by Grace Davies
After those three days I joined back into my classes, first of which was English. Getting there early, I informed Professor Sharama that due to my injury I was required to sit alone, able to keep it elevated. However true it was, it allowed me to get away from Roman, though not completely. He spent every class looking over at me, desperation in his eyes, clearly trying to get my attention for what I do not know. To apologize? Unlikely. He probably wanted to gloat at the visible damage he did to my ankle. Speaking of visible damage, he was walking round sporting a spectacular black eye from my punch. I felt a twitch of guilt inside me whenever I saw him but he had it coming, talking to me the way he did. No one talks to me that way. The rest of the first week was just spent dodging Roman as much as possible, he called my name a few times but I pretended not to hear him: though I always hear him.
The second week I felt more myself.
I still wasn’t up to talking to the girls much so I spent a lot of my time down in the kitchens helping my mum. I briefly told her what happened but not the full story. I don’t think she’d be all too proud knowing I punched the great great great grandson or whatever of the dude who built the school. I really knuckled down with my school work the second week, spent a great deal of time in the library making sure my assignments were as perfect as they could be. Even Professor Montgomery was impressed with my progress in Math, so I must be doing something right.
Week three is this week.
My ankle is almost healed now, just a couple more days according to Nurse Bertha. I’ve joined the girls for meals in the hall this week rather than sneakily eating them with my mum in the kitchen’s. Today is Friday: exactly three weeks since the night with Roman. I didn’t have many lessons today, just History of Western Philosophy and French this morning. I’ve decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in the dance studio perfecting my dancing if I have any chance of getting on that team Professor Brennan mentioned. I rush through dinner with the girls before taking off and heading to the dance studio. I quickly change into my leotard and enter the studio. I plug in my phone and click shuffle, Blackout by Freya Ridings floods the room. I breathe in the lyrics, the music travelling through my body, expressed in various movements. I dance like I’ve never danced in my life: a passe here, a triple pirouette into a double pique there; I completely lose myself in the movement. Though I feel a small sting in my ankle, I feel so free. Free of everything that has been clouding my mind for weeks: free of Roman, of Principal Foundry, of this school. All there is at this moment in time is me, this music and my movements. I roll to the ground as the music fades. I feel a presence creeping around the door, setting me on edge. A shiver ripples through my body but I keep my eyes shut for a few moments as the next song begins to play. I tell myself I’m imagining things, having a quick breather before launching myself into another routine. Everything is good.
***
After a few hours in the studio, I run back to my dorm to change. I decide on a cropped knitted jumper and black skater skirt. Covering my legs with thick tights and pulling on some chunky boots, I grab my glasses and book before heading out to my tree. It’s been three weeks, there’s no way Roman will be there, right?
I make it to the tree and position myself in my usual spot and begin to read. I really have missed my little sanctuary, it really does calm me when things get too much. I spend a good half an hour reading, lost in the tumultuous romance of Cathy and Heathcliff before a noise disrupts me. I’m half way through my reread when I hear a twig snap behind me. I drop my book, whipping my head round to see where it came from. Please don’t let it be him, I silently pray.
“Hey.” I recognize the voice instantly. Roman.
Chapter Ten
The deal of acquaintances
“Hey,” his voice slices through me. I can sense his apprehension in the single word. He’s clearly worried I’ll hit him again.
I lift my head from my book and lock eyes with him. I intended to say something but all words vanished from my brain the minute his green irises met mine. I avert my gaze quickly and return to my book. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll leave me alone. That thought is instantly squashed when I feel him sit down next to me, rather closely I might add.
I feel him peer over my shoulder slightly, but I refuse to look at him. “Wuthering Heights, your favourite.” My heart speeds up, he remembered my favourite book. I desperately try to suppress my smile as I remember I’m beyond mad at him. Ignore it Millie, ignore him.
“As if you remember my favourite book,” I mutter under my breath.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past three weeks,” I notice his head dip slightly as he talks.
“Why did you want my attention?” I still don’t allow myself to look at him though I am much more aware of his presence now.
“To apologize. I really shouldn’t have snapped at you when you were checking up on me, you were only trying to be kind. I shouldn’t have called you a guttersnipe either, I know that now. I’ve been spending hours here, at this tree every day since that night. I’ve been coming straight after my final lesson and sitting here until dinner just in hope I might catch you. I realize now that was a stupid plan, why would you come if you thought there was a chance I was here?” I hear the sadness in his voice.
He’s been sitting here every day for three weeks, just so he could hopefully see me. Something about that fills my heart but breaks it all the same. I close my book slowly and take a deep breath before turning to face him. He looks up at me through his lashes, his head pointing the ground.
“You found me,” I say deadpan.
“You moved in English,” he states. He really wants to talk about English right now.
“Yeah I had to keep my foot elevated so it was best to sit on my own.” And I couldn’t stand to sit near you, my subconscious adds.
