The Other Girl: Black Mountain Academy Page 6

  “Have a seat, Sue. Relax.” I fan my hand through the air, offering her the chair in front of the desk.

  She quickly checks behind her, as if she’s fearful we’re not alone, before she finally sits. “I saw what happened with Carter Hensley in the auditorium,” she says abruptly.

  I arch an eyebrow. “What happened?” I repeat in a questioning tone, purposely patronizing.

  She tilts her head, gaze drilled into me. “It was strange, Ellis. And frankly, quite worrisome.”

  I cross my arms, shielding my hands from her view as I allow silence to fill the office. My nails cut deeply into my palms. I try to curb the desire to launch toward her and throttle her wrinkly neck.

  She’s being vague on purpose, wanting me to fill in the blanks. She’s hoping that I’ll become so rattled by her direct questioning that I’ll be quick to correct the incident…if there was one.

  I release a breath, uncross my arms. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Sue. You’re going to have to provide more details.”

  Her face pinches in annoyance. “I saw him grab you. I saw the heated exchange between you two.”

  “I’m sorry—” I stand and walk around my desk “—I’m not sure what you want, Sue. Is there a reason why you’re here, saying this to me?”

  I lean against the front of the desk so that I’m gazing down at her. This forces her to angle her head up at me, placing her in an uncomfortable position.

  “I’m worried for you,” she says, her tone becoming concerned, forced. “If he did something to hurt you, Ellis, you need to report him.”

  I nod once as I puzzle out her angle. “I assure you, I have matters under control. Now…” I push off the desk and return to my seat. “I have an appointment soon.”

  She scoffs under her breath as she stands. “Seriously, Ellis—”

  “Seriously, Sue, this is none of your business.”

  “Fine. But I won’t give him such an easy pass in my classroom.”

  I watch her walk to the door, making sure she leaves, before I exhale a heavy breath. I knew Sue might become a problem for Carter, and in a very short time, she’s proven to be a problem for me. She’s just too nosy for her own good.

  There’s another knock at the door, and I tersely ask the person to enter before I’m able to curb my frustration.

  Ms. Jansen enters with a hesitant expression masking her face. “Sorry, Ellis, but I have a student…” Her words trail off.

  “What is it? What are you staring at?” Polite etiquette is too difficult to muster. My fuse has been lit, and it’s a short one.

  “Your hands… Is that blood?” she stammers. “God, are you all right?”

  I look down at my palms. “Oh. I didn’t notice. Must be papercuts.” I quickly push my hands under the desk, then stare at her expectantly. “You can send them in. Thank you.”

  She hesitates at the door before backing out. Once she’s gone, I pluck a couple squares of tissue and ball them in my hands.

  Sue has tainted my newfound belief in people, that they can be good. Here I am again, after all these years, with the sour taste of deceit rotting on my tongue. People like Sue ruin things for people like me—and they need to be taught a lesson.

  Victim

  Ellis

  The toxicology maxim touts: the dose makes the poison.

  People are so unaware of the dangers that lurk around them in the simplest, most unexpected forms. A tomato leaf. An unassuming house plant. A seemingly innocent pack of black licorice. Even drinking water. Granted, most of these things are harmless in small quantities and can even be beneficial—yet, that’s what makes the adage so clever, and true.

  Anything can become hazardous in a large enough dose.

  I find toxicology fascinating. If I hadn’t majored in psychology, then it would’ve been my second calling. While I spent many nights alone during school, I read. A lot. From Renaissance theologies, to more recent medical journals. There is so much knowledge in the world, at times, it feels overwhelming.

  I touch the plastic baggie in my pocket as I walk the hallway toward the faculty lounge.

  Five red kidney beans are wrapped tightly in that little baggie.

  Five raw, red kidney beans is all it takes to have an exceptionally bad day.

  When soaked and cooked properly, they’re harmless and to some, delicious. Personally, after discovering what these little fuckers are capable of, I don’t trust them and steer clear.

