CHAPTER TWELVE

OBEDIENCE

( — the act or practice of obeying; dutiful or submissive compliance. )

— ♡ —

          RHIANNON CAN'T FEEL HER TOES. Therefore, it would be extremely pleasing if Rowan decided to open his mouth and give her a straightforward answer instead of being so cryptic, lost inside his head.

          She can almost see the electric and chemical messages traveling through his brain and nervous system as he tries to make a decision; she once read an article about the role of serotonin and dopamine in decision making and, though she really wishes she could remember what it said (because, hell, it's supposed to be her field of studies), her mind is blank, complete with a snowstorm.

          Despite her impatience (which she prays she's masking relatively well), she supposes she understands it might not be an easy decision to make. It's technically illegal if the police aren't informed of whatever they find out and can potentially help with the investigation and, if word reaches her parents, God knows what will happen; they might not be big fans of having her join Project Oxygen, but that was a decision she made for her own good and was a purely legal one, for that matter.

          The difference is that there is a human life at stake here. No one knows what happened to Taylor and, now that there has been almost a month since she was seen for the last time, people have started to lose hope, letting it be blown away by harsh gusts of wind. Rhiannon doesn't want to quit, even though she never knew the girl, but her actions are limited; Rowan, on the other hand, would have a relatively valid excuse to get involved, assuming all illegalities are ignored.

          "Are you sure it will be safe for you to be doing this?" Rowan questions, after a long period of silence, while Rhiannon sets a hand on her hip, hoping the movement will help return circulation to her extremities. His shoulders stiffen with the gesture. "Look, I don't want to—"

          "I know what I'm doing," Rhiannon chimes in, voice almost imperceptibly higher than its usual tone. He already sounds patronizing, despite not knowing her, but there's a high chance he has heard what people say about her because that's simply what they do; they're always looking for an excuse to bring other people down so they can climb to the top, and she's not even being self-centered. She knows it because she has heard them say mean things about everyone else, including people they're supposedly friends with. Nevertheless, she can handle herself and doesn't need them to pity her, especially Rowan. "Taylor is the priority here. Are you in, or what?"

          "Do I have a choice?" Rhiannon stays quiet, focusing exclusively on keeping a straight face so she won't reveal her feelings. "Thanks, then. I promise I won't rat you out."

          "If you do, I'll tell Isla to talk to Chase again. I heard he left quite . . . the impression last time." Rowan is momentarily caught by surprise with the Chase comment and Rhiannon wasn't expecting to remember that day, but it worked. As soon as he pulls himself back together, Jude calls her name—her full name, which instantly quickens her heart rate because no, it's not normal—and they both turn around to face him. "I have to go. Thanks for giving me the time of day."

          She doesn't wait for an answer coming from him, mostly because she knows she won't get one, thanks to all she has heard from him through Isla. She's doing the two of them a favor, not just him, and he asked what was in this for him, meaning he clearly knows where his priorities lie.

          She thinks she tries to smile as she looks up at Jude and slips an arm through his, but something weighs her down, sinking her feet into the snow. Snowflakes get caught between the dark strands of her hair and Jude breaks free from her hold, choosing to slide his arm around her shoulder instead. It hurts, with her hair being stuck between it and her scalp, but she doesn't voice any complaints.

          He blabbers about Beatrice and Frances and the contract they were forced to sign as they walk and Rhiannon nods whenever he pauses, knowing he's aware her focus is elsewhere far from their conversation. She can't help but let her mind wander towards Taylor and Dimitri and whatever happened to her; it's possible they could have fought on the day she went missing and she simply wanted to clear her head, but the police must have already talked to him. After all, the significant other tends to always be the first suspect in these cases.

          Even though Rhiannon was busy listening to Beatrice and Frances and worrying about the possibility of having Jude blackout mid-explanation in the minuscule office, she also noticed some details about Dimitri. For starters, he spent most of the time spinning the black string bracelet wrapped around his slender wrist; when he wasn't doing that, he mostly looked awfully distraught and Rhiannon knew his mind, too, was somewhere else.