“How is your ankle by the way?” His hand gently caresses my ankle before he realizes what he’s doing and quickly snatches his hand away. “Sorry,” he mutters.
“It’s a lot better thank you. Far better than it was three weeks ago.”
“I’m so sorry Millicent. I’ve been a major jerk to you, ever since you started here, all because you were different. People only know what they’re taught and here we’ve all been taught that money means everything. I didn’t realize how much pain what I say could cause until I watched you run away from me despite the severe torture you clearly felt. That is when it hit me.”
“What hit you?” I tilt my head to the side in question.
“You mean besides you?” He lets out a small chuckle.
I bow my head in shame. “Maybe I should apologize for that. Even though you was being a jerk no one deserves to be hit, I’m sorry for lashing out.”
“Hey don’t worry about it,” he shrugs.
“No, I really shouldn’t have done it, its pained me ever since especially seeing you walk around with that giant bruise for weeks.’ I sigh, picking at my nails as I do when I feel guilty. ‘You took it so well too, you didn’t even yell in pain, how?”
“I’m used to it,” he says with shrug. Wait, what? “Anyway, as I was saying, when I watched you run away in agony I realized I don’t have to be horrible to people just because they’re different to me. We’re all people and everyone deserves to be treated as such, not like animals just because they may not be as fortunate as me. I realized just because my dad thinks in a certain way doesn’t mean I need to copy him. So, from now on I’m going to try my best to make it up to people who I’ve hurt, it make take a while but I want to be a better person.”
Wow. When Roman sat next to me, I never thought it would lead to such a revelation. I’m truly shocked at his change of heart but all I can think about is what he said first. I’m used to it. What is that supposed to mean?
“Millicent, you’ve been quiet for a really long time. Are you okay? Do you want me to leave?”
“What did you mean by you’re used to it?”
“That’s not important.” He dismisses me quickly.
I decide to drop it for now. “I was quiet for so long because I’m shocked by your change of heart. I mean it’s great that you’ve realized your actions have consequences but sometimes the damage is already done. Also how are you going to change when you continue to surround yourself with people like Charles and Charity?”
“Has the damage already been done with you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I really am sorry Millicent, truly. I will stay away from you from now on. We no longer sit together in English so you don’t have to speak to me then and I’ll stop coming to the tree, you need the peace more than I do. I know when I’m not wanted, I’ll go now. I just wanted to say, I saw you dancing in the studio earlier, you were amazing.” So, he was the presence I sensed. He stands up to leave but my hand reaches up to grab his, stopping him.
“You really hurt me but you don’t have to stop coming to the tree and avoid me completely. We can share the tree, you looked like you could use it too. Also, I’m not fully blameless, I did hit you and say some awful things in retaliation.”
“Please don’t blame yourself, it’s all my fault.”
“What’s this? A game of who hurt who the most,” I laugh trying to diffuse the tension.
He returns the laugh, sitting back down and removing his hand from mine.
“So if you don’t want me to completely ignore you, do you want to try being friends? I understand if you don’t, I wouldn’t forgive me if I was yo-” I cut him off.
“Friends seems an interesting idea. We’ll say acquaintances working up to becoming friends.”
“Acquaintances working up to becoming friends.” He agrees with a smile. “Since I’m now your acquaintance, do I have the right to call you Millie or would you prefer Miss Anders.”
“I quite like Miss Anders, sounds official. No, I will give you the permission to call me Millie despite not officially being my friend. I will revoke that privilege however if you do something to hurt me again, so remember you’ve been warned.”
“I swear on my heart I will never willingly hurt you again and will continue to treat you with the upmost respect, buddy.” He holds his hand to his heart as if making a pledge. I cringe at his use of ‘buddy’, rolling my eyes when he laughs at me.
“So, do you mind me asking why you came to the tree the other week? You seemed upset, not that I’m trying to pry.” I look at him hopefully. I doubt he’ll tell me but I’m curious. “Does it have anything to do with what you were saying earlier about your dad?” I don’t ask him what I really want to. I want to ask if it had anything to do with his ‘I’m used to it’ comment.
“I’m not revealing that any time soon, that is more personal than I like to share.” He evades eye contact with me but grabs my book from my lap flicking through the pages. “So, what’s this book about anyway?”
I go into a long-detailed explanation, including all levels of analysis and all the spoilers you can imagine, I have issues with that. I can tell he’s struggling to keep up with my ramblings but he still looks interested. I never thought I’d be friendly with Roman Kingsbury, but here we are. I still haven’t forgiven him completely but I could tell he was sorry and that he means well. Something about him intrigues me: the way he’s always in formal, long-sleeved, clothing; the way there’s a hint of something behind his eyes, perhaps fear, but am unable to put my finger on it; the way he talks about his father; his lack of reaction when I hit him and his comment. There is something about him, something that I will eventually uncover.
“What are all these coloured tab thingys for?” He runs his finger across the multiple coloured tabs sticking out from the top of my book.
