by Mae Doyle
Chapter Eleven
I can’t keep the anger I feel towards Professor Thiel from showing up in my painting. My movements are slashes, and every time I stroke the brush across the canvas, I imagine that I’m slashing and cutting his perfectly chiseled face.
His, or Quinn’s.
I’d take either one right now, honestly. All day I’ve felt a terrible pent-up energy in me that I can’t quite shake. Sighing, I mix a dark red and turn back to my canvas. Instead of getting to work on my painting this weekend, I was repeating my accounting project and working on my apology letter to Quinn. Professor Thiel will probably tell me how I did on my project tomorrow, but until then, I want to just live down here and work.
Before I can touch my brush to my canvas, though, the curtain behind me is whipped open. Quinn enters and walks around me to look at my work.
“Sucks that you weren’t able to work on it this weekend, Abigail. Because, damn, you need some help.”
Just his voice and being this close to him makes me shiver. I don’t want to give him the benefit of looking at him, so I keep my eyes firmly locked on my canvas. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. My painting needs a hell of a lot of work, and not being able to work on it all weekend like the rest of the class put me at a huge disadvantage.
“Well, maybe if the asshole of the school would leave me alone then I’d be able to get more work done. Didn’t you call yourself a god, Quinn? I would think that a real god wouldn’t have the time needed to fuck with people’s lives.”
“Oh, Abigail, then you don’t understand how gods really work.” He reaches out and swipes a bit of paint from my canvas, turning to me and rubbing his fingers together before leaning forward and wiping them on my smock. I swear, even though layers of fabric, I can feel the heat from his finger burning to my skin.
“See, real gods, like me, we like to make sure that people have interesting lives. And you, Abigail, your life is just so damn interesting to me.” He pauses and looks back at my painting before continuing. “I just don’t think that you understand what you’ve done by coming here.”
“And what is that?” My heart is pounding in my chest, but I need to know what he’s talking about. It’s fucked up enough that he thinks he’s a god, but for him to make it sound like I made a mistake coming to Trinity Prep? Well, he doesn’t understand then that being here is the best bet for me to become somebody.
I need this internship.
He can buy his way into any art gallery that he wants, but I can’t. I have to get there with determination and hard work, and I need the help of Stanfield if I’m going to achieve my dreams.
“You really don’t get it, do you? You’re not bad, Abigail.” Quinn reaches out and takes my paintbrush from me, adjusting the part of the painting I was working on. I hold my breath, sure that he’s going to ruin it all on purpose, but he has a light touch and fixes the part I’ve been struggling with. “In fact, some people here may say that you’re quite good. The problem is that only one student can be the best, and that has to be me.”
“It has to be you? What the hell do you mean by that?”
He rolls his eyes and drops my paintbrush onto the table. “I mean, Abigail, that I’ve been bred and groomed for this. You haven’t. That means that you have no idea what’s expected of you, and I do. I can survive in this life, and you can’t. You can’t even write a fucking apology letter correctly the first time.”
“I did write it correctly. You’re an ass, you know that, Quinn?” He’s in between me and my painting, and I’m afraid that if I move towards him he’ll do something drastic, like ruin my work. I can’t have that, so I stand still, my heart fluttering uselessly like a trapped bird.
“No, you wrote what you felt, Abigail, and nobody gives a shit about that. You want to know how you can survive here and in the real world? I’ll show you. I’ll show you what you have to expect and what you have to be able to take if you’re going to make it. Because you may be good, little Abigail, but I’m better, and I’m not going to let you take the fucking internship from me, do you understand?”
He slams his hand down onto the table, making my jar of turpentine rattle. I jump for it, grabbing it before it can fall over, and glare up at him.
“I hate you.”
He laughs, a loud sound that echoes around my workspace. I’m sure that everyone in the art department can hear it, but he doesn’t care, so neither do I. “Sure, hate me, Abigail. Hate me for telling you the truth. You think that you can hack it out in the real world? You think that you can handle the internship? I guaran-fucking-tee that you won’t even be able to survive the rest of the year here.”
“Is that a bet?” The words are out of my mouth before I even know what I’m saying. The last time that I made a bet I fucked up bad. I know it. He knows it.
His eyes widen and he reaches out to stroke my hair. I want to pull away from him, but part of me wants to lean into his touch.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“You want to make another bet with me?” Chuckling, Quinn leans back away from me and crosses his arms over his chest. “Let me tell you something, Abigail. I don’t make bets with people unless they’ve already paid up on prior bets. So…are you saying that you’re begging me to fuck you? Right here? Right now?”
The blood drains from my face and I reach out for the table for support. “That’s not what I’m saying.” I shake my head. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Damn shame.” He slides his eyes up and down my body. He’s already seen…well, almost all of me, but it still makes me shiver when he looks at me like that. Like he wants to see what else I have to offer him. “I can’t wait until you’re ready for me. Until you beg me.”
He turns and sweeps away through the curtain, leaving me standing alone in front of my painting.
