CHAPTER THREE

REINFORCEMENT

( — a stimulus that strengthens the behavior that produced it. )

— ♡ —

          CHRISTOPHER FORD SLAMS A HANDFUL OF STAPLED SHEETS OF PAPER AGAINST HIS DESK LIKE A CLOTH. "Frankly, Rhiannon, do you have any idea of just how badly you've potentially screwed us over?" Rhiannon gulps, attempting to stand as immobile as possible, so as to prove to him she knows how to remain firm, even when droplets of his saliva hit her face, but it feels like a slap in the face. "You have absolutely no idea of the consequences of your recklessness and pure stupidity—"

          "Dad, I'm—"

          The real slap in the face comes before she gets to finish her sentence, echoing in his office, and she immediately falls silent, her skin still reverberating with the impact of his hand against her cheek. The floor sways beneath her feet and she stumbles to the side, having to support her weight on his desk, as all the air escapes from her lungs.

          "Don't," Christopher hisses, "try to come up with excuses. Don't talk back to me. Not after you put all our hard work in jeopardy over your selfishness."

          "I'm sorry," Rhiannon mutters, inhaling as much oxygen as possible, but it feels like breathing in smoke and she's burning from the inside out. Though she's truly ashamed of having him yell at her and over having been slapped in the face, part of her understands his anger. It's her job to try to rationalize everything that happens—everything is the product of a synapse and the release of a neurotransmitter. So were her mistakes. "I'm sorry. Please let me fix this—"

          "We already did! Your mother and I had to pay for what you did and so had the thousands of other people working for this company and what it stands for!" She has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop it from trembling and closes her hands into fists, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her palms. "We keep having to pay for and fix your mistakes and we're exhausted, Rhiannon. When your mother told me I had screwed up for letting you be here and trusting you with confidential information, I wanted to believe she was wrong. I really did." He takes a deep breath, with the vein on his neck being two pulses away from bursting. "I guess I was in the wrong after all."

          "I can fix it," she insists, despite knowing she's fighting a battle she can't win. It's a decisive one, one that dictates whether you win or lose the war, and it's not hard to determine who the victor is in the current situation. "If I messed it up, I . . . I know how to fix it. I have the means to do it and all I need is you to trust me—"

          "I can't, Rhiannon!" She shudders, with an involuntary whimper escaping from her throat. "I did it for far too long, and look at where that got me! Look at where that got all of us!"

          She knows. She knows you can't simply get someone to trust you again after you stabbed them in the back, even if you're drowning in regret over what you did; it was your stupidity, unmeasured ambition and selfishness that brought you to where you are and, at the end of the day, they're what will make you ask yourself—was it worth it? Betraying those who once had your back through thick and thin? And for what? For a minuscule spark of success, which wasn't even guaranteed?

          "Get out of my office," Christopher finally orders, when the silence has dragged on for a second too long. Rhiannon swallows the snow lodged in her throat and the flames give place to ice crystals, threatening to rip out of her chest. "Get out of my house. Get out of my sight."

          "Dad . . ."

          "I'm ashamed to know my own daughter, out of all people, would ever do such a thing." His dark eyes are blazing, something Rhiannon had only seen in her own reflection, and she chokes out a sob. "Though I find it admirable that you had the courage to do what you did, I hope it makes you lose sleep. I hope it ruins you."

          Jude had to get it from somewhere. Though they're obviously not related to each other, Rhiannon supposes his prophet abilities were influenced by Christopher Ford's own skills of predicting how hellish someone's life will be—he was right when it came to Rhiannon in so many aspects, including the nights of sleep she has missed, suffocating under the weight of all her guilt.

          They knew exactly how she'd feel after it all. It wasn't even just over getting disowned or not getting chosen to be a bridesmaid on her sister's wedding (though Rhiannon is not dumb enough to think Stephanie didn't have a choice in the matter; even if their relationship wasn't as strained as Rhiannon's with their parents, there were still negative consequences that, naturally, pushed them apart from each other)—it was knowing a fleeting moment of not thinking about anyone other than herself had almost destroyed several lives.

          That's not something that lets you sleep peacefully at night.

          Therefore, Rhiannon wakes up drenched in her own sweat, panting as she jumps awake on her bed, and Isla jumps on her seat, startled, placing a hand on her chest.

