Unconditional Submission

Ruined

Clark wanted to leave the grounds. He wanted to take me back to his Uncle's manor which I suggested wouldn't be a good idea. Headmaster Warren had told Clark never to bring students to his home.

Clark wasn't overly fond of obeying someone else's rules, however.

So, after dropping one seed into a hole dug into the freshly carved ground, from a packet of seeds that read Auslounge, we left.

It was a compromise; I wanted to plant something—just one thing—to leave a happy and innocent piece of me behind. When Clark added a second seed and helped me push loose dirt back into place, he was leaving a piece of himself with me. He didn't know that, and I didn't tell him.

I marked the spot with a bright red rock that was guaranteed to catch my eye in the future; if I ever found my way back here.

It was overly sentimental of me, and as Clark tugged me away, and our dirty fingers interlaced, I smiled sadly at the old life I was leaving behind in the dirt of Vanidestine's Boarding School.

We didn't speak. Clouds threatened to rain above us and a chilly wind moved in from behind the trees that boardered the two academies.

Clark's mood was as stormy as the sky and I was worried; not for me, but for him. Most certainly for him.

In my head, I replayed the day behind us and picked out every little detail that could have gotten underneath Clark's skin. By my count, he had more than a dozen reasons to be upset. And I didn't know how to fix it.

Up the stone stairs where the manor loomed above, Clark carefully opened the front door as if he was afraid of disturbing somebody inside. I imagined it must be his uncle that he was wary of running into. After all, he hadn't been on the grounds with us today. If he had been, then I imagine Professor Adams wouldn't have involved himself in the spat that made such a scene.

Inside, Clark shut the door quietly behind him before quickly tugging me up the stairs. I struggled to keep up as he took two stairs at a time. Down the hall, past tables with vases of flowers and cedar cigar boxes, one sharp turn to the left delivered us to his room. He released my hand as he closed the door with a soft click.

I watched, waiting, as he took his time turning around. When he did, he faced me with his face as set in stone as usual; never giving anything away. I knew something bothered him, however, and just as I stepped forward to address it, he commanded me to kneel in one, curt, order, his voice soft and...frustrated.

I obeyed, taken off guard by his instruction.

The air around us shifted immediately, and Clark was once again a caged wolf, fighting to be released. His eyes might as well have been on fire for they burned through me with such fiery possesion that I felt my heart flutter nervously in my chest. I watched him come apart at the seams, turning from me and tearing his hands through his hair as if second by second he was losing more and more control.

Never before had I seen him so frazzled.

"I felt very out of control today," his voice, low and raw, spoke to the window; his back to me as he ripped the hoodie from his back and tossed it to the corner of his room.

"I'm sorr—" I started to apologize but he stopped me. Before I could get the apology out, he whirled around and dropped down in front of me, one hand closing around my neck.

He didn't squeeze, he didn't have to. I wasn't breathing.

"I don't like being out of control, Katherine," he said hoarsely, his thumb hovering over the fluttering pulse in my neck. I wanted to apologize again, but I wouldn't dare speak now. The fight in Clark's eyes boiled like an overdue volcano and I knew he was near erupting.