Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals, #1)(70)

I spit on my arm, scrubbing at it furiously, but it’s permanent marker. It holds fast. I can’t even see the word through my tears.

My throat burns. My arm throbs. My stomach is on fire. I curl further into a ball, giving into the misery rattling around my chest. A sob bursts out of me, the tears falling faster. I can’t face Caleb now, or even Robert. I can’t walk into school like this.

My fingers dig into the dirt, into the already-fallen leaves, and I scream. It’s a poor way to try to expel my emotions. Dirt fills my mouth.

I pant and lie there and contemplate screaming again.

How long I’m here, I don’t know. My eyes close, and I just try to make myself breathe normally. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. Spit out the dirt. Inhale, exhale.

A branch snaps, and suddenly Caleb is there.

“What happened?”

I can’t move. My muscles are locked, stiff. My stomach is agony, and so is my throat. I couldn’t even pull down my sleeve to cover the evidence of Ian’s more noticeable cruelty.

Caleb tugs my wrists away from my body.

He takes in the tears on my cheeks, and God knows what else. I stare into his eyes. Maybe he’ll take the pain away for good. Set me free.

In one motion, I’m lifted into the air. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he pauses. His eyes focus on my forearm.

“Who?” he grits out.

I shake my head and try to climb higher. He drops my legs and fixes his hold. One of his hands touches the back of my head.

I wind my legs around his hips like an octopus.

Or a leech.

One of his arms slides lower, supporting me, and the other stays on the back of my head. He starts walking.

“Ian,” I whisper in his ear.

We’re chest to chest. His exhale is loud and sharp.

The growl reverberates between us.

“I’m going to kill him.” He turns his head, pressing a kiss to my temple. “He’ll pay for this, love.”

There’s something to be said about having my own personal monster. I know he’ll avenge me.

He puts me in his car. Tells me to stay. Locks me in and disappears back into the school.

Maybe he’ll go find Ian.

My mouth still tastes like blood; the coppery taste never quite left.

I focus on my knees. They’re a bit scraped up, but I don’t know when that happened. There’s dirt on my legs. The pantyhose we wear with our skirts, part of our uniform, are ripped on my calf. When I move, dirt falls from my shirt. My eyes keep filling with tears. I make fists out of my hands, my nails pinching my palms.

I blink furiously.

Caleb returns, tossing something into the backseat. He slides into the driver’s seat and looks over at me, then jerks back to the steering wheel. “Just hold on.”

We go to Eli’s house. Maybe it’s because Caleb doesn’t want me to see his parents and Eli’s are away—I don’t ask. I don’t really want to see his parents or go back to that house, either.

He comes around and opens my door, scooping me up. In silence, he carries me into the house and down to the basement. It’s vaguely familiar down here. There’s a couch and a television mounted to the wall, a bed in the far corner.

He sets me on the edge of the bed, kneeling next to me.

“I’m thinking there’s more to this than your arm,” he whispers. “Am I right?”

I nod.

He unbuttons my shirt, slowly pushing it off my shoulders. It falls behind me, and he leans back slightly. He presses his lips together, rage flickering over his face like candlelight.

I follow his gaze down.

My stomach is already a map of bruises. I’m surprised they showed up so fast.

He traces one. “Did he kick you?”

I force myself to nod again.

“I’m going to kill him,” he repeats. His eyes meet mine. “What else?”

I touch my throat.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

He lifts my arm.

Ian’s teeth left a red, angry mark. And right above it, the word I couldn’t bring myself to read: whore.

“I’m sorry,” I say over the lump in my throat. “I’m so s—”

Caleb leans forward and kisses me.

It’s infinitely sweeter than the emotions I know he’s feeling. I can taste his guilt, and I want to cry again.

“Do not apologize.” His voice is low. “You’re staying here tonight.”

My eyes widen. It’s against the rules, I almost say. The lump in my throat blocks all noise, but he reads my mind.

“Fuck the rules, Margo. You’re staying.”

He storms off. The door to the basement slams closed, and then I’m left alone with my silence.

My breath hitches. It hurts to inhale, it hurts to move… I examine my arm.

We need to clean the bite. Get the marker off.

Whore.

It mocks me. My mother. My past.

I scratch at it. There’s dirt under my nails.

I notice it with vague detachment. In fact, I’m feeling rather removed from it all. I mindlessly scratch at my arm, trying to get the ink out of my skin.

Caleb comes back. He tucks his phone into his pocket and rushes over, grabbing my wrists. “Margo.”

He hauls me up, ever so gently, and carries me into the bathroom. He sets me on the counter, flicking on the light.