If he only knew. Phoebe knew, and she’d gladly pass my details on to anyone who I’d hooked up with just to fucking spite me. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing anybody at my house with me. She’d been the only one to go there, and that was a mistake I’d never make again. I should never have let her in that night. She took something that didn’t belong to her, and I’d hated myself since. I should’ve told her to fuck off; I should’ve ignored her knocking.
I was so over this bullshit. I never asked for the attention—I never fucking wanted it. I just wanted to be left the hell alone and for everyone else to mind their own goddamn business. I needed to come up with something—anything—that made that happen. Quitting fighting wasn’t an option.
“I just wanna go home,” I said, leaning my head back on the seat rest. “I need to ice my hands.” I also needed to sleep for a fucking week.
Kinsley
I fucking hated this place already.
I crunched the paper in my hand and walked out of the admin’s office of the fucking community college I’d transferred to. The only place that wasn’t concerned about the shit that had happened where I was before.
I had no place being here; it wasn’t supposed to be this way. I belonged somewhere else, not here; back home. I wasn’t supposed to be the one that was sent away, but the fucked up system decided it was better if I was the one that was kicked out.
“Where the fuck am I supposed to go?” I asked out loud, though there was nobody there, just how I liked it—lately, anyway.
“Miss. Jensen, you need to slow down!” a feminine voice called out. “Do you know where you’re going?”
I looked over my shoulder. “To see the dean.”
“You’re going in the wrong direction,” the short lady said.
I stopped, and she walked toward me, her graying brunette hair swishing about her jawline. When she halted, her sharply cut bob stopped too. “Her office is next to the administration—” she thumbed over her shoulder—“right there.”
My shoulders dropped. “Oh.” I was too quick to get out of there that I hadn’t noticed it.
“Come on,” she said, smiling sweetly at me. “I’ll walk with you, honey.”
“Thanks, but you don’t have to,” I replied, eager to just get the hell on with the questioning I was about to receive so it could be done with already.
“Oh, honey, I don’t mind—not at all,” she shot back and gently patted my arm. “I want to make sure your first day here goes smoothly. We wouldn’t want you to regret choosing our college now.” Her quiet chuckle put me at ease a little.
As we approached the closed door of the dean’s office, a roar in the distance sounded. Quiet at first, but grew louder with every passing second until it seemed like it was right outside.
When the sound reached its deafening peak, it stopped, causing a deathly silence to fall in the dull hallway.
Sunlight shone through the square glass windows of the entrance doors down the light-beige hall, the frosted glaze obscuring whoever was approaching. One of the doors opened, and a figure walked in, black jeans ripped at both knees, ending at a pair of black shoes or boots—I couldn’t tell.
I never bothered to see what the person looked like—I didn’t care at that point— so when I turned to my escort, her wide-eyed expression had my curiosity piqued.
I turned my head back to see that the person was closer to us, their deep-red shirt covering the top of their jeans at the waist. I let my gaze move up, over a black leather jacket, and further.
Dark hair fell over a tan face, bruises dotting in places, and a black eye—the other slightly reddened—took center stage.
“Mrs. Montgomery,” the person said, his voice low and a little rough like he’d just woken up.
“Mr. Dexter,” she replied, her tone clipped. “Tardy, I see.”
My eyes fell to his mouth, the corner quirking up into a smirk, which revealed a split in his full lower lip.
He continued to look straight ahead. “You missed me,” he said without stopping or glancing at her. “How lovely.”
When he got further down the hallway, Mrs. Montgomery released a breath. “So much for an uneventful day,” she sighed, then smiled wide at me as though just remembering I was there.
I lifted my hand slightly to point in the direction the tall guy had gone. “Do a lot of students come in looking like that?” It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest. I hadn’t heard anything about this college, good or bad, but my mom had insisted I applied. She’d told me that the courses were what I had already signed up for at Crosshall, and the classes were much smaller, meaning I’d have more attention from the professors.
Mrs. Montgomery shook her head. “Fortunately, no,” she replied, her shoulders sagging as though relieved. “That boy is… Well, I shouldn’t talk about other students, so let’s get you where you need to be.”
Before I could say anything, she raised her hand and rapped her knuckles against the dark-wood door, underneath the shiny silver plate bearing the dean’s name.
“Come in,” a sharp toned voice said from inside.
Mrs. Montgomery turned the highly polished doorknob and opened the door. “Miss. Jensen’s here to see you.” She ushered me inside when the dean waved me in. “If you need anything, Kinsley, just call into the office anytime.” She beamed once, then left me standing in the tidy, yet outdated looking office.
“Kinsley Jensen,” the dean said, gesturing to the dark-brown chair in front of her huge mahogany desk. “Please, take a seat.” I sat down in the uncomfortable chair, no doubt purposely put there so people would be more than happy to spend no longer than absolutely necessary in that room. I related to that. “I’m Dean Beaufort.” She tucked her blonde hair behind her ear, the style similar to Mrs. Montgomery’s. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too,” I replied, although it wasn’t. I shouldn’t have been there in the first place.
“Good.” She smiled warmly, and I instantly regretted thinking bad of her. “I know the circumstances surrounding your transfer here are sensitive in nature.” She nodded as she spoke.
Sensitive?
“Ridiculous, you mean,” I shot back.
Dean Beaufort’s brows shot up. “However,” she said, making it sound like two words, immediately letting me know to be careful of my words, “I must assure you that any incidents, regardless of severity, will be actioned against to the highest degree. Am I clear?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” Of course, I hoped I knew, because it’d be pretty shitty if somebody caused a shit storm and got away with it… Again.
She smiled again. “Our policies, from what you’re used to, might be relaxed in some ways, but we, like others, won’t take rule-breaking lightly.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” I agreed so she’d get off my back. I knew exactly what she was trying to say, and no matter how many times I’d explained what had happened back at Crosshall, I was still seen as a troublemaker.
Mrs. Beaufort tapped some keys on her modern computer, a stark contrast in her old-style office, complete with dark bookcases filled with musty looking hardbacks. It was definitely older than her. She looked to be in her fifties, with the decor more fitting for the early 20th century. Smelled like it too.