Six,I think, my mind shooting to Daemon, who’s still locked up in his flat like a prisoner while the others try to figure out a way to deal with the Italians.
“Enough about them,” he says, pushing through the door and allowing the strong scent of decent coffee to fill my senses.
But as much as my mouth might water for the pick-me-up, it does little to help me forget the people we just left behind. The dread that’s sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach for the approaching lessons gets heavier every second.
I barely taste the chocolate biscuit I manage to snag, and by the time people start leaving to get ready for their next lessons, I’m a bag of nerves.
“Thanks for this morning. I really enjoyed your lesson,” I say honestly to Mr. Atworth.
“You’re welcome any time, Brianna.”
With a smile, I take my empty mug to the ladies who run the small kitchen before heading out to find Melissa.
“Hey,” I say, finding her sitting in her office, pulling some revision sheets from a folder.
“How was your morning?” she asks.
“Fantastic.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Ready for what’s next?”
My stomach plummets.
No. I’m really fucking not.
“Yes. Bring it on.” I force a smile on my face.
“Okay, let’s go then. They’ve only got eight lessons left before their first exam, so every second counts now.”
Eight lessons.
Eight hours.
Surely, we can do eight hours without fucking this up for either of us… right?
We slip into the sixth form building without running into anyone, and in only a few minutes, Melissa has her lesson set up and ready to go.
“Perfect timing,” she says as the bell rings. “Are you okay with getting the register up?” she asks, nodding to her laptop.
“Of course.”
I open it up and stare at the students’ attendance in this class. I already know Nico is here—I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. But still, that little tick for his previous lessons taunts me from the screen, making my stomach turn over and bile burn up my throat.
The first couple of students that walk into the room barely even spare me a second glance, nor do those who follow them. Just like Friday, all of them are the picture of the perfect student.
I keep my eyes locked on the door, hating that I’m unable to appear unfazed by what is about to happen but equally unable to avert my eyes.
I need him to see that I’m owning this situation, that I won’t cower to him and his stupid threats and brutal touches. Hell, we both know I crave them.
Something which really needs to stop.
A couple of minutes tick by, but he doesn’t appear.
“Okay, let’s get started then,” Melissa says before launching into the revision topic for this class while I fall into my own head, my eyes drifting to the window when a shiver of awareness runs down my spine.
My breath catches when I spot a dark figure leaning against the thick trunk of an old oak tree.
His eyes are glued to mine, a dark warning swimming in them.