Maybe structure is exactly what I need. I can just follow my schedule day after day until it becomes my new norm. No need to think.
Hopefully, by then, I’d have fooled myself into believing there could be such a thing as normal again.
I toss the towel on the foot of my bed, snatch up my notebook, and head down the hall.
I’m halfway down when the school bell tolls.
Shit! It’s already nine?
I glance through one of the windows I pass, but it’s impossible to make out where the sun is through the stained glass.
Who would I rather not piss off: Zachary, or Sister Miriam?
Since I have no idea where Sister Miriam is—does she have an office or something?—I choose Zachary.
With my dress flapping around my knees and my hair dripping water down my neck, I sprint over the grounds and hurtle into the classroom hallway.
I remember to push the door and not pull on it this time.
One point for Miss Malone, nine-hundred ninety-seven for the universe.
Brother Zachary glances at me from the blackboard. Forest green eyes narrow. His dark hair is long but carefully brushed back from his diamond-shaped face and dimpled chin.
Oh Lord, he’s just as intense as I remember. And, like yesterday, my body reacts in the strangest way. Everything inside me goes tight and then, when I think I’m going to pass out from lack of oxygen, my lungs fill with air.
That breath calms me a little, despite how Zachary’s face hardens when he sees me.
But it does nothing for the tingle dancing between my legs.
“Late again, Miss Malone.”
My heart thumps in time with his words, as if he’s controlling my organs.
If he is, then he’s one cruel bastard.
Because as I force myself to walk across his classroom, it’s as if he slides inside me and starts toying with my guts.
I should hate him for having such an effect on me.
Instead, all I can think about is him touching me. Not with his eyes, but with his hands.
I know I’ve missed out on a lot in my sheltered life.
Playdates, sleepovers, movies at the mall.
Kissing.
Sex.
I’ve always been intrigued by the concept. What would it feel like? Who would be the one to finally deflower me?
Against all logic, I’d resisted the thought it would be with the scrawny, pimple-faced kid from our church Mom kept trying to set me up with.
My dreams had centered around someone a lot more like Zachary. Tall and handsome and charismatic in his own way.
Maybe that’s why I’m reacting like this. Since I’d started here, I’ve been bombarded with good looking boys.
Well, four, anyway.
I doubt I’d have felt the same way about anyone in this class. But it’s not just the way they look. There’s something else. At least with Brother Zachary, it’s a little more obvious. He exudes a dark aura. His steely eyes, and the way he walks like he owns the room and every stick of furniture inside it.
Even the students.
Especially me.
Every time I step into this class, it’s blatant I’m entering his domain, and I’m only here because he allows it.
Chapter Eight
Trinity
Yesterday I spent my entire Psych lesson trying to ignore the fact I was apparently head over heels in love with my teacher. Today isn’t going much better but at least I’m taking some notes.
Every time he happens to glance at me, I blush.
“…next stage, which is postnatal. Those can include neglect and what?”
It’s the quiet that drags me from my thoughts. I’ve resorted to staring at my notebook and doodling circles in the margins so I won’t catch on fire.
I look up.
Yup—everyone’s staring at me.
What now?
Reluctantly, I look over Zachary.
He’s holding a piece of chalk against the board, poised to write.
“Neglect and what?” He taps the chalk, dipping his head a little.
Dear Lord—he wants me to answer? My mouth opens as my eyes take in the diagram he’s drawn. This stuff all sounds very familiar. I’m sure Mom already went through this part of the curriculum, but for the life of me I can’t remember anything.
“I don’t know.”
My heart turns to lead when disappointment darkens his eyes.
He turns and points to one of the boys. “Eric?”
“Abuse?”
Zachary says nothing, but the tap-squeak of his chalk speaks volumes as he writes down the answer.
“Thank you, Eric. Abuse and neglect can affect genetic change during the postnatal stage of an individual’s life.”
I keep my head down for the rest of the lesson, not even daring to look up when I hear silence. Unless he calls on me directly, I’m not fuck risking it.
Thankfully, he ignores me for the rest of the lesson. By the time the bell sounds, I’m such a bundle of nerves I drop my pencil twice before I can shove it into my dress pocket. It sticks out halfway, but at least it’s got a better chance of staying in there than in my hand.
I try and merge with the boys leaving class, ridiculously assuming they’d provide camouflage.
Instead, I cause chaos.
Some of them step back to let me through the door first. Others, as if sensing Armageddon is seconds away, speed up so they can exit first. I end up getting bounced around like a pinball.
Zachary watches impassively, not even bothering to catch me when I stagger. For my own safety, I wait to the side until everyone’s left.
“A moment, Miss Malone,” Zachary says, like I knew he would.
I try and keep the door open—it’s set on a hydraulic hinge like the lunchroom—but Zachary puts his head to the side and that’s somehow a command for me to approach.
The door hisses closed.
I creep closer and try to disappear behind my notebook.
“I’m not like the others,” Zachary says.
A downright hysterical laugh escapes me before I can press my lips closed.
Zachary’s eyes darken to the green of tree shadows as he perches on the edge of his desk. “Which part of this amuses you, Miss Malone?”
I bite the inside of my lip and hope it will be enough to stop me from losing my shit. But he waits me out, so I shake my head and try to look meek.
“Is it the part where you receive penance for continuously showing up late to my class?”
Continuously? Dude, it’s the second day of my miserable stay at Saint Amos. Have a little—
“Or is it the part where you fail this class because you can’t be bothered to apply yourself?”
My face heats up. I wish I could say something, but I don’t trust myself to speak, especially since I still feel like laughing.
Who does he think he is? He’s treating me like a ten-year-old. I can’t believe I liked this guy. He’s horrible.
“I only got my schedule this morning.” The words are out before I can stop them.
Zachary tilts his head. My guts worm around in my belly at the intensity of his stare. “And your voice? Did that also just arrive?”
I just shake my head.
His eyes flicker away, as if he’s suddenly lost his patience. He stands, steps closer. “I’ll tell you again. I’m not like the others.” He bends and reaches down.