Page 11 of Splintered Desire

“I won’t be a DuPont. I’m a grown-ass woman. Our parents might be getting married, but that doesn’t change shit. You three can keep doing all of this.” I shrug Jace's arm off my shoulder and open my arms wide in a show of the place. “But I need to graduate and get my degree, which means I need to study.”

“Let’s not pretend like you won’t pass. I’ve seen your grades. You ace everything, Zela.” I turn to face Isaac at his words, trying to keep the shock off my face at his easy admission of looking into my schooling.

That shit’s supposed to be private. How the hell did he get information about my grades? Or is he just saying that to fuck with me?

No, he doesn’t seem like the type to lie, at least not about this. He said it so simply, as if he were telling me I have brown hair. It’s just a fact.

I’m not sure why I’m shocked; even after just a few hours with them, I can tell they don’t play by the same rules as the rest of us common folk.

I keep my face neutral, leaning on years of my perfected resting bitch face to ensure he doesn’t get the satisfaction of knowing he got to me.

“Yeah, because I study.”

“But you won’t need to‌. You’ll find that being a DuPont will bring you certain privileges, one of which is that our family has a lot of leeway.”

Kolson pushes off the railing, letting his hands drop at his sides, freeing me from our little staring match, and I mentally high-five myself for winning, even if he didn’t know we were playing. One step is all it takes for him to eat up the distance between us, and I have to crane my neck back to meet his eyes.

“Which means you’ll be here Saturday.”

Saturday

The movers handled getting all of our stuff into our rooms, but being ‘shown around’ all day meant I didn’t have time to unpack any of it. So, I spent all day yesterday hiding in my room under the guise of getting it in order. I mean, I got all my stuff put away, but considering how little I own, it only took me about an hour, tops.

Last night, I’d set my alarm for the ass crack of dawn to make sure I was long gone before my dear brothers woke up.

I fucking hate mornings, but after just three days in the house with them, I already knew Kolson was the kind of sick fuck that enjoyed them.

Psychopath.

Thankfully for me, I knew where The Pit was now, even if I’d never made it down to the old building for the information like I was supposed to. Even better still, I was familiar with the bus schedule and had taken it before.

I have enough money saved up from the fights for a car; I’ve had it for a while now. But there was no easy way to explain to Dad that I could afford one without it seeming strange.

He still thought I was working at the library on campus, picking up odd shifts. It was a lie I’d told him to excuse my disappearance over the last two years while I was at the gym. I hadn’t had to lie to him before; he hadn’t been home enough between work and school. Once he got his degree and a regular job, he was home more and quickly started asking questions about my random comings and goings.

I’d been so close to telling him I was going to the gym. It didn’t seem like that strange of a thing, but I knew Dad would worry, might start looking too hard and see things I didn’t want him to. Like the fact that I wore a lot of hoodies, even in the dead of summer when it's hotter than Satan's balls. I’d grown up with secondhand clothes that never quite fit right, but now I favor hoodies and baggy clothes because they hide me. I never wanted to stand out or be noticed, not as Zela.

Dad knew I ran to stay in shape, but he didn’t know about the sea of bruises, scrapes, and cuts from the fights that I often kept hidden.

I was good at fighting, but not a fucking god. Taking a few hits was a part of the experience. So long as I didn’t go down, it was a win, and I wore those bruises with pride because they showed my strength. But it’s a strength I didn't want my father to know I had. I’m not stupid enough to think he would like what I do in my free time. What good parent would want that for their child, especially their little girl?

The bus's brakes squeal so loudly that it makes my ears ring as we pull up to my stop.

It’s about a thirty-minute walk from this stop to The Pit, most of which is on back roads. I could have taken the bus one more stop and saved about 10 minutes, but I needed this one; more specifically, the gas station just up the road from it.

The gas station I used to stop at was a lot closer to the old location, but this will have to do.

I can’t exactly get ready at the house, and showing up as is would be a good way for someone to find out who I am. In the beginning, it wasn’t something I cared about too much, but Ozy insisted that I keep myself hidden. He always told me it was safer that way, keeping any grudges I might earn in the ring instead of having them bleed into my everyday life. Back then, I thought he was crazy. Who would come after me when I got my ass handed to me week after week? I wasn’t someone anyone would hold a grudge with, but I am now.

I haven’t taken a loss in just over a year, and I can’t help but be thankful for his advice. All the fighters heard what happened to Barricade after he took down Titan. We all knew Titan had him killed, but nobody could prove it. Nothing tied him back to it. He made sure of it. Barricade was one of the few fighters who didn’t care about keeping his identity a secret; he loved the high he got from winning and wanted to keep it even after he left the ring each week.

Too bad for him; it got him killed.

A shiver runs through me at the thought, but I push it aside as I pull open the gas station door, shoving my duffel bag behind me so that I can fit.

The clerk watches me as I make my way back toward the coolers, and I can’t say I blame him. This part of town isn’t bad, but it’s not like Diane’s neighborhood. Everything is a little less shiny, and being just off the main highway, I can bet they see all kinds of people as they make their way through.

Two waters, two Red Bulls, and a bag of chips. It’s the same thing Ozy bought me the night before my first fight and the same thing I’ve bought every time since. It became a part of my routine, and now that I’m no longer getting my ass kicked, I like to stick to it. Whether it's superstitious or just comforting, I’m not sure, but I have no intention of changing it now; enough has already changed in the last week.