You Look Pretty In Red

The school day mercifully bleeds to an end shortly after, but my escape is short-lived. I reluctantly drag my feet down the narrow cinderblock stairwell toward the basement for my assigned detention. The drab walls down here seem to close in on me with every descending step. I can hear the faint, fading sounds of other students escaping out the front doors, rushing toward freedom while I am forced underground. The air in the hallway feels heavy, thick with the smell of old floor wax and stale dust. A single fluorescent light flickers overhead, buzzing with a dull, annoying hum. I let out a heavy sigh and step into the desolate room.

Mr. Burke is already there. He sits behind a battered metal desk, grading a thick stack of papers. He pauses as my shoes squeak against the linoleum, peering strictly over the rim of his reading glasses.

"You are early, Ms. Bradley," he notes.

I offer a brief shrug, choosing a desk in the middle row, putting as much distance between us as the small room allows.

He sets his red pen down. His gaze narrows on me. "You have a clean slate here."

The phrase hits me like a physical blow. Goosebumps erupt across my arms. A clean slate. The words echo in my ears, bringing a rush of unwanted, horrifying memories. The screeching tires. The shattering glass. The metallic tang of blood in the air. I desperately wish for a place where I won't be blamed for surviving the catastrophic crash that slaughtered my family. A place where I am not just the tragic, broken survivor, where the heavy pity in people's eyes doesn't eventually curdle into silent, harsh accusation. They look at me and wonder why I was the only one allowed to walk away while the rest of my bloodline was buried in the dirt.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I draw in a long, shaky breath, forcing the phantom sound of crushing metal out of my head.

"Pick your friends wisely," Mr. Burke adds, his tone cryptic. He drops his gaze and returns to his paperwork.

I choose to ignore his unsolicited advice. I dig into my bag, pulling out my homework and a spiral notebook. Instead of focusing on the equations in front of me, I bury my face in the notebook and start doodling absentmindedly. My traitorous thoughts drift naturally to Declan. I think about the way he smiled at me, the warmth in his laugh, and how easily he called me his partner. I chew on the inside of my cheek, annoyed with myself. I have not even survived a full twenty-four hours in this school, and I am already distracted by a guy like some naive girl.

The quiet atmosphere shatters. Loud voices echo in the hallway right before the heavy wooden door slams open, hitting the wall with a loud crack. Three imposing students swagger into the room. They carry themselves with an arrogant, untouchable energy, claiming the space the second they cross the threshold.

The undisputed leader of the group walks in first. He is the tallest, built with broad shoulders and lean muscle. He has dark, messy hair and piercing, dangerous eyes that scan the room before snapping right to me. A mischievous, lethal smile curls his lips. Blaring warning bells immediately go off inside my head. Every instinct I possess screams that he is trouble.

"Ryker," Mr. Burke growls from the front of the room, his voice tight with frustration.

Ryker doesn't even glance at the teacher. He keeps his dark eyes locked on me. "Yes, Mr. Burke?"

"You are late. Take a seat and leave Ms. Bradley alone."

Ryker clicks his tongue against his teeth. He steps deeper into the room. "Why would I do that? It would take all the fun out of it."

He deliberately walks down my aisle and claims the empty seat right beside me. He leans back, sprawling his long legs out, crossing them at the ankles. He drapes his arms behind his head, flashing a predatory grin.

"Detention is not meant to be fun, Ryker," Mr. Burke snaps.

The two lackeys drop into the desks behind Ryker. They snort, bumping fists and shooting me arrogant winks.

Ryker tilts his head, his gaze burning into the side of my face. "What is your name, love?"

The sheer audacity of his casual, invasive tone makes my cheeks burn with defensive heat. I hate the hot flush spreading across my skin, a visible sign of my discomfort. Seeking my usual physical anchor, my fingers drop to my lap. I trace the thick, jagged scar on my wrist, pressing into the damaged tissue. I just want him far away from me. I want him to stop looking at me like I am his next target.

Ryker's sharp eyes instantly catch the subtle movement of my hand. His predatory smile fades into a deep frown as he takes in the raised, uneven skin of my wrist.

"Damaged, are we?" he mocks.

His tone drips with dark amusement, and the cruel observation cuts right through my defenses. He points out my physical trauma with a smirk on his face, uncaring about the nightmare that caused it. My blood boils with instantaneous rage. I press my lips into a hard line, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, and hyper-focus on the blank page of my notebook.

Brant, one of the lackeys sitting behind us, barks out a loud laugh. "Ryker, when was the last time a girl didn't drop to her knees and beg you to let her suck your cock?"

I lower my head further, letting my hair fall forward to shield my face from their toxic chatter.

"Brant!" Mr. Burke yells, slamming his hand on his desk. "Do you want me to write you down for detention next week, too?"

