Richard grabbed her chin, tilting her face up toward his. “Well. It was fun for a while.”
My last thin thread of hesitation snapped. I lunged at him, but Meredith was closer. People screamed as she backhanded him across the face—it was nothing like Camilo’s class, not precise or controlled, but a wild, savage blow meant to do as much damage as possible. Richard swore obscenely, but before he could get to her James and Alexander crashed into him like a pair of linebackers. Even their combined weight wasn’t enough to knock him down, and he kept bellowing curses, snatching at every inch of Meredith he could reach. I grabbed her around the waist, but he already had a fistful of her hair and she cried out in pain as he yanked on it. I lifted her right off the ground and wrenched her away from him, crushing her against my chest as I lost my balance and stumbled into Filippa. Richard, James, and Alexander pitched backward and fell against the cabinets, half a dozen people rushing to catch them before they hit the floor.
I pawed Meredith’s hair away from my face, one arm locked tight around her, unsure whether I was trying to protect her or control her or both. “Meredith—” I said, but she elbowed me in the stomach and shoved me off. Filippa seized my shirt when I staggered and held on, like she was afraid of what I might do if she let go. Meredith stared straight past us at Richard, arms rigid at her sides, chest heaving. Slowly, he pushed himself upright. James had already backed away, and the few people still holding on to Richard hastily removed their hands. Alexander cursed softly, touching his fingertips to a bloody lip. Everyone else’s eyes were fixed on Meredith, but it wasn’t the kind of staring she was used to. Everything she felt was written on her face—shame, fury, paralytic disbelief.
“You bastard,” she said. She turned and shouldered past me and Filippa, scattering terrified first-years as she made her way to the stairs.
Richard and I stood facing each other, like unarmed fencers. Alexander flickered in my peripheral vision, reaching up for a napkin to wipe his mouth. I could hear Wren whimpering, but the sound was distant. James stood behind Richard like a shadow, watching me with a shell-shocked expression, one part dread, one part indignation. Anger bristled on my skin, trapped there by the fabric of my shirt pulled tight against my body. I wanted to hurt Richard like he’d hurt Meredith, like he’d hurt James, like he would hurt any one of us who gave him half a reason. I glanced at Filippa because I didn’t trust myself not to attack him any more than she did.
“I’ll go,” I said, stiffly. She nodded and let go of my shirt, and I didn’t wait. The crowd parted as easily for me as it had for Meredith. I turned into the hall between the kitchen and dining room and pressed my back flat against the wall, breathing slowly through my nose until my head stopped spinning. I didn’t even know what I was drunk on anymore—whiskey and weed and howling rage. I took one last long breath, then ducked through the doorway to the stairwell.
“Meredith,” I said, for the third time. She was the only one there, halfway up the stairs. Music droned in the walls, half muted. Warm pink light leaked in from the kitchen.
“Leave me alone.”
“Hey.” I climbed the first three steps behind her. “Wait.”
She stopped, one hand trembling on the banister. “For what? I’m done with this fucking party, with all of them down there. What do you want?”
“I just want to help.”
“Is that right?”
I stared up at her—dress disheveled, arms folded, face flushed—and felt a tiny, painful thud in the pit of my stomach. She was too stubborn. “Forget it,” I said, and turned down the stairs again.
“Oliver!”
I gritted my teeth, turned back around. “Yes?”
She didn’t say anything at first, just glared at me. Her hair was tangled and caught in her earring where Richard had grabbed it. That little rip in the middle of me opened wider and it burned—raw and tender, red and angry.
“You really want to help?” she asked. It was only half a question—tentative, suspicious of the answer.
“Yes,” I said again, too fiercely, stung by her doubt.
That same brazen, fearless look she’d given me in the dressing room flashed across her face. In one impulsive motion, she came down the three steps between us and kissed me, caught me, both hands curled tight around the back of my neck. I was startled but still, oblivious to everything but the unexpected heat of her mouth on mine.
We separated an inch and looked at each other with wide, unguarded eyes. Nothing about her had ever seemed simple, but she was, then. Simple and close and beautiful. A little tousled, a little damaged.
We kissed again, more urgently. She forced my lips apart, stole my breath right out of my mouth, pushed me backward until I hit the banister. I grabbed her hips and pulled her against me, ready to feel every inch of her.
An unfamiliar voice interrupted the thick noise of music through the wall. “Oh, shit.”
She disengaged, broke away, and I nearly lost my balance in the sudden absence of her body. Some nameless first-year was standing at the foot of the stairs, drink in hand. His eyes slid from me to Meredith with dull, unfocused surprise. “Oh, shit,” he said again, and staggered out toward the kitchen.