          "Jesus, Rhea," she whispers, with her glasses sliding down her nose bridge. Nevertheless, she doesn't bother fixing them, choosing to fully take them off instead and spinning around in her chair to face Rhiannon's side of the room. Rhiannon presses her hands against her scorching cheeks, trying to reassure herself she's safe here—the past is in the past and all she can do is learn from it. "Nightmare?"

          "Something like that," Rhiannon murmurs. "What time is it?"

          "Huh"—Isla reaches out a hand across her desk to check out the time on her phone—"it's barely past one in the morning, but that also means it's currently Saturday and you can still get plenty of sleep." She chews on her bottom lip. "You went to bed pretty early." Rhiannon tries to give her an unconcerned shrug—at least it's what she wants to do—but nothing comes out, as her muscles feel too stiff. "Babe."

          "I'm okay." Rhiannon brushes her hair away from her face. "I'm okay. It was just a bad dream."

          Isla sighs, standing up from her chair to cross the room, and falls to the end of Rhiannon's bed, taking advantage of the latter having pulled her knees close to her chest. "You know you can talk to me, right? You've been sort of . . . distant since we came back to Crowcrest." Rhiannon looks away, having to bite her tongue to prevent herself from telling Isla she feels the same way about her. "Is it just because of your sister's wedding?"

          Rhiannon stares down at the thin silver bracelet looped around her right wrist. Stephanie gave it to her on her seventeenth birthday and, after having been through hell and back, it now serves as a reminder that there's some part of their relationship that is still intact, even after all this time.

          "This damn experiment is driving me crazy," Rhiannon begins, though she's not entirely sure why she's so concerned about a matter that doesn't concern her. The spot in her rib-cage where Jude playfully elbowed her a few days prior pulsates with occasional jolts of pain. "I have no idea why people are so eager to sign up for it. Jude is thinking about doing it, and so is Matteo, but they clearly don't need the money; hell, Jude might be doing it because he wants to help, but Matteo?"

          "Right." Isla pulls the pencil out of her bun, letting her hair fall down in waves around her shoulders and framing her face. "Yeah, I've heard about it . . . and you have a point. There are plenty of people talking about signing up, even if Northrop and McCall haven't said anything remotely interesting about it. I think I heard Gabriella, Hailey, Laura and Sutton talk about it as well."

          Rhiannon internally groans at the mention of the girls' names. If there was such a thing as an it crowd in college, then Gabriella Brighton, Hailey Hobbes, Laura Palmer and Sutton Cooper would be its members; they don't match the stereotypical mean girls Rhiannon knew back in high school, even if she has barely said two words to them, but they seem nice enough.

          They're also pretty darn rich.

          Crowcrest University's students are, in their vast majority, rich kids, coming from respectable families from all around Canada, not just from Vofield or even Nova Scotia. Though the university takes great pride in their reputation as a prestigious investigation center, some kids are known for being, well, awfully spoiled sometimes. Those kids don't need the money the experiment will offer them and Rhiannon is almost certain some of them aren't doing because they want to help further the university's reputation.

          Everything is a big question mark at the moment, and Rhiannon doubts she wants to get the answers to all her questions.

          Out of those four girls, Rhiannon believes she'd be closest to Laura if they all gave each other a chance, but they come from different worlds. Though they all enjoy their stability (especially Gabriella, whose outfits are always perfectly coordinated and there's never a strand of her blonde hair out of place, and Hailey, who has maintained a perfect GPA since freshman year), Rhiannon's life is too chaotic when compared to theirs.

          Laura Palmer takes great pride in honoring her namesake by staying alive, even in adverse circumstances, but has some trouble with not sticking her nose into other people's business. Rhiannon enjoys having her privacy, but, sometimes, she wishes her friends were a bit more . . . invasive, even if she's also at fault for spending too much time inside her personal bubble, where nothing can harm her.

          "Are you signing up?" Rhiannon eventually asks, rolling out of bed and clutching her fluffy pillows against her chest.

          Goosebumps rise all over her legs with the cold air from the world above her covers, as she's only wearing a thermal sweater, a pair of cotton shorts and ankle socks, out of pure idiocy. It's September and the temperatures are too low for mid-season pajamas, but Rhiannon seems to not have gotten the memo.

          "Probably not," Isla replies, with a leg dangling off the edge of the bed, gently swinging back and forth. "Are you? And where the hell are you going?"

