Chapter Eight
Ricky
WALKING INTO THE lecture hall, shrouded in darkness, a foreign sensation of unease crawled up my spine.
Despite the lack of light, I spotted her. Aveline, the rich bitch, sitting in a middle row like last class. Was she trying to hide after exposing her trauma to our class? Rage stirred inside me, hoping that my presence might irk her like it did before.
Moving behind her, I watched her back stiffen, straightening tall. A pale hand moved to the back of her neck. She wore her hair in a bun of some kind, patting it to assure all was as it should be. Her fingernails were painted a pale pink and she wore a ring with several clustered pearls on her right hand.
When she returned her hand to her desk, she turned a touch to the side, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. The light from her laptop screen bounced off her glasses. Her earrings caught a beam of the light too, the large pearls becoming even more noticeable.
Christ, the brat even wore a pearl necklace. I held back a growl. Her jewelry alone could feed my family for a month.
Forming a fist, I pressed it to my lips, hoping to contain the rage boiling inside, anger that was about to erupt and permeate the hush of the classroom.
The sound of the whiteboard lowering in the center of the stage got my attention. I stretched in my seat, looking around for Dr. Redmond.
She was nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly, images of a movie splashed on the screen at the front of the classroom. It was a scene from The Shining, a film I’d watched with the boys back before we cared about girls or beer and liked to overdose on horror flicks. The scene was a particularly famous one where the deranged dad hacked at a locked door where his wife and son were hiding on the other side. He poked open a hole wide enough for his head and stuck it through. It’s some freaky shit.
Students gasped. I watched Aveline. She had covered her mouth with her hands but didn’t look away. Surprising. I would have thought she was way too wimpy for a horror flick.
The movie switched off, leaving the classroom shadowy and somber.
“Are you scared? Is your heart beating? Palms sweaty?” Dr. Redmond asked, walking onto the stage. “Today we discuss fear. I like to set the stage by having the classroom dim when you enter. Fear of the dark, fear of spiders, and fear of heights are common.”
Lights brightened in the room and students shifted in their seats.
“When humans are born, we all have two innate fears. Fear of falling and fear of loud sounds. Watson, Plutchik, and Ekman tell us that fear is one of our innate, basic emotions. But most of our fear is learned. We take cues from our parents.” Dr. Redmond flipped screens, showing a chart with notes.
“John Watson is famous for his 1920 experiment called “Little Albert” where he taught an eleven-month-old boy to fear a white lab rat through repeated exposure. Conversely, we can also overcome our fears through repeated exposure, encouraging tolerance.”
Dr. Redmond moved to the podium, resting her hands on top. I scribbled notes. “Think of something that you’re scared of. As humans, we have an instinctual fight or flight response when confronted with fear. How did you react to that fear? Fight or flight?”
She paced the stage, arms crossed over her chest. “Take a few minutes and write down your biggest fears. Maybe something you haven’t told anyone before. You don’t need to be in danger to feel scared, but you must perceive danger. Worry over things you can’t control, isn’t fear. That’s anxiety and a lecture for another day.”
Tapping my pencil to my lips, I thought. What was I afraid of?
Papa dying. Mama hurt. Marcella or Theresa being hurt or hungry. Failure. Losing control of anger.
I lifted my pencil, examining my list. My fears mostly concerned my family. I was fairly sure they crossed the line into anxiety, but they were as terrifying as any other danger in my eyes. I especially feared the release of my anger and resentment, and the damage that could be inflicted. What would Mama say if I gave into my fury?
I balled my fists tightly—the thought of that release causing excitement. I wondered what the rich bitch was afraid of.
Leaning forward, I held my breath. I looked over her shoulder at her illuminated laptop screen.
Strangers. Meeting new people. Public speaking. Being alone in the city. Leaving home. Not ever leaving home. My parents being hurt or scared. Water. Drowning.
Holy shit, what wasn’t the princess afraid of? I scanned the list again. My hands twitched. Maybe I could use her list to teach her a little lesson? My eyebrows drew together as I thought through an idea.
The last two on the list made sense. I wouldn’t even go there. And I was already planning on scaring her parents. There had to be payback for their negligence. I just had to figure out how.
Making my decision, I bent over, as if to tie my shoe. Her jacket was draped across the back of her chair and I slipped my hand into the outside pocket.
Bingo.
Grasping her car keys in my palm, I shoved them deep inside my backpack. This would be fun.
* * *
CLASS ENDED. I followed a distance behind her, ensuring that my presence went undetected. Hovering outside the parking garage, I watched her search her pockets and dump her bags out, looking for her missing keys.
Her face was distraught, fearful, and upset.
I relished every agonized look.
She pulled out her phone, her finger hovering over the screen as if to type and then she shook her head. Aveline slipped her phone into her pocket, packed up her belongings and walked out of the garage.
What would Princess do now? Would she call Mommy and Daddy? I prayed to God she did. I needed a look at them. I was dying to see their faces.
But shockingly, Aveline didn’t look perturbed anymore. She looked… determined. I watched as she scanned the main street and walked to stand underneath a bus stop sign.
What the fuck?
I’d bet my bike that Aveline had never been on a city bus. Watching her face, slight concern washed over her features as a bus rumbled up, its brakes emitting a high-pitched squeak. Not hesitating for a second, she boarded, talking to the driver and then examining a map he gave her.
I memorized the bus number and then sprinted to my bike. While she didn’t seem half as distraught as I hoped, a weird panic pumped through my veins. What if she got lost? Mugged? I wanted her to pay for what she caused, but I wasn’t prepared for anything bad. I was vaguely aware that I didn’t want her harmed. I pushed that thought down and tore out of the parking garage, racing down the street until I found the bus Aveline rode.
Riding along the side, my dark helmet kept my face hidden, the anonymity essential for spying. I saw her sitting in the middle, looking out the window. Her face bore a look of fascination, not repulsion. I watched her ride the bus through rough neighborhoods. I continued to case her. None of the disgusted judgment I anticipated registered on her face. In fact, I watched an elderly woman sit next to her and they engaged in conversation, a blinding smile spread across Aveline’s face.
What the ever-loving hell was happening? Why was this chick happy to be riding a bus? She’d said she was scared of meeting strangers and to be alone in the city, but she seemed fine doing both.
Finally, Aveline disembarked on the outskirts of one of the richest neighborhoods in the city. Anger pulsed back through me. She wasn’t just wealthy. She was filthy rich. There was no doubt in my mind that her family had to pay for what happened to Papa.
She strolled alone down the sidewalk. I elbowed the darkness inside me away when she smiled up at the sky, even a cold winter day making her happy.
Blowing out a breath, I was mollified. I’d made her face a fear. That was enough for today. Starting my bike, I rode it slowly over to her. She jumped, eyes wide and startled when I pulled next to her and stopped.
Bike running, I put my feet on the ground to steady myself. “Found these in class. They yours?”
Aveline’s eyes bulged as she looked at me, my bike, and her keys in my hand.
“Yes. Th-th-th-thank you,” she whispered.
I hesitated, my brain struggling with what I knew I had to ask her. “Need a lift back to your car?” Fuck, but I wanted her to say no. Yet, I couldn’t leave her alone in the city without a way to get to her precious Tesla. Even I wasn’t that big of a douche.
She licked her lips, looking for a long minute at the motorcycle. Raising her eyes, she shook her head. “I live around the corner. My father will drive me back for my car this evening. But thanks for asking.”
All polite responses ended. I stared into her gray eyes for a minute trying to read more into her before I took off. This was a start.
Problem was, I was intrigued. Intrigued, angry, monster-ridden, and ready to form a plan.