  When ingested raw, one consumes a toxic chemical known as… Well, I can’t remember, but it’s a long word that causes one to feel like hell. Symptoms can vary, but usually cause severe nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. Sure, the symptoms don’t last more than a day—for most—but it’s long enough to get Sue out of my way and give me time to think.

  With any luck, the academy will be extra cautious and ask the head of the calculus department not to return for a while.

  As I enter the lounge, I smile at the pretty librarian who I believe is Ms. Richards. She’s petite like me, and I see her around often enough, but we’ve never officially met. She scoots out of the way of the coffee bar, and I busy myself fixing my usual travel mug of coffee.

  I lean against the wall and take out my phone, scroll through my already checked emails, as I wait for her to leave. She gives me a tight-rimmed smile as she heads out, and I wait another few seconds before I make my move.

  My heart beats faster as I open the refrigerator where I know Sue keeps her lunch. I’ve seen her place it here in the mornings. With measured breaths and, as casually as I can, I remove the plastic container and pop the lid.

  Leftover stew.

  Oh, Sue…how sad. Rather convenient for me, however, that poor lonely Sue cooks large meals for one to eat on all week.

  I watch the doorway as I stealthily remove the baggie from my pocket and sprinkle the crushed beans over her food. I use my finger to stir them in before replacing the lid and shoving it back onto the fridge shelf.

  It’s rather difficult to trace…but just in case, I purchased the beans at the chain grocery store with cash before my lunch break.

  The bell rings to denote the lunch hour.

  I’m clear of the faculty lounge before the troops arrive.

  Sadly, I won’t get to witness the event. I’d love to look her in her dull, boring eyes when the symptoms take effect. I’d love for her to somehow know I’m the cause for her instant karma.

  Luckily, Sue works in the school atmosphere that is always ripe with whatever seasonal virus is going around. A bout of “stomach flu” won’t garner too much attention.

  But what it will do is get her away from Carter and any villainous plans she has for him.

  From what I can deduce of Sue, she’s played the victim her whole life. I just made it true.

  When I was a little girl, I used to play a game with the big clock in my mother’s dining room.

  My mother always called the wooden antique a grandfather clock—and so I thought that, in my child’s mind, it was somehow this grumpy old man standing stoic in that dark room, watching me.

  The clock hands were his mustache, of course, and I would try to race from one end of the house and back to the dining room before the mustache got all the way around his face.

  I would do this every time the clock chimed the hour.

  It was a silly game, and really not that inventive. But as an only child—and one whose parents were away traveling a lot—I found ways to keep myself entertained.

  I’m thinking about this now as I watch the clock on my office wall, because the mustache—the clock hands—are pointed to nine and eleven.

  And that’s not possible.

  I tap my phone: 2:11

  I know it’s after two, because I’ve been here most of the day. I mean, time is relative…but this is absurd.

  My mother’s grandfather clock eventually died, the mustache hands stuck on one and ten. That’s the day the game stopped. This clock must be broken, or t
he battery is going dead. I tow my office chair across the office and stand on it—very carefully—to reach the clock.

  I find the backing and pull out the battery. For good measure, I turn the dials on the back to make sure the time reads anything other than the dreaded number, then I reach up to place it back on the wall.

  A knock at the door.

  “Just a minute…” I look down as Carter enters the office.

  A shot of arousal hits my bloodstream. My legs go weak, and I teeter on the chair. Carter reaches up to steady me. His hands grab hold of my thighs with purpose, as if he memorized every inch of me last night and I belong solely to him.

  He smiles that devious smile. “Glad I was here to catch you again, Ms. Montgomery.” He reaches one hand over to lock the door. The distinct click of the mechanism sliding into place sends a current of heat over my skin.

  “We don’t have an appointment today, Mr. Hensley.” I play along, barely able to keep the smile from breaking free.

