If Dimitri expects me to listen, I’ll need answers.
Like, why? Why is he so insistent I quit the Roaring before it has even begun? Why does he express such a keen interest in me, of all people? Is it because of who my father is?
Dimitri tilts his head to the side as he examines me as thoroughly as I examine him. Finally, he reaches into his desk and procures a heavy textbook. “There’s a new class starting tomorrow at nine in the morning. It’s designed to focus on the analytical side of the Roaring. I, of course, will be teaching it, and I expect you to attend.” His tone brooks no room for argument, but of course, being the smartass I am, I can’t help but complain a teensy tiny bit.
“I have class that hour,” I say immediately, attempting to hand him back the textbook. “I can’t just skip—”
“You can and you will.” He levels me with a no-nonsense glare, the message clear enough.
He will not put up with my shit.
“Fine,” I concede at last, shoving the book into my backpack. “Is that all?”
The smirk on his face bodes trouble for me. “Remember, Violet, that there is a difference between a sociopath and a psychopath. The one similarity?” His smile grows until twin dimples appear on both his cheeks. “You can’t trust either.”
I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror as I dab blush onto my cheeks. Hopefully, I don’t look like a fucking clown. My eyes automatically flicker to Cynthia’s deserted bed, as they always do when I have a joke I want to say. My stomach tightens into knots when I see that it’s, once again, empty.
Dammit, I actually miss the girl. A lot. Who knew I would grow so attached to a female with a retractable vagina and five sets of tits?
Shaking my head vehemently, I turn towards the dress I have draped over the bed. It’s a tiny black number with spaghetti straps and a belt cinched around the waist. On me, the hem ends just above my knees, still modest, but showcasing my long legs.
I slip it on, loving how soft it feels against my skin. I have forgone a bra, but decided underwear was necessary, given how short it is.
I complete the ensemble with a silver bat necklace I got from Dracula himself. My blonde curls tumble around my shoulders, the white highlights heightening the golden locks. I feel beautiful. Sexy, even.
Confident.
I can’t help but smile at my reflection and see her smile back at me. Her eyes are alight with happiness. The shadows that once plagued her are nowhere to be seen. Sure, they still make a periodic appearance like pesky weeds, but they’re no longer completely consuming me.
A knock on the door startles me, and I grab my clutch off my bedside table.
“Coming! I hope you’re—”
My words trail off when, instead of Frankie at the door as I expected, I see Cynthia. The Woman in White has her dark hair loose today, cascading around her shoulders in snarly waves. She wears a flowy white dress that tightens around her breasts before sweeping outwards at her waist. Her pale skin has undertones of yellow and dusky brown, a common trait in all banshees.
“Violet,” she says stiffly.
“Cynthia.” I fold my arms over my chest and step away to let her inside. Despite not sleeping in here the last few days, it’s still her room. She hasn’t officially made a request with the registrar’s office to switch roommates.
“I’m just picking up a few of my things,” she declares as she stalks to her closet, ripping it open and grabbing a white dress off its hanger. It’s the exact same color and style of the dress she has on. Pretty sure it’s the only thing she owns. She haphazardly tosses the dress over her arm and turns to stare at me. Her eyes give me an assessing once-over before she nods sharply. “You look cute.”
“Thanks,” I say sincerely, shocking even myself. Shouldn’t I be more pissed at her? She gave the assholes at school my sex doll in order to create a life-sized Violet piñata. At the same time, I hurt her initially by accusing her of murder and being obsessed with me. The entire thing is fucked up, yes, but I do believe she feels guilty for the part played at the Halloween party. I have caught her looking at me a few times, concern emanating from her eyes.
“Don’t mention it.” She waves my praise away dismissively before nibbling on her lower lip. “Do you have a…a date?”
I smile softly, smoothing down the skirt of the dress. “Yes.”
“Is it Mason?” She tries to sound nonchalant, but her voice tightens marginally at the question. According to Dimitri Gray—stalker extraordinaire—Cynthia is in love with my snake-headed boyfriend—maybe boyfriend? She hasn’t said anything to me about it, and I haven’t pressed, but the heartache in her eyes is clear enough to see. Shit on a stick.
“With Frankie,” I say, and her shoulders instantly sag in relief.
“That’s good,” she blurts out. “I mean, I think you’ll be good for him.”
“But…” I rock back on my heels, debating what I’m going to say. On one hand, I don’t want to hurt Cynthia, despite our rocky past. But on the other… “I’m sort of seeing Mason, Vin, Jack, and Hux as well.” When she merely stares at me, mouth agape, I take a tentative step forward. “It’s still new and very, very complicated. And the last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you—”
“I see,” Cynthia says stiffly. Movements robotic, she turns on her heel and makes a beeline for the still open door.
“Cynthia!” I plead.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” She pauses in the doorway, but she doesn’t make a move to turn back towards me. “It’s what I expected anyway.”
“What you expected…?” Before she can leave completely—and, consequently, leave my life completely—I grab her arm and wrench her to an abrupt halt. At least, that’s what I attempt to do. Instead, I pull her arm straight out of its socket and awkwardly hold it before me, eyes wide with horror.
Still, it has the desired effect. Cynthia stops moving and reluctantly turns to face me.
“Can I please have my arm back?”
“No,” I say stubbornly, coming quickly to a decision. I hide the arm behind my back and take a step away. “Not until you tell me what you meant.”
“It doesn’t fucking matter—”
“It does so matter. You matter. And I won’t have you placing your worth on any guy’s affection. Cynthia, you’re so much more than one guy’s opinion of you. You’re funny, sweet, and have an amazing set of tits.” Her lips twitch at my poor attempt at a joke, but she keeps her face blank. “Mason and I…we’re complicated, but I care about him. A lot. I care about all of them.”
“Why do you get one hundred guys pining after you while I get none?” Cynthia explodes, throwing her hand up in the air. I wince at the venom in her voice before forcing myself to relax. It’s what I wanted, after all. A conversation.
“That’s not true,” I begin helplessly, but she whirls on me, eyes spewing anger.
“Don’t play dumb, Violet, because I know you’re not. You’re beautiful and funny and smart, and you have half the guys at this school eating out of your hand. Even that cupid and boogeyman are in love with you, but you’re too dumb to see it.” She takes a step closer until we’re nose-to-nose. Hers is bent at an unnatural angle, and I wonder if it’s possible for me to buy her a new one. I’m pretty sure it’s not a gift I can get off of Amazon.