***
I don’t even realize how late the afternoon is getting before I finally sigh and put down my brush. Everyone else in the class left a long time ago, but I was determined to stay as late as possible so that I could catch up from the weekend.
I may be down, but I’m definitely not out, no matter what Quinn may think. Giving my brushes a quick swish through the turpentine, I cover my oils, take off my smock, and leave my painting. Slipping through the hanging curtains, I pause for a moment, enjoying the smell and the silence of the art department.
This is the first time that I’ve been down here by myself, and it feels surreal to be surrounded by so much talent. It takes all of my control not to peek in on some of the other paintings, but I don’t want to see what other people are working on.
Not yet, anyway. Not until I’ve had more time to work on my painting and I feel a bit more comfortable with how far I’ve come.
There are still lights on in the art department, which is kinda odd since I’m pretty sure that I’m the last one here. Slowly I make my way through the curtains, winding my way to the front of the room where I’m pretty sure I’ve seen the light switches before.
I’m about to duck through the final curtain when I hear talking. The first voice is obviously Quinn’s. I’d know the deep way it thrums through my body anywhere, but I can’t tell who else is talking. Slowly I part the curtain and peek through, but I can’t see them.
They must be by Quinn’s painting. I could leave the art department and whoever it is would never know that I was here, but I want to know who Quinn is talking to. And, admittedly, I want to see his painting.
After I saw his portrait of me the first week I know that he’s good. Really good. He’s definitely who I need to beat if I want to get the internship.
Taking a deep breath, I turn back and cut through curtains to make my way across the art room. Quinn mumbles something but I have no idea what it is. Luckily, the person he’s talking to is a bit louder.
“She’s good, no doubt about it, Quinn. But you know what your parents would say.”
Even though I’m listening hard, and I can make ou
t every word, I have no idea who Quinn is talking to. Shifting my position, I lean forward, trying to hear more.
“But if she’s better…I mean, her painting last week wasn’t terrible. She only lost the bet because we – ”
The other person interrupted him. “You really think that she has the talent that you do? She has nowhere near the training that you do, Quinn. You know as well as I do that this internship is for you, and you alone. The whole challenge to win the internship is a damn charade. If you don’t walk away with it then I’m over. Your parents will see to it and I’ll be a nothing. That can’t happen. You got that?”
My heart is pounding as I lean forward a bit farther. Whoever he’s talking to is really invested in the internship and wants to make sure that Quinn gets it, no matter who stands in his way.
Quinn responds, but his voice is a mumble.
“Listen, Quinn. She has no chance of getting this internship. It’s not the way it’s going to go, do you understand? I don’t give a shit what has to be done, but little Abigail can’t come close to winning it. You want to walk out of here in one piece? Well, newsflash, so do I. My balls are in a bit of a vice right now, so you need to help me get them out, do you understand? Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. Don’t let her feel comfortable. She can’t feel like she has a chance, got it?”
Taking a deep breath, I reach out and twitch the curtain to the side. Now I can clearly see Quinn’s back and, behind him, his painting. It’s on a huge canvas that takes up almost his entire workspace, but that’s not what I’m staring at.
I can’t tear my eyes away from who Quinn is talking to. In fact, if I didn’t see it for myself, then I wouldn’t believe it.
Mr. Stanfield.
Chapter Twelve
Madeline hasn’t said anything since I stopped talking. We came up to my room right after dinner and she started out sprawled on my bed, but as I told her about what I heard in the art room after school she has slowly sat up and is now gripping my arm so tightly that her fingertips are digging into my skin.
“Don’t you have something to say?” I want to pull away, but honestly, this is the most touch I’ve had from someone in a while, and it feels good. I feel grounded.
I need it to make sure that I’m not crazy.
“You’re sure that it was Mr. Stanfield talking with Quinn? And how in the world would he be over if you got the internship and Quinn didn’t?”
“You don’t believe me.” Now I really do try to pull away from my friend, but she just digs her nails in harder.
“No, I do! I just…wow. I mean, this is the type of scandal that could really bring Trinity Prep down, you know? This is nuts! Quinn could get kicked out! You have to tell someone about this!” She sounds really excited now, and I’m beginning to wonder if I made a mistake in telling her what’s going on.
“Like who?” Standing up, I stretch, then go to look out the window. I have a great view of the quad. There’s a lot of students out there right now, but I wanted to come back to my room so we could talk without someone overhearing us. “Who in the world do you think that I could tell about this? And who would believe me?”
She doesn’t answer right away, but she does come to stand next to me at the window. Finally, she speaks. “The board of directors?”
Scoffing, I turn to her. “It’s a great thought, Madeline, but I think that I have to ride this one out on my own. Now that I know what’s going on, I can better deal with it. It sucked before, but now it’s just…” I shrug and turn back to the window. “Now it’s just the shit I have to deal with. I just want to know who Quinn worked with to ruin my painting. He definitely mentioned a “we”, but I don’t know who that would have been.”
