Page 21 of Rogue’s Promise

“Bored, mostly,” I deadpan, forgetting what we were even talking about. Something similar to feeling like a side character in my own life and not receiving enough hugs from my mom. The usual bullshit.

Eventually, when I’ve dragged my thumbnail over a crack in my lip enough to make it bleed, she agrees we’ve come to a standstill. I jump up from the armchair, the leather creaking as I do, and stride out of the room that smells of chamomile tea and pity without so much as a goodbye.

Campus outside the admin offices is bright, the late-morning sun highlighting the students who drift across pathways in clusters. A few glances are thrown my way, and not appreciative ones either. I’m the walking bad mood that will barrel straight through them if they don’t jump out of the way. Gasps and grumbles are tuned out by my headphones, tainting my head with anything loud enough to drown out my thoughts. Nothing puts me on edge quite like mandated counseling sessions, and this morning, Dowley decided she’d had enough of me using our time to do sudoku in silence.

Instead of retreating back to my room as I usually would after therapy, I turn right in the courtyard and just keep walking. I suppose it’s not the worst day for a walk. It’s dry, mild, and the air is crisp and clean. Well, until I lit a joint, that is. I don’t know what I enjoy more, the fresh air or the pollution of dirty smoke filling my lungs. As numbness washes over me and my limbs relax, I choose the latter.

I still can’t believe what happened in my room last night. Meg snuck in and saw the horrors that seep out of my soul when I’m not in control. Everest caught her, kissed her, and then had the audacity to judge me. But I can’t pretend the evening was a total bust, Everest did give me a fantastic idea after all.

Pay her to leave and never return. I stewed on it, tossed and turned in bed as bouts of excitement and hope kept me from falling asleep. It seems so simple, except for the one key problem. Meg O’Connor is far too proud to be forced out by choice. If she finds out I want her gone, she’ll only dig her heels in and stay longer. If she finds out I’m in love with Everest, I dread to think what she’ll do then.

No, I have to be clever. I have to come up with a plan, something she’ll never see coming. Something to make her leave of her own accord. And most of all, something that can’t be traced back to me.

Falling back into my thoughts, I flick the blunt end of my joint into a trash can and keep walking. Blindly walking, not concentrating on the world around me as ideas steamroll through my mind. I could blackmail her, anonymously, of course. Threaten her, maybe, but as far as I’ve seen, Meg doesn’t have anything or anyone she cares about enough. Lacrosse doesn’t appear to rule her life like it once did, she hasn’t got any friends, absolutely doesn’t have a boyfriend.

Briefly, I consider this. I could pay someone to date her, to distract her, but that will only serve to entice Everest further. He can’t stand not being the best, and he won’t stand by whilst Meg is swooning over someone else. That’ll have the opposite effect of what I need.

At some point, I pull to a stop, blinking up at the art block before me. There’s a takeout cup in my hand and the taste of coffee on my lips. I vaguely remember slamming my finger against a self-serve machine across the quad, and despite having a few free periods, I’ve apparently walked myself back to the studio.

Liz’s gaze lifts to me the second I step inside the otherwise empty studio. She’s perched on the edge of a table, silver bangles stacked up one wrist and paint smeared along the heel of her palm as she sorts through a pile of student work. She doesn’t smile too quickly, taking a moment to assess my face. She’s always said, like a picture, an expression is worth a thousand words. I always wonder what she sees when she looks at me.

“Rough session?” she asks, and I huff a laugh, tugging my headphones free.

“Have you got my timetable memorized?”

“I do leave this room to visit the teacher’s lounge sometimes, you know,” she quirks a brow, a small smile slipping through. Setting the papers in her hand aside, she gestures to the table opposite with a jangle. “You’re quite the hot topic as of late, Master Wilder. Everyone is concerned about what you’ll do next.”

Dragging myself up onto the work surface, my eyes narrow. Liz has never outright said that she or any of the other faculty members suspect me of setting the stadium fire, but she did have a quiet word with me about avoiding flammable solvents in the studio before my first class back. Licking my lips, I cradle my coffee cup.

“Dowley is relentless. Like a kid with a stick and I’m the ant.” Liz’s mouth twitches, but she doesn’t laugh. Between us, sunlight spills through the tall glass and catches on dust motes.

“She means well.”

“She can mean whatever she wants, it doesn’t make her any better at her job.” Anyone else might have pulled me up on my attitude by now, but Liz seems to be the person on campus content to just let me be a brat sometimes. The only one who simply listens without prodding, judging, or trying to dig deeper. Always with the digging deeper, trying to pry open my secrets like treasures I’m not allowed to keep to myself.

I finish my coffee and toss the cup across a few tables to dunk it into the trash. That was my first mistake, because now I’ve got nothing to fidget with. My second mistake was letting the silence settle, because Liz is never in any rush to fill it. Sighing, I rake a hand over my face.

“I’m rarely selfish,” I announce as if I’m trying to convince myself of that fact more than her. “I know I’m broody and antisocial. I don’t care for others or their feelings, not that I get any satisfaction out of their suffering. But selfish?” I shake my head. “Nothing I do is because it’s what I actually want. It’s all forced upon me.”

“And what would happen if you put your needs first?” Liz asks gently. I huff, knotting my fingers together. I could easily lie, or simply walk out, but if anyone is going to help me see clearly, it’s Liz. And to do that, I have to give her something.

“I’m contemplating it, but someone will get hurt. Is my happiness worth more than another’s? Am I not owed a reward for all I've endured?”

“Those are two very different questions. Do you want to be worthy of happiness or are you going to take it regardless?” Liz leans her hands back on the desk to regard me for a long moment. If she were anyone else, I would scowl and walk out, but Liz doesn’t study me like a code that needs to be cracked. She observes me like a piece of art, like somewhere deep beneath my layers, there’s some profound meaning to my existence. One day, I really hope she finds it.

“I’m going to take it regardless,” I decide with a single nod of my head. Shrugging one shoulder, Liz dusts off her hands and hops down from the desk.

“Then prepare to fail and be miserable anyway.” The way she says those words so airily catches me off guard. Spluttering, I push off my desk too, and step around her as she starts to tidy away brushes that have been left out.

“Aren’t you supposed to say something comforting?” I attempt a glare, but she’s not looking at me anyway. Another half shrug and airy comment follows instead.

“I’m not paid to comfort you.”

“You’re literally a teacher,” I roll my eyes, somehow finding myself cleaning away too. Damn my fidgety hands. Smiling to herself, Liz passes me some water jars to pour out into the basin.

“I’m paid to teach you,” she corrects. “Comfort is optional and usually less useful.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. Aside from the clinking of glass as I wash the jars and set them aside to dry, it’s filled with contemplation. With Everest’s mouth bruised by someone else. With Meg’s troublesome tenacity. With canvases stacked against my wall, and all those versions of her I didn’t want to create.