Sinful

ARABELLA

There’s a party raging in the boys’ dorm house all weekend. Since I’m only the warden of junior halls, I don’t try to put a stop to it. By Sunday morning, I’m tired and cranky. No one came to break it up, but I’m not surprised. Not many teachers live on campus, which is probably why I was able to get accommodation included in my package so easily.

I make a note to ask Helen what the protocol is in the future. Maybe I should have stopped it.

I spend the Sunday trying to catch up on my marking. Since it’s my first week, there’s not much to do, but I throw myself into it anyway. And then when Monday comes around, I’m desperate to get back to work.

I don’t have any run-ins with Romain until Tuesday lunchtime. I’m chatting with Gloria Bartlett, one of the other science teachers, or should I say Gloria is talking at me while I’m nodding politely when he strides into the cafeteria.

I’m used to him staring at me in a room whenever we’re in the same one. Today, he doesn’t even glance in my direction. There’s a girl on his arm, one with a black choker around her neck. Zane and Carter are with him, also sporting girls on each arm.

“Oh, here we go,” says Gloria next to me. “The psycho has arrived.”

I turn back to her. “Psycho?”

“He’s threatened a few of the students with knives before.”

I raise both brows. “Knives?” I was not expecting that.

Gloria nods. “You’d think the Head would discipline him for even bringing one into school, but Romain’s father makes a very large donation every year to the foundation that Reynard belongs to. He’s untouchable. Downright dangerous and devastatingly rich.”

It’s the same story as Helen told me. Romain is bad news, and his father is even worse. I try to reconcile that with what I know. The sexy guy who seduced me into his bed, and the petulant boy who won’t take no for an answer, to the devious psycho Helen and Gloria make him out to be.

I don’t know what to believe anymore. But I do know how gossip can hurt people. I ran away because of gossip. It was all wrong gossip, but it hurt all the same. Hearsay isn’t always right. All I can go on is what I see with my own eyes.

Romain and his friends take a table at the far end. No one bats an eye when the girl with the collar—because that’s what it looks like— straddles him and tries to kiss him. He shoves her away but doesn’t make a move to brush her off his lap. She laughs and tries to hide her embarrassment with a toss of her long, blonde hair. I can see now that there’s a thin gold chain attached to the collar, and it’s attached to Romain’s trouser belt. I have to blink a few times.

“What’s with the fashion accessory?”

Gloria follows my gaze to the girls in collars. “Oh, that, the girls who flock around Romain wear them. They call themselves his pets.” She makes air quotes when she says the word.

“They actually wear them voluntarily?”

“You have to wonder why we even bothered fighting for women’s rights.” Gloria shrugs. When I don’t say anything, she carries on. “Helen tried to ban them, but then the girls started getting tattoos instead.”

I give a shudder. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing one.

“Arabella, can I have a word?”

I look up to see Helen at our table.

Gloria stands. “I’ve finished. You can have my seat.” As she leaves, Helen sits down.

I’m suddenly tense all over. “Is everything alright?”

“Honestly, I’m quite disappointed in you.” Sickening anxiety swirls in my stomach as I place my fork down, ready for whatever she has to say. “I got your message about the party all weekend. Why didn’t you break it up?”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t sure I had the authority to,” I say, honestly.

“Of course, you have the authority. You’re a warden on campus. You’re responsible for them. What would have happened had one of them overdosed on your watch?”

Shit.I didn’t think of that. “

Helen sighs. “I need people I can trust to do the right thing, even if it’s the hardest path. I hope that’s you.”

I nod at her. “I won’t let you down.”

The rest of the week is uneventful, apart from one of the girls fainting during the blood type experiment where they have to prick their finger and fill a tiny vial to observe the antibody reaction. The dark-haired girl that fainted, Lacey Van Ryan, is extremely pale anyway, but I wasn’t expecting her to crumple into a heap. There’s always one. When she’s able to stand, I send her with her friend, Olivia Lancaster, another girl who happens to be wearing one of those trashy collars, straight to the nurse.