  He returns his hand to my thigh. But this time, he slips his fingers beneath my skirt and slides his hands upward, his thumbs catching the hem and dragging my skirt along.

  “I have a free study period,” he says, positioning himself so that his chest is right between my thighs. “Ms. Canterbury is sick, so my fifth period calculus class got canceled. Figured we could make up our session from yesterday that I missed.”

  I bite my bottom lip as I place my hands on his shoulders. Apparently, my plan worked, and with a very favorable outcome. “You know I can’t condone you cutting class…” My words die off at the feel of his fingertips reaching the apex of my thighs; that highly sensitive area right at the seam of my panties.

  His height puts his head level with my stomach, and Carter uses his teeth to untuck my blouse. He works a pocket open as his lips seek my skin, then tenderly kisses my belly.

  My fingers curl into his hair as I find purchase to hold myself upright.

  “Your scent is all over my jacket. Did you know that?” He groans against me, the vibration eliciting a deep ache in my core. “It made me crave you all fucking day.”

  I brace my hand against the doorjamb as he hikes my skirt up farther. He dips his head lower and kisses the inside of my thigh. I have to press my lips together to keep from moaning at the salacious feel. “Carter…wait…”

  But he doesn’t stop. His mouth hovers over my thigh, the rough pads of his fingers trace upward. “I put these bruises here,” he whispers, and I know the marks he’s referring to. The imprints of his fingers, from where he grabbed my legs from behind as he drove inside me.

  My eyes seal closed as he kisses the bruises. My legs quiver with need as he moves higher, his breath touching my panties and sending an arousing pulse deep inside.

  He flicks his tongue over my clit, the material of my panties warm from his breath, and I feel myself grow wet with anticipation.

  “Still want me to wait?” he asks, making his point as he slyly slips my panties aside. “Tell me to taste you.”

  My hand grips the doorjamb. I’m scared I’ll fall…but I’m even more afraid of losing this moment between us. “Taste me,” I say, my voice breathy.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Then he has my skirt bunched up around my waist. He forcibly tugs my panties aside even more as his mouth surrounds me.

  My other hand digs into Carter’s hair as his tongue decimates my sanity. He sucks my clit into his mouth and releases, only to relentlessly flick his tongue over the swollen nub. A tingling wave of heat travels up my back, and I arch toward him on impulse.

  I hear the tantalizing sound of his zipper lowering…and then his finger sinks inside me. “God, baby, you’re so wet for me.”

  His hands go to my hips and, in one swift motion, he has me off the chair and in his arms.

  “Someone will hear us…” I wrap my legs around his waist. I stifle a gasp as he thrusts his cock along my slick lips.

  He kisses me hungrily, ignoring any protest or reason. He continues to rub the achy, needy part of me in the most provocative way, and I’m unable to deny him. Soon he has me against the wall, and I turn my head to the side to catch my breath.

  My feet are lowered to the floor where, as he grasps my waist, he looks down at me with that sexy grin. He then spins me around to face the wall. Taking hold of my wrists, Carter plants my hands against the sheetrock, the cool material dousing the heat from my palms.

  He grabs my ass and groans. “There’s my dirty girl… Kick that ass out, baby.”

  I’m hot and excited and want him…but somewhere amid the flurry of lust, there’s a part of me that feels…off. His behavior, his words, aren’t the same as the intense lovemaking we experienced the night before.

  His fingers spear into my hair at the nape of my neck, where he grabs a handful and yanks my head back. He presses the tip of his cock to my entrance and, in one hard and deep thrust, penetrates me.

  He fucks me up against the wall. No professions or adoration in his actions; he’s greedy with his desire to have me all at once, and his thrusts come harder and faster, until I can’t restrain a moan.

  His hand clamps over my mouth to smother the noise as he drives into me, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the office.

  My body tightens, and Carter shudders out a groan. “That’s it, baby… Come on my cock.”

  I surrender to his demand. He reaches down and rubs my clit as he pounds into me from behind. The moment I break against him, I feel his cock swell along my walls as he fucks me furiously.