          When she looks at Jude, she refuses to think about the possibility of him being in Taylor's place, leaving her in Dimitri's. Though that was something she considered back when the news of her disappearance were first announced, with both Isla and Matteo's names also coming to her mind, she soon learned to push that thought away. It's what she always does concerning painful ideas instead of properly dealing with them.

          Besides being horribly desperate over not knowing what had happened to him or whether he was dead or alive, how would she live with being treated as a potential prime suspect? How could the police even think she'd do anything to hurt him, especially on purpose? Crimes of passion aren't premeditated and Rhiannon might have learned how to fight against any hypothetically harmful impulses, but we're still talking about Jude.

          She would never.

          "Hey," Jude calls, dropping his arm and stepping in front of her. She stops so abruptly she nearly walks against his chest, but his reflexes, unlike hers, are quick enough to let him hold her elbows. "What's going on? You seem really . . . out of it today."

          "Nothing special," she replies, too fast for it to be the tiniest bit believable. Even though he gladly lets her have her privacy, it has grown considerably harder to keep a secret from him, especially when her eyes tell it all—or so he says. "I don't know. I guess I'm just . . . nervous about the experiment, that's all. It's no big deal."

          "Yeah," he sighs. "Me too. I still can't believe we're actually doing this."

          "I can't believe I let Matteo talk me into signing up for that damn interview." She exhales through her mouth, releasing a cloud of steam between them. It also reminds her she hasn't smoked today and, even though she has been trying to quit that nasty habit (or, at the very least, smoke fewer cigarettes per day), it's still an addiction, there's still dopamine and her damn VTA. "Did you . . . notice Dimitri?"

          "Should I have?" Jude pulls his own pack of cigarettes from his pocket and, after sticking one between his teeth, he hands it to her, allowing her to begrudgingly mimic him. "I mean"—he cups the small spherical space formed by the cigarette with his hand to light it and the flame briefly illuminates his skin in warm tones—"I was trying to focus on breathing. You know. Small space, and all. What about him?"

          "He's Taylor Morris' boyfriend." She accepts the neon-green lighter he hands her and lights her own cigarette. "Thanks. Or, I mean, was. I don't know where they currently stand, considering I don't know whether she's dead or alive. No one does, in fact."

          His hazel eyes widen, and she carefully watches her reflection on his pupils to ensure she's not revealing too much. "Really?" She nods, expelling the smoke out of her mouth and releasing it away from him. "Damn. Poor guy. Can't even imagine what he must be going through."

          "Assuming he had nothing to do with it. What?" she adds, when he narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly. "We don't know either of them. For all we know, they could have had some big fight that night, or something." Doubt crosses his eyes and hits her like a brutal stab through the chest, tightening her blood vessels. The oxygen present in her bloodstream isn't nearly enough to keep her minimally functioning. "I don't know, Jude. Maybe Matteo had a point when he . . . when he said we weren't chosen randomly. Maybe this has always been about Taylor."

          "Rhea . . ."

          "I know this might sound far-fetched, but what if Northrop and McCall think we know something about what happened to Taylor? Something the police don't?" She chews down on her bottom lip, glad it's bare of any make-up today. "There were hundreds of applicants, Jude, and there are only eleven of us; there's no way it was just a coincidence and, like Matteo said, it's a tiny sample. Like a particle of cosmic dust next to the whole Universe. There's something hidden behind their reasons to choose us specifically."

          He sighs softly. "Maybe."

          "But?"

          "But I don't think that's the only reason why. With Connor and his family being involved in the experiment"—she grits her teeth, already suspecting that's where he wanted their conversation to lead to—"I think there might be other . . . interests at stake. Beatrice might be pretty noble, but I don't know about the rest of them, especially when Roman is part of it. You know the Duncans never hesitate before throwing other people under the bus, even their so-called friends."

          Rhiannon truly despises how everything bad that happens to them can, somehow, be traced back to what she did (with Connor's help, obviously; she might have been to blame for nearly destroying her parents' business, but not fully) two years ago. It was bad enough destroying her own life, but a hurricane's destruction path isn't always a straight line.

