Liability

Chapter 4 - Rhys

Rhys throws his bag on his bed, his fingers already yanking at his stupid tie. His free hand is clenched into a tight fist and he has half the mind to put it through the drywall before him. He feels like he's about to vibrate out of his skin and there's no one to blame but that... man.

Dmitri Armand.

He growls, gritting his teeth in anger. How dares that despicable, manipulative bastard act like he is kindness and fairness embodied, playing mind games on them and never reacting to their attacks like he's supposed to. The way he handled the prank that would have gotten them into deep shit with the principal if Armand snitched on them was one thing. Not getting flustered by gay porn and having the ability to turn the prank against them, in any other situation, Rhys would have appreciated the quick witted comebacks. But what he did with Mark? The way he took the act of blatant disrespect as if it was nothing and then he moved on as if it was barely more than a little inconvenience? It was completely another thing.

He stares at the wall, trying to find answers to questions he can't comprehend. Part of him wants to be ignorant and keep on with the rebellious act until Armand gives up, but another part wants to dig deep and unearth every secret the man hides behind his happy go lucky smiles and false motivation. But he cannot fool Rhys. He sees behind the paper thin, empty facade and will never fall for that ridiculous ploy of fair play and kindness no matter how easy it would be. Armand wants him to underestimate him, to believe his farce of a personality is nothing but your average nice guy who always has a good advice to share alongside with not-yet earned wisdom.

But Rhys saw that flash of hardness in those pale gray eyes obscured by those ridiculous lenses. He noticed the way Armand's entire demeanor changed when he talked about hiding dead bodies. At first, Rhys wanted to write it off as a fluke, as a poor attempt at joking. But after the class they just had with the man, he isn't so sure anymore. Because there is just something about their new teacher, something weird, that makes the whole act of niceness even more maddening. Rhys wants him to show his true colors and he won't rest until he figures out what it can be.

With his new goal in mind, he drops his tie onto the bed next to his already discarded blazer and bag then reaches for his laptop set on his nightstand and carries it over to his couch. He sinks into the comfortable leather cushion, enjoying the soft creaks and the way the stuffing hugs his body. So much better than those blasted chairs at the academy, designed to torture the students into sitting with their backs straight or bear the consequences. But he has to concentrate on the task at hand.

Booting up the laptop only takes a few moments and after a few clicks he already has his school email pulled up on the screen. There are way too many unread emails, but it's easy to find his English teacher's message as it is the last one that has arrived. The man has set himself up to some pretty vigorous prank calls by giving out his phone number, Rhys is sure of this and finds himself smirking at the neatly organized reading list and syllabus. The fool can really only blame himself, especially after telling them that he won't take attendance calls, but still only accepts realistic reasons for skipping his class. It's such an underhanded, manipulative move yet Rhys knows it will be more effective than calling out names he doesn't know yet every class.

He looks at the man's name written on top of the document. Dmitri Allen Armand. It's not as weird as some of the names celebrities give their kids, but as he recalls the way Armand pronounced his first name with a distinct Slavic accent that reminded Rhys of some of the business partners his father always forces him to meet. He doesn't really know why the mixture of almost breathy vowels and clipped consonants left a lasting impression on him when Doctor Traum's stuffy German accent only felt like a distant annoyance to his ears when the man first introduced himself. But just for a second, his mind wanders and he imagines hearing Armand's smooth, soft voice form words in Russian? Ukrainian? Maybe Polish?