I think I do a pretty good job of hiding my shock at this news. I hadn’t known. Aside from the talk with my mom, no one’s really mentioned the fallout to me. The sense of justice I feel is only bittersweet. It probably won’t make much of a difference in the long run, and anyway, it doesn’t change anything for me.
“I’m sorry for letting you down, but let’s face it. The effectiveness of my leadership here has always been questionable. As much as I hate to admit it, without Bates next to me, no one will respect me. On top of that, now they’d just blame me for him getting removed.” I twist my hands behind my back, eyes dropping. “Thank you for giving me a chance, but I feel like it’s a no-win situation for any of us.”
He sighs, face falling. “You’re a good kid, Gwendolyn. You’ll leave this place and go on to better things and never look back. I have no doubt you’ll be amazing at whatever you do.”
Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back. I’m tired of crying. I spent all of yesterday, and then all of last night, curled up on my bed at home, a complete blubbering mess. I’m done wasting my tears on these people. “Thank you. I hope you guys have a great season.”
I cross the pool deck, thankful that it's empty, and enter the office to collect my things. Although some part of me feels like this is a failure—like I’m giving in—a bigger part of me knows this is best. I pushed through this with Skylar, but I can’t do it again. Sitting in class with Hamilton, knowing what he did to me—to Micha—would be horrible. I can just see it in my mind now, the long stretch of days to graduation, the creeping, black sickness of anxiety, the constant dread. That isn’t healthy.
Worse still is the way everyone seems almost grateful for it. My mom and dad are obviously relieved, and the Headmaster offered me the option of finishing the school year online. It was almost as if he’d been prepared. It didn’t matter to me, though. I gladly took him up on it.
I search the desk first, scooping up my pens and notebooks. Then, the locker, where my bathing suit, goggles, and towel are hanging from hooks. After that, the bathroom, for the special chlorine removal shampoo I’d left in the shower. I’m pulling the strings on my bag, cinching it tight, when I walk out, oblivious to the fact I’m not alone.
Hamilton stands in the doorway.
I freeze when I see his form, wide shoulders filling the gap of the entrance. He’s got this strange, dull look in his eyes as he watches me, and it’s not the first time I’ve found him imposing, intimidating. But now, it’s different. How odd to remember a time where I was afraid of his size and physicality—as if that could be his most effective way of harming me. Standing here now, just facing him, is like having a knife shoved through my heart.
“Don’t worry,” I say, hoping that my words drip with sarcasm rather than hurt. “I’ll be out of your way in a second.”
His eyes dart between my empty locker and the bag in my hands, brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you doing?”
“Packing up.” I spot my swim cap on the shelf near him.
His gaze follows mine and he picks it up, holds it in the palm of his hand, as if he’s testing the weight of it. “Why are you packing? I’m the one who’s no longer a captain.”
I’m flooded with so many emotions at once, that it’s nearly a struggle to breathe. The humiliation and anger, the betrayal, the ache—the chest-hollowing, all-consuming grief—all come to the surface. My voice sounds as staggered and ragged as I feel. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
He stares at me blankly.
“You beat me.” I toss my hands up, letting them fall limply against my thighs. “Isn’t that what you wanted? To make me think it was all okay, that you actually cared for me? To make me think that maybe you’d changed?” I look up at the ceiling, blinking to hold in tears, and chuckle thickly. “Well, congratulations, you won. You proved I’m just like every other girl at this school. Willing to debase herself for a chance to be with the Devil himself.”
He watches me, gaze swimming with emotions that I refuse to read. “Gwen—”
“Don’t,” I hiss, fists clenching, and something flickers through his eyes. I’d be foolish to think it was shame. “Do not say my name. Ever again. Isn’t this enough?” I’m resentful of the way my voice cracks, but can’t help the thread of a plea that emerges. “Isn’t breaking my spirit—breaking my heart—enough for you? Or are you just not going to stop until there’s nothing left?”
“If you’d just stop for a minute and listen—” His eyes shutter then, and if I watch carefully enough, I swear I can see him packing away every emotion, nice and tidy, until they become that dull gray once again. He speaks, empty gaze holding mine, as if coming to a realization. “You were never going to forgive me, were you? You were never going to trust me.”
“Forgiveness?” I spit. “Trust?” My face twists in disgust, knuckles white where I’m clutching my bag. “I guess we found one way that I’m not like every other girl at this school. Because I’m done with you, Bates. Never speak to me, or anyone in my family, ever again.”
I wait for a retort—for whatever mean, twisted response he has prepared—but he just watches me, face still full of that carefully arranged blankness. I wait, and wait, but nothing greets me except the still silence of the room. I’ve never known him to let anyone get the last word, but he watches me, and doesn’t speak.
This must be what Hamilton Bates is like when he realizes that he’s finally gone too far.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and meet his gaze, teeth gnashing as I wait for him to move. He’s effectively cornered me, but I’m not afraid. That’s the thing about becoming this vacant, empty shell. There’s nothing left to hurt.
He looks away then, jaw clenching as he steps to the side, allowing me space to pass. My body trembles as I catch his clean, soapy scent, and I know that I was wrong. The mere scent of him fills me with a hurt so acute that it shocks me. Heart thundering painfully inside my chest, I feel like an open, walking wound when I stride away. Away from everything I struggled so hard to gain. Away from this toxic place and all its creeping ugliness and pervasive dread. Away from Hamilton Bates, for good.
I don’t look back.
Moving home isn’t without bumps.
Michaela tells me she’s fine about moving back to her old room, and then spends the next four hours slamming drawers and angrily snatching her things up to carry next door. I try apologizing, but she just gives me a strained look and says, “It’s okay.”
It’s clearly not.
But at least she tries to lie.
Mom turns into a handwringing, eye-wrinkled mess every time I walk into the room. It’s clear that she wants to talk to me, obvious that she understands now that there’s something more happening here th