          And, damn it, it hurts. It hurts that she can never move on from what happened, with constant reminders of it following her everywhere she goes; she thought she was safe at Crowcrest, despite all the whispering, as that was something she has always known how to deal with, but Connor just had to show up. He drains her dry just by having someone utter his name and he thrives on the power he has over her—he does that to everyone he screws over, be it by himself or through his family.

          It's what they all do, really. Those dirty, rabid vultures.

— ♡ —

          RHIANNON KNOWS SHE CAN'T HIDE FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIFE. 

          Even though she's still determined to avoid Connor as much as she possibly can, to preserve her sanity, mostly, there are a few other people she'll have to hang out with as long as Project Oxygen is active to ensure it succeeds (and, to an extent, to ensure she succeeds), which means she can't hide behind a mask throughout the entire process.

          It's a terrifying thought, truthfully, and she doesn't know exactly whether all of them can be trusted (just because Isla and Jude do, it certainly doesn't mean she has to do the same, as she's twenty-one and can easily make her own decisions and form her own opinions). Any missteps might be what makes her fall off the tightrope and plummet down to her death, and she doubts she wants to run that risk just for the sake of cooperating with her peers.

          If they want to know the truth about what she did so badly, then they'll have to hear it directly from the source, deprived of any bias against her truth. Yes, she's biased (Matteo's voice resonates in the walls of her brain, ricocheting like laser lights spread out in a room full of mirrors, turned into different angles, as he reminds her of something called self-serving bias), but it's her reality and she, out of all people, knows the exact details regarding that incident.

          It's also horribly upsetting. She enviously watches all of them try to bond, knowing they'll have to spend plenty of time together throughout the following weeks, maybe months, and it will be awful to all those involved if they end up not getting along, and wishes she was able to do even half of what they do.

          She has to start somewhere, though. After pressing a quick kiss to the nape of Jude's neck, right above the collar of his shirt, she decides to approach the girls, sitting on their bean-bag chairs around a table in the common room of their dorm. The place is humid, with the cold air from outside still managing to creep through the slightly open windows and seeping through her skin, but Rhiannon pulls through.

          At least, she's attempting to.

          She knows she kept saying Laura would be the one of them she'd be closest to if they were actually friends, but, after that incident with Roman at the cafeteria, all those weeks ago, she has found herself keeping a certain distance. Granted, she can't be totally blamed for what happened, seeing as she didn't even look up to realize Roman is blind and didn't hear the soft tapping of his cane against the floor, but it still rubbed her off the wrong way somehow.

          Therefore, she tries Hailey today.

          She can be intimidating, really, seeming to be always so certain of herself (and battling a constant amicable competition with Isla for grades, with the two of them being the top two students at Crowcrest), but Rhiannon is not a child, easily scared by anyone who dares to raise their voice a single octave on an isolated occasion or take a second too long to smile.

          "Hi," she greets, hiding her hands in her cardigan's pockets to hide the trembling. Hailey looks up mid-conversation, along with the rest of them, even Zelda, and the smile she throws Rhiannon appears to be genuine enough. "Sorry to interrupt, but can I pull you aside for a minute? There's . . . something I need to tell you."

          "Oh," Hailey blabbers, "yeah, totally. I think I've had enough of talking about Marc Jacobs. No offense, S."

          "None taken," Sutton replies, stretching her legs in front of her and crossing her ankles, while Hailey stands up from the burgundy bean-bag chair. It slowly returns to its original position, no longer sinking with Hailey's weight. "I think I've had enough of watching you pretend to listen."

          "What I'm about to tell you," Rhiannon reveals, once they're standing on a corner of the room, where no one can eavesdrop, "cannot leave this place." She gestures towards the space between them. "You can't tell anyone, okay? Not even the girls. Not even Gabriella."

          "There are no secrets between Gabby and me"—Rhiannon's heart sinks, fearing this might have been a terrible idea—"but, if it really is that confidential, it stays between us. You have my word, which is the most valuable thing in a place where no one can keep their mouth shut, it seems." Hailey gives her a playful shrug. "What's up?"

          "I . . . since we're going to be working together, there are some things you need to know. You, as in, the other . . . participants. I'm just not ready to tell everyone about it." She fidgets, staring down at her chapped crimson nail-polish. "It's about what I did. About why my parents cut me off."