Some wounds just don't heal.
And not all love is bulletproof.
In the aftermath of the disaster at Arrowsmith Institute for Excellency, Freya Arsov is left rattled to her core.
She had it all. Four best friends who would do anything for her. A boy...
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JULIET STOOD OUTSIDE THE OPEN DOOR OF FREYA'S ROOM.
Sheglared into the space.
The house was still and silent but the room ached, as if it's walls were feeling the tears that Freya Arsov did not shed.
She didn't even cry, Amelie said upon returning from her trip to Westshire Hall.
When the silly little fourth year erupted into inconsolable sobs during Vidia al Nassar's speech, Juliet wanted to grab the girl by her ponytail and tell her to shut the fuck up.
She wasn't always angry. This anger beneath her bones was new. It festered and choked, consuming marrow and capillary, shredding her tolerance for the world to bits and pieces.
She tried not to let it consume her, pouring out her rage in honeyed kisses and midnight embraces, small doses, one by one, gone by morning. For the most part, she liked to think it was working. After all, she wasn't the one who'd been pulled off Brompton Road in a police car.
But Maye's arrest and her wild desire to scrape her fingernails down Helena Chapman's cheeks were pretty damn similar. Reckless, wild, a bullet flying from a gun.
Freya's room glared back.
Bookshelves— overflowing. A pair of heels kicked off into a corner. Jiya Deepak had raided this room though. Some things from the shelves were missing. Her computer was gone. Even the sheets looked out of place, the wandering hands of the police not even having respect for that sacred space of Matthew and Freya's.
Her hand was a hard grasp on the room's doorframe.
Amelie had stayed back in the chapel and Raina had left her to wander back to Ebony House on her own, chasing after Karsyn's striking figure. Juliet didn't like to be alone with herself anymore. When there were no strangers to warm her bed during the holidays, she'd trek across the hall of their flat to Amelie's room and sleep next to her because she couldn't do it alone. The hot hate splitting her chest was going to win if she was alone.