          "No. Psychologists scare me." She exhales. "I'm going to Jude's."

          "At this time of the night? What will people think?"

          "That I can't sleep and don't give a damn about what they think of me. Both of these facts happen to be just that." Isla sighs. "What?"

          "I just hope you remember you're my best friend and I'm here for you no matter what." Isla throws her a kicked puppy look and Rhiannon's heart instantly sinks when she curls her fingers around the door handle, ready to be out of this place for a few hours to let her best friend study. "Just . . . talk to me if you need to, alright? You don't always need to wake up Jude and Matteo at such ungodly hours."

          Rhiannon cracks a small smile, one that forces her to use all the energy left in her body. "Of course."

          No one sees her cross the hallway, anyway, so she makes it to Jude and Matteo's dorm room without running into any troubles Isla thought she would. It feels too intimate, crawling into his bed in the middle of the night, but he's half-asleep when he scoots towards the bed to give her more space (and Matteo asks them to be considerate and be as quiet as possible because he doesn't have any earplugs to block any suspicious sounds coming from their side of the bedroom; Jude throws him a shoe and he shuts up, but not before snickering) and Rhiannon knows it's not like that.

          It could be, even if now's not the time to worry about it. He rests his chin against her shoulder, his stubble tickling the bare skin of the side of her neck, and her heartbeat stabilizes as his breathing grows more regular, with an arm swung around her waist.

— ♡ —

          "I'M NOT SIGNING UP FOR THAT DAMN THING," Rhiannon protests, after Matteo pushes his knit beanie over her head, on Sunday morning. "When will you stop pestering me about it? I have no interested in sitting in front of two people who mean nothing to me and pretend like I care about their experiment—"

          "Why not?" Matteo questions, walking around her to stand in front of her, and the sun-rays, hidden behind the usual gray clouds, cast gentle silver undertones along his dark skin. Standing at an impressive height of six foot two and having a bone structure that could have been carved by Michelangelo himself, Matteo Di Stefano has spent years rejecting offers from modelling agencies, constantly declaring his love for the fine arts of not minding his own business and Psychology. "I think it'd be a great opportunity for you. Jude can't spend the rest of his life paying for your coffee."

          She kicks him in the thigh and he holds her ankle before she can repeat the gesture. "You're a terrible person." His onyx eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, but she's almost certain the devious grin stretching his lips is reflected on them. "Besides, they'd only pay me if they actually chose me, which is something we both know won't ever happen because I don't care about them, their experiment or Psychology."

          He quirks an eyebrow. "What has Psychology ever done to you?"

          "Not to me personally"—she draws back her leg—"but I don't trust experiments. You know that one in Stanford?"

          "The Stanford Prison Experiment?" Rhiannon nods, with the September breeze blowing her hair to the left. Though it's not a particularly cold day, her knees are freezing, even while hidden underneath her jeans. "Fine, that one was creepy as hell, but I honestly doubt Northrop and McCall would ever choose to recreate it or do anything remotely similar to it, especially her. It's just not the type of person she strikes me as—and, before you ask, yes, I'm good at evaluating people's character. It's what I've spent my entire college career doing."

          "You're seriously overestimating my character, then." She pulls her pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, sticking one between her teeth. "Do I look desperate to the point of even thinking about signing up for an interview?"

           "Frankly? Yes, you do." She clenches her jaw. "Rhea, babe, it's not like you're missing out on much if you don't go, but, if they end up choosing you, you can drop out with no consequences. If they find a way of making your life a living hell over it, you can file a complaint and argue it's non-ethical, not to mention illegal."

          "You mean they can make my life worse than it already is?" Matteo doesn't answer, at least not verbally, choosing to swing back and forth on his heels instead. "If I sign up, will you leave me alone?"

          "Guess."    

— ♡ —

yeah honestly ship jiannon all you want it really doesn't matter anymore

SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY but mondays are always awful to me (i get home from college super late) and wattpad was doing the infrastructure update last night, so i thought it'd be best to post this today.

kell bateaux i love you and i've told you this a few days ago, but thank you for caring about diversity and representation. thanks for being the bigger person and speaking up for what you believe in, while not being ashamed to say 'hey, perhaps i should have done this a little bit better'. thank you for being one of the most honest, down to earth people i've ever met on this website <3