

But she couldn't.

So, she bore through Tuesday, and later her mind was taken off of it momentarily in detention. And she repeated that pattern through the rest of the week.

She didn't want to think of him as a distraction. He was more like a breath of fresh air.

When came Saturday, she almost regretted that they wouldn't have detention.

It was early in the morning, the sun had just risen and most of Arrowsmith's secondary students were still sleeping off their hectic weeks. Hence, the dining hall was nearly empty when Freya and her friends walked in for breakfast.

They filed to the various stations serving breakfast foods. Amelie and Raina threaded over to the cereal dispensers at the side of the room, the latter already piling Froot Loops into a white bowl. Juliet and Maye had more mature breakfast tastes and were walking over to the station serving the breakfast of the day. By the smell, Freya surmised that it was something along the lines of pancakes. Arrowsmith, fortunately, served rather edible food, nothing like the foul things she'd heard about from other schools. The tuition to attend here was certainly high enough for them to serve good food.