  He buries his mouth against my shoulder and pulls out. His cock pulses against my wet pussy as he releases, still running his fingers over my clit.

  “Oh, fuck… Soak my cock, baby…”

  And I do; I come hard, relishing the guttural sound I provoke from him as my body quakes with aftershocks. His breaths are hot and heavy along the back of my neck, and I shiver at the feel.

  As Carter pushes away and zips up his pants, I tug my skirt down. For some reason, a snake of trepidation slithers through me; my subconscious aware of the tension building between us.

  I feel…used.

  But that’s absurd—I want Carter to own my body. I blink away the ache from my eyes and tuck in my shirt, my hands trembling.

  There’s a moment where I turn around and hesitation grips me at what I’ll find in his eyes—but as soon as our gazes connect, I know my fear was irrational. Of course, Carter regards me with the same worshipful awe I’ve seen so many times before.

  “Come here,” he says.

  I slink closer to him and he cups my face, placing a tender kiss to my lips. I breathe him in, the distinctive masculine and aquatic scent that is all him, and surrounds me with his comfort.

  “Meet me at Devil’s Bluff later,” I say. “I’m not sure I can wait to see you for another day.”

  He pops a kiss to my forehead before pulling away. “I’ll try.”

  My chest prickles with agitation. “Okay. Sure.” I nod a few times as he walks to the door.

  “I’ll see you,” he says, then exits the office.

  I wrap my arms around myself. For right now, we’re free of Sue and her threat. Carter and I don’t have to rush this. We can take our time, let the intensity of our feelings build.

  It’s better this way.

  Whatever it takes for us to be together, I’ll do. He doesn’t realize just how hard I’ll fight for us. Carter doesn’t have to be the fighter anymore.

  10

  Birds of a Feather

  Ellis

  There’s a balance between love and obsession. Healthy and unhealthy. But how does one know when they’ve crossed the line?

  If love feels euphoric, and obsession is a state of enrapture, how can you ever trust your feelings to know the difference?

  These questions plague me as I sit parked across the street from a mansion. My Audi is tucked behind a hedge of bushes in front of a neighbor’s yard. I’m concealed by night and ridiculous shrubbery. The t
hump of bass pulses from within the gigantic house. Throngs of people are gathered around the side and backyard. Lights dance over the pool and patio.

  A sinking feeling stirs in the pit of my stomach as I watch the house. It reminds me of my parents’ home. I hardly consider it mine, or a home, even though I grew up there. Like this one, it was all hard angles and cold stone. Beautiful and impressive, but void of character.

  My parents didn’t spend enough time there to imprint any personality. And when they died, leaving me the house and a sizable insurance payout, the first thing I did when I turned eighteen was put the house on the market.

  I sigh out a lengthy breath, releasing the memory. I check my phone before placing it in the console. According to the social media posts I’ve been following—stalking—this is Alister’s house. He’s some ex-football god/IT guru, and his place is party central just about every weekend.

  And Addison Young convinced Carter he needed to attend.

  My new world was becoming so beautiful. With a career I can embrace, and a gorgeous boy full of intensity and passion that I’m falling hard for. Everything was going fine. Sue had been away all week, as the faculty was wary of her being contagious. She didn’t become so ill that she required hospitalization…just sick enough that she earned herself a week off.

  Carter and I found ways to be together. Devil’s Bluff most evenings after school, my office during the day when desire demanded. We’ve been careful; we don’t text or call. No way to trace any connection.

  This whole past week has been a haze of ecstasy and elation. At times, I had to remind myself that it’s tangible, physical. That Carter is real; what we have is real—that I’m not delusional. A word that I loathe.

  Some nights, I open the medicine cabinet and stare at the abandoned bottle of pills. Despite how sublimely happy Carter has made me, I question whether or not I should take them. What if all this ends once I pop the little white pill? What if Ellis’s Wonderland really is a dream?