Chapter 5 - The Devil You Asked For.
1085 Words
Iris
The room goes deathly still. Charles steps away from me so fast that the sudden rush of cold air against my skin makes me shiver. I don’t move. I can’t move. This was easier when I imagined it. My fingers remain curled around the edge of the bed while my heart thuds hard against my chest.
Principal Isaiah stands in the doorway. I can see him from the corner of my eyes, rainwater still clinging to the shoulders of his dark coat. He rests one hand lazily against the doorframe, but there is nothing relaxed about him.
His eyes take in the room in one slow beat, from the discarded shirt on the floor to Charles standing behind me … my skirt twisted around my waist.
When his gaze finally lands on me, I feel a thrill rush through every inch of my body. And this time, it has nothing to do with the cold. The look on his face isn’t of anger or shock.
It is disappointment.
It should make me happy. It’s what I have been aiming for all night long. So why does it make me feel so horrible?
“You have five seconds to explain what exactly I’m looking at,” he says quietly. He doesn’t ask me to cover up. He doesn’t look away either. There is a bloody half-naked woman in front of him, but with the way he barely bats an eye, I might as well be fully clothed.
I tell myself that it doesn’t matter. That I did this to stay back home and not get shipped off to his boarding house.
Because the alternative cannot even be imagined.
Charles swallows hard behind me and moves uneasily on his feet. “Uncle Isaiah, it’s not…”
“Four.” The sharpness in Isaiah’s tone cuts through the room.
Having embarrassed myself enough, I let go of the bed frame, slowly straightening. My cheeks burn despite myself. Strange. Nothing ever makes me feel embarrassed. Maybe it's because no one has ever looked at me the way Principal Isaiah is looking at me now.
Like he sees straight through my act.
Charles clears his throat. I pull down my skirt. “We were just…”
“Three.”
“Uncle Isaiah…”
“Leave the room, Charles.”
I can tell that Charles fears his uncle more than his father, with the way he almost bolts for the door before stopping, his eyes flicking towards me. I can’t blame him. If anyone speaks to me in that tone, I might wet myself.
“Now, Charles. I’m not going to ask you a second time.”
Charles grabs the blue shirt from the floor and tosses it toward me before walking out the door. I hear the door click shut and I look up to find Principal Isaiah twisting the lock. He’s back to rubbing his fingers against each other, concentrating on that singular act for one minute.
Yes. I counted. It’s the only thing I can do other than try to calm my racing pulse.
He says nothing for a long moment, his eyes remaining fixed on me as I pull the shirt over my head with trembling fingers. I didn’t feel this way when Charles touched me – this awareness of every single thing around me.
But standing alone in a room with this man?
My entire body understands what the word nervous means.
“You think this is power?” Isaiah finally asks, sliding his hands into his pockets as if to keep them from doing something he can’t control.
I take a deep breath, knowing that whatever happens now determines my fate. Despite my racing pulse, I lift my chin with as much confidence as I can muster. “I think it’s none of your business who I sleep with.”
A smile stretches across his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Does he know you are already breaking his heart into a million pieces? Is that what you love doing best? Hurting people?”
“Oh please,” I scoff. “Charles likes anything with boobs and a pulse. It has nothing to do with me.”
“That doesn’t look like what I walked into.”
I shrugged. “I am not responsible for his feelings, and I am definitely not at fault. We are both adults, and we can make independent decisions for ourselves.”
Isaiah pushes away from the door and walks further into the room. I take in a shaky breath as he stops in front of me, easily towering over me. This man has to be at least 6 ft 4.
“Is this about your father?”
“Don’t talk about him.”
“He died, and you started seeking attention elsewhere. I heard you were the closest to him.”
My bottom lip threatens to quiver, and I bite down hard on it. I can’t let him see an iota of weakness or pain. “You don’t know me, Isaiah.”
“It’s Principal Isaiah to you,” he corrects sharply. “And I know girls like you. It is what the school was founded for.”
“Well,” I snap, folding my arms across my chest. His eyes follow every movement. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Principal Isaiah, but I’m not interested in being one of your little projects, so you can go along and inform my mother that I won’t be accompanying you back to your den of torture.”
His eyes darken slightly. “You think this is about fixing you?”
I pause. “Isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Then what is this? Why am I going with you? Why did you bring me back here?”
“To learn respect.”
“I can’t be forced to learn what I lost a while ago.”
“You can, Iris. And you will.”
A response is on my lips, but I can’t seem to remember what it is as he steps even closer, close enough that I have to resist the urge to close my eyes, taking in a whiff of his intoxicating scent of leather, cedarwood, and aftershave.
It has to be the sexiest combination alive.
“You are going with me to House Isarion tomorrow,” he says in a low growl. “And you are going to learn very quickly, Iris, that provoking me is the worst mistake you could possibly make.”
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