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TWENTY-SEVEN
playing with fire
_____✵_____
The heavy metal doors slid open to let me enter into the office for the second time. I couldn't have imagined the sudden change of relations. When I set foot here three and a half months ago --- all I had in my heart was hate. But now, I was craving to be in his arms and forget everything that was real --- and a catastrophe.
Ian was leaning against the window frame with his back turned towards me. Honestly, he did look like a Boss in his black silken shirt and matching trousers.
I clear my throat, causing him to turn around.
"What took you so long?" he asks, walking over to me.
"Traffic...Ian, what is it? I can't really be in this maze anymore, so just say it!" I breath out, tapping my feet impatiently.
"I happened to come across some CCTV footage while I was in detention." He bites his lips, looking at the computer screen as his hands scrolled the mouse.
"Wait a minute - why were you in detention?!" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows in question.
"Is that more important now, Vanessa?" he glares.
"I mean, you're always on a special leave." I shrug, picking at my fingernails.
Even though my insides were churning in anger mixed with fear and confusion --- I didn't show it. Maybe that's one of the rare traits I happen to inherit from my mother.
"I still am. Yesterday was an exception since I had forged a signature of my dad." he says in a small voice.
"But Mr. Eastwood happens to be in France --- I guess that is a good enough excuse." I argue.
"Say that to my homeroom teacher and they will dig up the dirt. Anyway, we are going off topic." he mutters, twitching his jaw.
"If only you'd be more clear in your statements." I roll my eyes, shifting closer to him to peek into the computer screen displaying a private folder.
"How did you manage to get these?" I ask.
"Copied them into my pen drive while the security was busy snoring." he chuckles.
"And exactly which footage do you want me to see?" I look up at him, his green eyes unblinking.
"The soccer field."
He clicks on the play button -- a hazy record of the lush green fields move before my eyes and eventually focus on a certain corner.
I could see Connor --- his white and blue jersey as he spoke to the Coach. And in the flick of a second, the ball comes flying to strike the back of his head, missing the medullaoblongata by some inches.
