{AVERY}
"What?" I mumble, concerned and confused.
The words have barely escaped my mouth when someone climbing onto a table rips my attention away from Vivian.
A broad-shouldered, dark-haired guy stands over the crowd, waving his hand to silence them.
"Listen up, fuckers. You know the drill. Free time starts now. Don't fuck up. Don't fuck anyone up. Just sort your shit out and move along."
Judging from his appearance, he is a student as well. I look over at the guards, scattered through the crowd, checking for their reaction. This must be normal, because no one, except for me, seems to bat an eyelash.
Noise erupts from the crowd of students, bodies dispersing in every which direction. It's not coordinated or graceful, and I now understand why Vivian is pressed against the wall.
Several people collide into me, seemingly on purpose, as they head towards the doors. I'm not quick enough to realize, my body slamming into the ground as I fall.
I'd at least hope that people would have the decency to walk around me, but they don't. Feet step on my hands and even one guy steps on my calf.
I let out a yelp, suddenly frozen as I get stampeded by the crowd who doesn't give a shit.
All I can see is Vivian's flat, ballet-style shoes, completely still as no one makes an effort to help me.
I'm going to fucking die in this place, I think to myself, curling up as I brace myself for more impact.
"Walk the fuck around," someone growls.
A foot on my thigh puts pressure on my back, the old scar tissue flaring to life with pain. It's thankfully short lived as the person is shoved off me.
Suddenly, the crushing of humans on my body stops, people finally walking around. I start to push myself up on my arms, holding in a groan of pain.
I was taught a long time ago to never show you're in pain if you can help it. It never ends well and no one wants to hear about it. I'm already mentally scolding myself for letting out a sound when someone first stepped on me.
"Here," a stern voice says before a hand appears in front of my face.
Looking up, I spot a tanned blonde with light green eyes staring back at me.
"I'm fine," I mumble, ignoring the pain to stand up without taking his hand. He drops it back to his side, looking over at Vivian and her crowd.
"Well?" he snaps at them.
Vivian shrugs. "You know the rules."
"I am the fucking rules," the guy spits out. "I told you all to make sure there were no more accidents."
"We're not getting involved," a male to her right growls. "She'll learn quickly," he adds, glaring at me.
My eyes narrow, unimpressed by the sudden change in their attitude. "As in learn not to get crushed and die?"
He snorts. "Exactly. Keep to yourself, stay out of the way," he says, like he's reciting some script.
I shift my focus to Vivian, disappointed I thought I had a potential friend or acquaintance in this God forsaken place. It's obviously not the case, and I should have known better. As if sensing my train of thought, Vivian shrugs. "It's every man and woman for themselves. You either survive in here and get freedom, or you don't."
You don't…
So, the alternative is to do good, reform and leave, or be stuck here forever until death.
"Gotcha," I mutter coldly. "Nice to know the rules and where everyone stands."
Vivian nods once, glancing back to the man before heading off to follow the tail of the crowd with her posse. Most people have now left the hall, except for a few in corners, lingering around.
I turn back to the man, trying to decide if he's friend or foe. Obviously, there's no friends though.
"Thanks," I offer bluntly. "I think I have it from here."
The man peers down at me, cocking an eyebrow. "Come with me."
He doesn't wait for a response, turning on his heel and heading towards the doors. I stay put, until he stops, half-turning to look at me like I have the audacity to defy him. "Now."
There's an authority to his voice that demands something, and my feet move slowly, while my brain tries to decipher what exactly.
I expect him to turn down the corridor, but he walks away, into the library.
Vivian might be a bitch, but she was right about one thing — this place does fucking smell.
The stench of mold and dust hovers in the air, clinging to every surface. It's fairly empty of patrons, and it's right to assume no one picks up a book in here as most are covered in thick layers of gray dust.
I'm going to be murdered in here.
The man leads me past several adjacent rows of shelves until we reach the end of the room. It opens up into a space, filled with tables and chairs. In the far right corner, I'm horrified to spot Grey standing. That damn bastard is everywhere I don't want him to be.
"Absolutely not," I mutter, stopping in my tracks.
Grey looks up, hearing me, giving me a big wave. "Little killer! You found a lost puppy, Damon."
Damon scoffs. "Even a puppy has survival instincts. She's like a docile sheep."
