Miss O'Connell | B.E

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"I don't understand why you keep calling me, dickhead."

The night was suffocating, the kind that made every tiny sound echo louder than it should. Divine's room was dark, save for the dim glow of her phone screen, which illuminated the side of her face. If a teacher caught her on her phone at this ungodly hour, she'd be in for every punishment they could throw at her. Miss O'Connell had been here for just one day and was already breathing down her neck, doing tricks on her dick.

"I'm running low on cigs. Did them child services send you any money for your good ol' pa?"

Divine, eyes rolling skyward as if the ceiling might offer some kind of escape or perhaps she could roll the tears away. They welled up, hot and unwelcome. Her father never called to say 'I love you' it was always, 'I need something'. Nice to know he cared.

"Go fuck yourself in the ass," she spat out. She yanked the phone away from her ear and slammed her thumb on the red button, ending the call with a force that was supposed to make her feel better. It didn't.

She hurled it across the room, watching as it collided with the wall and clattered to the floor. She hated that phone. Every notification made her stomach churn.

Divine turned onto her side, hands tucked under her cheek, eyes wide open. Sleep was an enemy she had no desire to confront. Every time she surrendered to it, the demons of her past came rushing back with a vengeance. Dreams weren't an escape; they were doors to hell.

Dreaming was a curse, a twisted game her mind played to remind her of all the ways life had let her down. The nightmares were never ending, a highlight reel of her worst moments: her mother's final, gasping breaths, the cold, unfeeling grip of the foster system, the toxic orbit of her father's life. Every night, her mind became a broken projector, looping the same horrific scenes over and over again.

Her eyes wandered to the battered old book on her bedside table—Teresa's journal. Divine didn't want sleep. Sleep didn't want her.

She sat up, the sheets slipping to her waist, and reached for the book. Her fingers brushed over the worn leather cover to almost comfort her shakey hands. She stood, feeling the cool air against her skin, and planted her feet into her heavy Timbs. Tonight was a night for the school's outdoor campus.

She threw a jumper over her head, the fabric settling around her shoulders, and twisted the knob of her dorm room door. The old wood groaned in protest as she pushed it open, she winced at the sound. Every creak in this ancient building felt like it could give her away.

Divine stepped into the hallway, her footsteps calculated. She knew every lifted floorboard, every squeaky patch of carpet. She held her breath as she passed the teachers' dorms, slipping into the shadows, avoiding the moonlight streaming through the tall windows of the castle.

She exhaled only when she reached the stairs, a spiral of dark oak that descended into the belly of the school. She sat on the railing, gripping it lightly, and let herself slide down. The stairs were too old, too prone to betraying her with creaks and groans. Sliding was faster, more quiet.

At the bottom, she landed on her feet, her breath a little faster, her heart pounding with the thrill. The main lobby was a cavernous space, eerily empty at this hour. The grand library loomed on one side, silent, while the smaller canteen no one ever came to, and a few art rooms huddled on the other. She sprinted through the hallways, the book clutched tightly in her hands, its leather slick with the sweat of her palms. Her favorite window awaited, the one no one ever locked. She slipped it open, the old hinges whining softly, and swung her legs over the sill, landing behind the meticulously trimmed bushes outside.