“They each stand for something different. For example: yellow is parts I love, funny parts are tagged in pink, blue equals sadness obviously, etc. It’s just something I like to do as well as highlight my favourite lines and passages.” I show him the various sections of yellow throughout the novel.
“What a nerd,” he mocks me light-heartedly. I glare at him but can’t help smile. “You gonna read then?”
“What? Just sit and ignore you? Bit rude isn’t it, but then again fine by me.”
“No, I mean are you going to read to me?”
“HA!” A loud laugh escapes my throat. “You can’t be serious?”
“Why not? Isn’t this a friendly thing to do?”
“No, it’s a weird thing to do.”
“Just read to me,” he demands. “Please?” He adds with pleading eyes. “Millie.” He knows I’ve given in the minute he calls me Millie. Something about how it sounds coming from him makes my heart race. I scold myself for feeling such a way. He’s not even a friend, he doesn’t make me feel any way in particular. Right?
“Fine. But you better listen because I’m not reading it over and over again just for you.”
“Of course, ma’am.” He shuffles down the tree slightly getting into a comfortable position closing his eyes, the smell of his aftershave filling my senses as I begin to read.
This is one strange friendship, if you’d even call it that, but who knows it may work out? But then again this is Kingsbury Prep when does anything ever go right here?
Chapter Eleven
The invitation of a parent’s event
Last night was the best, most unexpected night I have had here at Kingsbury Prep. I spent close to two hours retelling the tumultuous relationship of Cathy and Heathcliff to Roman underneath my tree, our tree. It seems selfish calling it my tree when he’s spent as much time as I have there, if not more. He sat in comfortable silence as I read, the words floating off the page and surrounding us. I could tell he was a little lost at times, due to us starting on chapter four, but he never complained. He just sat there, resting against the trunk of the tree, drinking in my every word. After I paused my reading, we had light conversation, grilling each other on our favourite things.
“You know mine, so what’s your favourite book?” I asked him with genuine intrigue.
“Catcher in the Rye. What’s your favourite movie?” His turn in our random game of 20 questions.
“Probably, Perks of Being a Wallflower or Sixteen Candles. What’s your favourite item of clothing?”
“My ring,” he flashed his green band situated on his right ring finger, an unreadable look in his eyes. “What’s the one thing you really want to know?”
I paused, contemplating his question. What was it I most wanted to know? I had many: what happened at Knightsbridge with my mother and the eldest son; who’s my father; or just something about my father, was he a nice man? All these questions flew through my head but I couldn’t help but linger on the most recent question I’ve been dying to know the answer to: what did Roman mean by he’s used to it? That comment has plagued me ever since he said it, baring in mind it’s only been a few hours. It won’t leave my mind.
“Earth to Millie,” Roman waved his hand in front of my face, grabbing my attention.
“Sorry. There’s so many things, it’s hard to pick just one.” I evaded eye contact with him. “I probably most like to know something about my father, not who he is, I don’t care that much, I’d just like to know if he was a good person, do I look like him? You know stuff like that.”
“I figured that would be your topic of choice, why did you have to think for so long?”
“There was something else I’d love to know but I don’t think I should ask it.” I hesitate.
“Is it something to do with the other night?”
“Yeah,” I looked down at my feet, feeling stupid for bringing it up.
“I thought it would be.”
“You don’t need to tell me,” I’ve realised with Roman I need to tread carefully.
“I will one day, I promise you that.”
I returned to my dorm content and rather away with the fairies I might add. All the girls were asleep by the time I got back so I got changed as silently as p
ossible and slipped into bed, the crisp sheets instantly cooling my heated body. I fell asleep replaying the images of the past few hours in my head, remembering how sorry Roman sounded, how I felt dizzy when he sat so close to me.
To think I hated him merely days ago, thinking he was the most privileged and obnoxious prick in the world to then lying there in bed, butterflies dancing in my stomach when I thought of him: who would’ve guessed it. Looking at it now, I need to be careful. I need to not go into the friendship for lack a of better word with hopes of it turning romantic. I’m damaged goods, as Roman appears to be, both of us with our anger issues, we would tear each other to shreds. Also Roman has only shown that he can be a better person in front of me privately, who knows if he’ll keep it up in front of his posse. I can’t help but wonder though, what it would feel like to actually be more than friends with Roman Kingsbury? I shake the thought out of my head immediately. Yes, he may be trying to become a better person but he is still a Kingsbury. He’s still a part of one of the richest families in the world and I am just a nobody.
I breathe a heavy sigh before lifting myself out of bed, preparing to start a brand-new day as an acquaintance to Roman Kingsbury. I slip into my uniform, grabbing my books for the day and head down to breakfast with the girls. We enter the dining hall and it is riveting with sound. Every table seems to be chatting anxiously, as though awaiting a special announcement. We take a seat out our designated table when Principal Foundry walks in, commanding silence as he stomps through the hall.