"I beg your pardon?" I snap. "I'm not a fucking sheep. And I'm not docile."
He straightens up, reminding me he's easily 6'4. Cold, heartless and stern, his presence intimidates me. I fall silent, turning my head to look at the ground to my left.
"You just got crushed in a crowd. You seem to think you have friends, when that doesn't exist here. You obviously believe you don't belong here, and can't seem to control your emotions."
I stumble on my words, trying to gather my thoughts.
He's right… about everything. And I hate that. I hate that a perfect stranger has been able to read me so easily, making my body tense up in danger.
"I can control my emotions," I finally answer. "I'm just annoyed that you seem to feel like you run the show."
"I do run the show. You'll be quick to learn that."
Grey laughs in the corner — not at me, but at Damon. The latter glares at him, staring daggers but it doesn't faze the brunette.
"I know. He's a big, scary man," Grey says to me. "He's okay."
"I don't believe that," I mutter. "Or you."
Grey's hand flings to his chest, grasping the place where his heart should be. "I'm hurt again. You need to stop doing that — I might get attached."
"Grey, shut the fuck up," Damon snaps, before turning back to me. "I brought you in here to explain some things. The faster you understand and realize, the easier it will be for you."
"Do you work here or something?" I ask, confused. It's obvious he's not a staff member but this whole hierarchy concept that seems to be rearing its head is baffling.
Damon raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. My eyes flicker to his forearms, noticing the black ink covering the entirety of his arms. "Do I look like I have a stick up my ass?"
I can't help the laugh that bubbles out of my throat, quickly covering my mouth. "Sorry. I thought the same thing about the staff," I mutter, quietly.
"See," Damon mutters, fingers tapping away on his skin. "Can't control your emotions to save your fucking life. A minute ago you felt threatened. Now, you're laughing."
My lips purse shut for a moment, my body tensing up nervously. "Just tell me what you wanted to tell me."
"Gladly. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, being new here. Consider this your one and only orientation, of sorts," Damon says.
"I already had orientation," I mumble, confused. "Vivian was in charge of it."
Damon scoffs. "Vivian is nothing but trouble. But that's not the orientation I'm referring to."
"Go on," I press nervously, bewildered by the conversation.
"There's a certain way we do things in here. A system, if you will."
My nose resists the urge to wrinkle as fresh dust tickles it. "Does Lilydale know about this system?"
A small smirk breaks free on his face. "Of course they do. And they don't care. You're docile, but I'm guessing not stupid. They don't care about the patients here."
I hate the way he says patients. I'd rather be referred to as a prisoner. At least then I could focus on the fact I did something bad, rather than the reality that I am bad.
"It's just a money-making scheme," I mutter quietly. "To look good."
Damon nods, like he's praising me for my observation skills — much like a child figuring out that one and one make two.
"So, we take charge here. They only intervene when it gets physical. Everything else is fair game."
My eyes widen when I spot Grey pulling out a candy bar from his pocket, the plastic wrapper making too much noise in the quiet space. He looks at me, breaking off a piece. "Want some?"
"No," I shake my head. "Where did you even get that?"
"We have our methods," he grins, popping the piece in his mouth.
Damon nods, like Grey's answer is the obvious thing to take away from this conversation. "We have methods for everything. We're in charge, and what we say, goes. Outside of the basic schedule you've been given, everything else is run by us. When we say jump, you say…"
"Off a bridge?" I murmur, sarcastically.
I expect some snide remark, but Damon just laughs. "Exactly. If people need to be taken care of, then we'll do that too."
My thoughts go back to the conversation I had with Vivian, about people dying in here. I assumed any deaths were suicides, but now I'm just not sure. Maybe this place is more like a prison than I expected. Which means I have more to worry about.
"And who exactly is in charge?" I ask hesitantly.
Grey finishes his candy bar, throwing the wrapper on the ground carelessly, as he walks towards us. "Why, my Darling, we are."
Damon cuts him off as they stand next to each other, glancing down at me. "If you ever need intimate details of the system, you'll know. But for your sake, I hope you don't because it will be the last thing you ever learn."
The two of them walk either side of me, heading towards the library doors. His words take a moment to sink in, my mind even more confused and terrified now.
By the time my body catches up with my mind, I spin around to ask more questions, but they have vanished out of sight, leaving me alone in the dusty book graveyard.
I think I'm in trouble.