Brant rolls his eyes. "Mrs. Gaines already wrote me down for next week."

"The week after that?"

Brant leans back, uncaring. "I guess I am free."

Ryker ignores the exchange. I can feel the heavy weight of his stare. He hasn't looked away from me once. I try to block them out, shading the dark lines of my sketch.

Without warning, Ryker reaches out. He grabs the metal leg of my desk. He harshly yanks it across the linoleum floor. The metal screeches, a grating sound that sets my teeth on edge, until my desk aggressively smacks right against his. The impact jolts my shoulder.

"Where did you get the scar, new blood?" he demands, leaning into my personal space.

I glare at him, my patience snapping. "I am not a freshman."

He narrows his dark eyes. "You eighteen?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

Brant chuckles from the back. "Declan clearly got to her first, Ryker."

Ryker clicks his tongue again. That creepy, lethal smile returns. "Where did you get the scar?"

"None of your fucking business," I fiercely spit back.

Instead of getting angry, Ryker chuckles. It is a low, deep, vibrating sound that rumbles in his chest. "Feisty. I like that."

"Ryker. That is enough," Mr. Burke finally attempts to interject, trying to regain control of his hijacked classroom.

Ryker casually turns his head. He doesn't raise his voice, but his tone shifts into something devastating and commanding. "Nolan, I would stay out of this unless you want me to tell the entire school exactly why your wife left you."

The room goes dead silent. Mr. Burke's face turns a dark shade of red. His jaw clenches tight. He shoots me a look of pure disdain, silently blaming me for the disruption, before pathetically sinking back down into his chair. He doesn't say another word.

A cold, heavy shock spreads through my veins, freezing the blood in my chest. My stomach drops. The sheer power Ryker wields over a faculty member is terrifying. He just silenced a grown man, a teacher with authority, with a single threat. It makes me wonder what other dark things Ryker controls within these walls.

Ryker turns back to me, unbothered. "Want to get out of here?"

I grip my pen tighter. I stubbornly refuse to run from him. "No."

He lifts a dark eyebrow. "No?"

"I would rather stay here."

In a lightning-fast flash of movement, he snatches my notebook right off my desk. I gasp, reaching out to grab it, but he holds it out of my grasp. He looks down at the open page and recoils slightly, genuine surprise crossing his features. He stares at my dark, morbid sketch of a decaying skull. It is the exact representation of how I felt during those bleak days right after the accident.

"Give it back," I snarl, my voice laced with venom.

He closes the notebook but keeps it held hostage, laying it flat on his desk and covering it with his large hand. "What is your name?"

I dart a desperate look at Mr. Burke, hoping he will finally step in. The teacher keeps his eyes glued to his paperwork, broken and compromised. He will not protect me. I am on my own.

If Ryker wants to play a twisted game, I will play. I meet his dangerous gaze, lifting my chin in direct challenge.

"Why did Mr. Burke's wife leave him?"

His dark eyes glisten with sick amusement. His grin widens, flashing straight white teeth. "Look at you," he praises my sudden defiance. "Tell me your name first."

I grip my pen so hard my knuckles turn stark white. I hold his stare, refusing to blink. "Jessa."

Ryker inhales deeply, his chest expanding as he seemingly savors the sound of my name. He slides my notebook back onto my desk, tapping his long fingers against the cardboard cover.

"She didn't leave him," Ryker says, his voice dropping low. "He left her."

I frown in confusion, waiting for the rest of the story.

Ryker leans in close, and drops a vulgar bombshell. "He came home one day and found me inches deep in her pussy."

My face erupts in hot flames. The crude, explicit confession hits me like a slap. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat at the sheer vulgarity of his words and the utter lack of shame in his delivery.

His smile widens triumphantly as he absorbs my visceral reaction. "You look pretty in red."

He leans in uncomfortably close. The scent of mint and dark cologne invades my space. "See you around, Jessa," he whispers. His tone does not sound like a goodbye; it sounds just like a physical threat.

He stands up, pushing his chair back. His lackeys follow his lead, standing up and swaggering out of the room right behind him. They pass the teacher's desk, and Mr. Burke does nothing to stop them. The door swings shut, leaving behind a suffocating silence.

I sit frozen for a long second. I look up at the front of the room. Mr. Burke refuses to meet my eye. Left behind in the quiet, I realize it feels far more exposing and dangerous to be alone with a compromised, humiliated man who just had his darkest secret weaponized in front of a student.

Without a second of hesitation, I shove my notebook and pen into my bag. I zip it shut with trembling fingers, the sound loud in the heavy quiet. I grab my belongings, push my chair back, and flee the basement, desperate to get out of the school and away from the suffocating grip of this new reality.