The photos I took of her are fucking incredible. Her body? Jesus fucking Christ, her body. She is pure perfection. I had my fill of rail thin supermodels a long time ago. They have no flesh on their bones. Fucking them actually hurt. Chase has tits. Fucking spectacular tits. And her ass… I’d weep to lay hands on that ass again.
I would have savored the experience of fucking her a little more under normal circumstances, but my hip and back had been strobing with fucking pain—I’d almost been blind with it—and I probably would have passed out if I hadn’t come when I did.
It was still good, though.
So fucking good.
Her pussy was like a glove around me, gripping and gripping when she came. I’ve thought about that every night when I’ve gotten into bed and stroked my cock, teasing myself, drawing out the enjoyment, delaying the critical moment when I finally let myself spill all over my own stomach. Not because I’ve been waiting to see if she’ll show up or anything. No. I’m not that fucking lame. Sure, I’m open to exploring the rest of Chase’s hot little holes, but I can live without them. It’s not as if I couldn’t simply walk into Cosgroves and find something wet and tight to sink my dick into if I really wanted to.
I’m just a masochist like that. Torturing myself with the memory of that quick bout with Chase will sustain me for weeks and then some.
The Friday before school starts back up, my pain becomes manageable enough that I drive back to New York and drop my father’s remains back at Meredith’s penthouse. I come all the way back the same day. By the time we have to go back to school, I’m actually glad that I have to do something, to go somewhere, and my friends aren’t watching over me like fussy fucking hens.
I even manage a short run the morning we go back to Wolf Hall. My back and hip feel fine most of the time. I only experience a lightning bolt of pain a couple of times, but it’s not bad enough to make me stop. Showered and dressed, I wait in the driver’s seat of the Charger for Wren and Dash to make an appearance. After fifteen minutes, I lean on the horn, laughing darkly to myself as the ear-piercingly loud noise shatters the early morning quiet. The boys finally hurry out of the house and get into the car, bitching loudly about the din.
On the short ride up the mountain to the academy, everything is back to normal. We bait each other and rile each other up, pushing as many of each other’s buttons as possible before we hit the school’s extra-long, narrow driveway. Once we pull up in front of the grand, gothic masterpiece of a building, everything changes.
Elodie and Carrie are waiting for us at the top of the school’s steps. Both of them. They look so happy to see my friends that a body-wide shudder travels from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. I’ve never seen anything so pathetic in all of my life. Wren smiles when he gets out of the backseat and Elodie jumps into his arms. Sitting next to me in the front passenger seat, Dash has the sense not to do or say anything that might make me puke all over myself…until he gets out of the car and Carrie folds herself neatly into his arms. He kisses the top of her head, and I have officially had enough. I vault up the stairs, cursing very loudly, very angrily, keen on putting space between myself and the vile harpies who have stolen my friends’ hearts.
“Morning, Pax! Great to see you, too!” Elodie shouts after me. Naturally, I feign deafness. I’ve forgiven the girl for putting me on my ass out in the woods that one time, but I will never forgive her for what she’s done to our house. Carrie caused the first cracks to appear in our daily status quo, but it wasn’t until Elodie showed up that the entire thing was razed to its foundations.
I bail on English.
Great way to kick off our return to school, but better to bear the brunt of an ass-chewing for missing class than having to sit through an hour of Wrelodie and Cash swooning all over one another; I just don’t have the stomach for it.
Instead, I head to the labs.
The place is deserted, in total darkness. No students. No Ananya. I wouldn’t have minded if she was here, though. Ananya Laghari, Wolf Hall’s photography teacher, is relatively cool, all things considered. She’s an amazing photographer. Honestly, I’m surprised Harcourt hired her, having seen some of her shots. They’re controversial. Her commentary on vice, capitalism, and racism doesn’t pull any punches, and Wolf Hall’s board of directors aren’t exactly known for their liberal political views.
I set to work, developing some film. Some other film, that doesn’t have naked Chase on it. Once my images have emerged onto the photo paper, I hang them to dry and settle in for the wait, finally checking my schedule. Next class is Econ. My housemates aren’t in that class, and neither is Carrie. Elodie is. We don’t speak unless Wren’s around, and even then I do everything I can to avoid communicating with her. I probably won’t even know that she’s in the class.
Once the glossy photo paper is dry and set, I pack up all of my gear and make my way over to my scheduled class. As I hoped, when Elodie arrives, she sits herself on the other side of the room, closer to the door, and doesn’t even spare me a sideways look.
The class fills up. Students take their seats. Professor Radley shows up, flustered as usual and with a splat of toothpaste on his tie. And then something wholly weird happens. The classroom door opens…and in walks Chase.
Her hair is tied back into little space buns on top of her head, and she’s wearing a long-sleeved maroon sweater and black, torn jeans. Her features are unmistakable to me now: bright, alert, warm eyes. A fine, perfectly straight nose with the tiniest upturn at the end. High cheekbones, and an elfin, pointed chin. Her cheeks are flushed red, like she’s been out in the cold, even though it’s hotter than Satan’s ball sack outside. She’s wearing black eyeliner, and a gold chain around her neck that hangs over her sweater.
I do a double take, and then a triple take, but reality doesn’t right itself; the girl remains right where she’s standing, in the doorway of my Econ class, the image of her solidifying somehow, becoming more and more real even as I try to blink her away.
What the hell is she doing here?
“Ahhh, Presley. Good. Take your seat and let’s get started.”
Chase does sit down. One row ahead of me, one chair over to the right. No one complains that she’s stealing their friend’s seat. No one reacts to her sitting there at all.
I stare stupidly at Professor Radley, awash with the strange sensation of betrayal. He isn’t acting surprised at all, and he should be because Presley is not in this class.
I liked when she showed up at Riot House and I fucked her. I like being able to look at that raw, vulnerable, borderline pornographic photos of her, hanging in my closet. But now she’s here, in my class?
Professor Radley notices the big white smear of toothpaste on his tie at last and huffs, dabbing at it ineffectively with a paper napkin. “Uhhh, where did we leave off, guys?” he mutters. “A Red Vine to the first person who can refresh my memory.”
“Aggregate demand. And…fiscal policy,” Chase says, absently flipping through her textbook.
She doesn’t stutter. Doesn’t flinch.
I think about launching out of my chair and yelling, “INTRUDER!” at the top of my lungs. I resist, but the accusation bounces around inside my head like a shotgun blast. This girl is an intruder. She doesn’t belong here. She’s invading my personal space. She’s stealing my fucking peace. And she looks so unlike herself. There is definitely something different about her. I knew there was the other day when she came over, but the change is highlighted in her now a million-fold. She’s normally so stiff. So quiet. So small. When she walked into the room just now, she carried herself upright. There was a cool confidence about her that she didn’t possess before. It’s still there, buzzing around her like some weird energy field, as she gazes thoughtfully down at her textbook.