Alamort

19. Priya

Lillith – Ellise

T his isn’t how I thought I’d spend my Saturday evening. Alone with the creepy ass dean. The big oak door seems more imposing than it did last time. Walking in it will be a bad idea, a metaphorical nail in my already snug coffin. What choice do I have? The mere thought of being sent back to Robert Carter brings back memories of the stifling spicy scent of his cologne and whiskey on his breath.

Knocking three times, I wait for his signature bored, “Enter” before going in. Detention seems like it’s going to become a common occurrence if he’s choosing to believe whatever nonsense comes to his doorstep about me.

Dean Bush gives me his back while at a small cart in the corner of the room. Without his eyes on me, I’m able to observe the room without him watching my every move.

Wood floor to ceiling bookcases, with an ancient appearance, adorn the four walls of the room, covering more than half of the space. Brian Bush doesn’t look like the type of man to have touched a book in his life. What books could he have to fill the shelves? “How to be a Creep for Dummies”?

Rows of faux plants lining the shelves, their plastic leaves reflecting the dim light of the room. The air is stagnant and stuffy. I know little about plants but I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to support the air quality.

As I walk over to his desk, I sit in the uncomfortable wooden chair with my hands resting on my lap. Clinking of ice hitting the bottom of a glass is the only sound in the quiet room. 5:10PM. We’ve already done nothing for ten minutes. The carpet muffles Bush’s footsteps when he approaches his seat across from me. His amber drink, is already sweating in the stuffy room.

Ultimately, we engage in a staring competition to see who will break the silence first. A white ace bandage wraps the dean’s hand, which holds the glass. A recent injury? If he thinks I’m going to say something first, he’s wrong. My father controlled me all my life, telling me to jump and me saying ‘how high?’. I’m a marionette in my household. I refuse to be one here at this school. Raising an eyebrow. I wait for him to speak. After all, the only reason I’m here is because he gave me unwarranted detention instead of standing up to the school’s queen bitch.

“Priya.” He addresses me calmly. I didn’t realize we’re on a first name basis. Bush takes a sip of his drink. Watching his thin lips press into the glass makes me uncomfortable. Being around a grown ass adult alone, drinking alcohol. Past run-ins with drunk men have made me cautious. Nothing good will come from it. As if he can feel my eyes on his glass, “Don’t worry, it’s after hours. I can drink freely outside of scheduled school hours.” Yeah, that doesn’t ease my anxiety at all. Thank you for nothing.

“For detention, we’re going to sort out this reckless behavior of yours.” Nodding along to appease him, his posture relaxes. I won’t point fingers and blame the responsible party. But I’ll clarify that I had no involvement in what triggered my behavior.

“Well, some questions might be uncomfortable, but please answer to the best of your ability.” Wait, what? This isn’t going where I thought it was.

“How is your home life?” Gauging his face when he asks. I determine he doesn’t truly care. Nor is he my shrink.

“Fine.” Giving him a bland answer.

“Everything okay with mom? Dad? Siblings?” My heart shrinks in size at the thought of Addison. He’s being cruel because he knows what happened to my sister. As for my parents, it’s always how it’s been. I’m nonexistent until they need something.

“Yes.” I grit out. He hums, finishing off his drink. Not noticing how quickly he drained his drink alarms me. Setting down the glass, he comes and perches on the large desk next to me. All the room on this polished tree, and he wants to be as close to me as he can be. Tension lines my body, high alert on his closeness. I stare straightforward, focusing on his empty glass, save a couple of ice cubes.

He’s inspecting me. Picking me apart. For once, I don’t want to know what someone is thinking when they look at me.

“You’re pretty.” He says lowly. His hand touches the black strings of my cotton hoodie I changed into before coming to detention. “Your lips are so full, a permanent pouty look. Did daddy pay for you to get that done?” I squeeze my trembling hands together enough to turn my knuckles white. Do I answer the only appropriate question he asked? Ignore it? Opting to remain quiet, I subtly shake my head.

“These clothes can only do so much to hide your figure, you know?” My teeth clench at what he’s implying. Living with my father’s unpredictable mood changes has trained my peripheral vision to be hypersensitive. From the corner of my eye, he adjusts himself in his slacks that I’m sure he’s worn all day. My razor is in my bra. If he takes his dick out… I’ll cut it off or I’ll die trying. My father be damned.

The dean’s finger lightly grazes my cheekbone before stepping away. Leaving behind a dirty feeling in his presence. Clearing his throat from whatever stupor he put himself in, he says, “I want, at the minimum, three reasons the Demons’ have taken an interest in you. You can leave after.” Confusion is the only emotion I’ve shown tonight and riddle me confused. A couple of life questions when this is what he wanted originally?

I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Asking anything more could make it seem like an invitation to continue his creepy line of questioning.

Bush drops a pen and paper in front of me. Three reasons they’re interested in me.

They’re not. My interactions with them have been minimal thus far. I don’t know what makes him think otherwise. I get to work on my paper so I can get the hell out of here.

I question their authority

They don’t like being put in their place

I think they’re self entitled assholes

I drop the pen and storm out of the room.