We watch the students in the quad in silence. After a moment it becomes clear that they’re doing something. Quinn is easily visible in the middle of the group, along with his two friends, Carter and Trae. They’re bent over something, but I can’t tell what they have in their hands. They all have on gloves, which makes the whole scene even more curious.
“Can you see what they’re doing?”
Madeline shakes her head. Right then, everyone in the quad turns and looks up at the building. Quinn raises his hand and points right at my window. He’s saying something to the group. Even from up here we can hear them laughing, then Carter and Trae take each take the end of something and step forward.
Quinn bends down and nestles something close to the ground.
“Is that a catapult?”
I don’t have long to wonder. Before we can step back from the window, Quinn pulls down on his end of the catapult and then releases. Something is flying towards us. All I can hope is that it’s not a rock and that it’s not going to break through the glass.
Gasping, I reach for Madeline to pull her back, but I’m too slow.
Quinn hit his target perfectly, but not with a rock.
Shit smears across my window. It’s obvious what it is, even from this side of the glass.
“Oh, gross!” Madeline falls back onto the floor, scrambling to get away from the window. I grab her arm and pull her up and away so that they can’t see us. Before we can get to the other side of my room, there’s a sickening splat and more hits the window.
“Your room! Go!” We fly out of my room. I don’t even think about grabbing my key or anything that I might need later. All I want to do is get out of my room before something else happens, like the glass breaking.
Quinn is making his point clear.
I had told Madeline that now that I knew why he’s acting the way he is, I can handle it, but now I’m not so sure.
I’m pretty determined and strong willed, but shit on the window? I just hope that he’s not willing to push it farther than I can handle.
***
We spent the rest of the evening curled up on Madeline’s bed watching old movies. It was a hell of a day, and I’m surprised that I was even able to make it through it without going insane.
Madeline saw me getting ready to leave and slid off of her bed. “I’ll walk you to your room. Who knows if Quinn is waiting for you or anything.”
“I don’t think he’s that stupid,” I tell her, but I’m grateful for her presence as we walk down the halls. There’s music coming from some of the rooms, but most of the students have turned off their lights for the night. I should have been working on my piece, but I’m exhausted, and spending time with my friend was just as important.
We reach the door and I start to dig in my pockets for my key. “Oh, crap, I think I locked myself out.” Leaning against the doorframe, I try to remember picking up my key when we ran out to Madeline’s room, but I think that I left it. “Do you know how I can get back in?”
“I think it’s open.” Madeline reaches out and gives my door a push. It opens slowly, like it was never latched. “You’re lucky this time, Abs. Looks like you didn’t even lock it.”
“Oh, shit. Do you think someone would have come into my room? I’m worried about someone doing something to my things after the laptop incident.” Thinking hard, I try to remember whether or not I locked the door. “I guess that it doesn’t matter, though, right? What matters is that I can get in and everything’s fine.”
Snaking my arm around the doorframe, I click on the light and then push the rest of the door open. The first thing that I see is my key on the dresser by my bed, but my eyes don’t rest there long.
My room’s been trashed.
All of my clothes are pulled out of my dresser and strewn across my floor. It looks like someone then walked across them with muddy boots on. No, not mud.
I take a sniff and wrinkle my nose.
Someone walked across them with shitty boots on.
My stomach twists as I look around my room, but that’s not all that they did. The mirror above my dresser has been smashed and is on my bed in a thousand sharp, glittering pieces. There’s no way that I’m going to be able to get them out of my sheets and blankets without being at risk for gettin
g cut.
I swallow hard and step into my room, turning to survey the damage. The shit on the window is clearly visible from here, but when I turn around, someone has left me a message on the wall by my door.
“Whore” is clearly written across the wall in bright red paint. The smell if it and the shit is overwhelming and I reach up, covering my mouth with my hand to try to keep from throwing up.
Madeline is still in the doorway, her face pale. “Abby, who did this?”
I can’t believe that she even has to ask. I know that it was Quinn and his friends, but I have no doubt that some of the other students were in on it, too. After picking up a ruined tank top, I brush past her and stomp down the hall. Alice lives here. Her room is close to mine, and I stomp down the hall towards it, ignoring the warning voice in the back of my head that tells me this is a bag idea.
I can’t get to the boys, not without getting in trouble trying to get into their dorm, but I’m pretty sure that she’s going to have answers for my questions. Someone had to let them into the girls’ dorm, and Alice is my prime suspect.
Madeline runs after me, calling my name, but all I can hear is the pounding of my heart. When I reach Alice’s door I bang on it, calling out her name.
“Alice, you bitch, get out here!” She doesn’t answer and I bang on it louder, using my whole fist to make the door shake. Someone peeks out of their room farther down the hall, but I ignore them. I don’t give a shit who I wake up right now.
Alice and I have something to discuss.
“I know that it was you! You bitch, get out here!” I pause, and when I do, I hear footsteps crossing the room, so I step back, holding my breath.
When she opens the door, she cracks it just enough to peer out and look at me. “What the hell is your problem, you whore?”
Whore.
Just the way she causally throws the word out at me and in my face sends a burst of anger through my body. I know it was her. It had to be.