Brutal Precious
Page 44

So I suppose Jack Hunter is a pit of corrosive tar. But we already knew that.
“Objection, your honor,” Jack contributes. “I am not a pool of base acid.”
I kiss him on the cheek and stand. “I’m going to the library to taunt an animal dumber than me. Boys count.”
“Don’t encourage them,” He rolls his eyes. “They might develop a crush on you and then I’d have to end them.”
I stare pointedly. He sighs.
“Gently. And in accordance with UN humane procedure.”
Jack leans up for a kiss, and I lean down. He nibbles playfully at my bottom lip before he pulls away.
“I’ll see you later, then.”
“Your room or mine?” I ask. He smirks knowingly.
“I was thinking something a little different tonight.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I have to report to my superior,” He says. “But we’re trying to make it look as casual as possible. So she’s put me on a dinner reservation with her. If you came, I’m thinking it would look even more natural.”
“See, hell no, I’ve seen enough movies to know this is where you bring me to the CIA and they kidnap me for experimentation.”
“There’ll be no kidnapping. But there will be crème brule.”
I consider this proposal for an astonishingly lengthy two point five seconds.
“Yes.”
“Meet me in my room at eight, and wear a dress.”
“You just want to see me in a dress, perv.”
He smirks. “I want to see you in everything. And nothing.”
The library is much quieter and contains less sexiness than wherever Jack is currently, but I’ll live with it. For now, I have someone decidedly less sexy to bother.
I see her sitting at a table, studying, and slam my hands down on the opposite side. Heather jumps, dropping the book.
“Jesus Christ,” She pants. “You scared me, Isis!”
“You scared me,” I say calmly. “When you locked me in the room with the guy who raped me.”
She freezes, eyes wide and wary. “He…he what?”
“Raped me,” I repeat. Saying it now just gives me a rush of power, of reality, of assertiveness. “When I was fourteen.”
“H-He…” She bites her lip. “I didn’t know that, honestly Isis, you have to believe me. He just told me it would be a fun prank, I didn’t know –”
“Even if he didn’t do what I said he did, locking a girl in with a guy like that is bullshit, and you know it. If I catch you doing it again, to any other girl, or if I hear you did it to another girl –”
I look away thoughtfully, then back at her, smiling and holding my arm up.
“Well. I did this to myself. It looks like Shark Week in 3D. So I guess we can imagine anything I’d do when angry at someone else would be a lot worse, huh! Probably a lot bloodier, and grosser, and slightly larger chunks would be missing! How awesome is that.”
“N-Not awesome,” Heather swallows.
“Cool! So let’s agree to not make the not-awesome stuff happen, okay?”
She nods frantically, and I hum my way out of the library. This is just the warm-up. Nameless is next. Nameless has been on my list for so long, but only now do I have the strength to start plotting his ultimate demise. Only now do I have the courage to point all my dire expertise and rage at his throat. Now that I know for sure Nameless is wrong - that I’ve always been perfect and worth loving - I can fight him instead of run from him. Jack must be rubbing off on me in more ways than one; the fact I haven’t busted down Nameless’ door and shanked him yet is a clear sign I’ve learned to control my anger like a true Ice Prince. Gasp. The horror.
People say you’re supposed to love yourself on your own. And I tried. God knows I freakin’ tried for four years.
But now that I know someone loves me, it’s so much easier to grow the courage to start loving myself.
It’s not fast, and it isn’t happening all right away.
But it’s a start.
***
The only dress I brought with me to Ohio State is a green pleated dress I bought for Prom but never wore. I spent Prom at Sophia’s grave, eating cold leftover Chinese food and making flower crowns. Stuff she’ll never get to do. Jack’s in a white button-down shirt and slacks, which suddenly makes me paranoid.
“You look lovely,” He smiles, and I curtsey.
“Does this place happen to be enormously fancy?” I ask. We walk to his sedan, and I bunch my skirts up and settle in the passenger seat with the grace of a drunk hen with huge bu**ocks.
“Not especially,” He pulls out of the parking lot.
“Will I get kicked out for spilling soup on myself? Because I really enjoy spilling soup on myself, it enhances my overall life experience of being a slob.”
“As long as you don’t scream about aliens, you’ll be fine.”
“What! That is my traditional prayer to the dessert gods!”
He gives me a long look that basically translates to ‘please don’t scream about aliens’.
“Ugh, fine,” I huff. “I’ll pretend to be normal. Just don’t act surprised when I keel over and die of a pulmonary embolism. Cause: sheer boredom.”
He pulls my hand up with his free one and kisses it, smirking.
The restaurant is a small, black-glass building wedged in at the end of main street. Jack opens the door for me and I slip in, the hostess flashing me a brilliant smile and Jack an even more brilliant one. Jack asks for Vanessa’s table, and the hostess leads us through rows of dark-wood tables lit with candles to a booth. A woman with severe, short brown hair and a fancy blue silk dress on sits there, stirring an iced tea. She gets up and makes a weird forced smile as she leans in to hug me.
“It’s been so long!” She laughs, and hugs Jack in turn. We all sit, except my butt is slightly more bewildered than theirs.
“Um. Hello,” I say. “I’m Isis, and also confused.”
“Jack’s told me much about you,” Vanessa smiles. The waiter comes along, and she looks up. “Do you two want something to drink?”
“Water will be fine, thank you,” Jack says, and looks to me. I squirm.
“Um, just a coke would be good.”
The waiter nods, and Vanessa and Jack watch him retreat with eyes so sharp I’m surprised his back doesn’t start bleeding.
“Is he an informant?” Jack asks in a low voice, perusing the menu without looking at Vanessa.
“No,” Vanessa shakes her head. “But he followed me from the hotel, so we should stay alert.”
“Whoa, wait, that guy?” I hiss. “He looks way normal.”
Vanessa smiles at me. “The best ones always do. Let’s throw him off with a little boisterous conversation, shall we? How are you doing in school, Isis?”
She raises her voice a little, and I play along and mimic her.
“I’m failing Chem,” I sigh. “I hate it so much – it’s worth than Calc by a thousand times. Also, I farted during the exam, and I’m pretty sure Professor Brown knew it was me because he wrinkled his nose and sniffed a lot and gave me a C- for ‘incorrect exposition’, which is Chem teacher speak for fart, I’m pretty sure.”