As I followed Mr. Clinton, Erin’s hand slipped into mine, her grip tight. I tried to shake her off, but she held firm. “Let’s go, Sarah,” she whispered with her usual smile.
Mr. Clinton led us to a small study off the main hallway. The room was dimly lit, with only a single bulb casting a warm glow upon us. He gestured for us to sit, and I reluctantly took a seat, trying to extricate my hand from Erin’s grasp.
“So, Sarah,” Mr. Clinton began, his voice stern. “I hear there have been some… issues with your behavior.”
“What issue?” I demanded, trying to get my tone steady despite Erin’s grip tightening around my arm.
Mr. Clinton’s eyes narrowed at me as he noticed my struggle with Erin. Then his gaze shifted to Erin, whose expression was unreadable.
“There is something going on between the two of you. I know I said that I wouldn’t intervene, but I can’t help it; you two are acting strange.” He said, eyeing us suspiciously, his gaze darting between the both of us. “I noticed something, and I can see it in the way you look at each other.”
I hesitated, glancing at Erin, who seemed to have turned mute all of a sudden. Her gaze was fixed on me, daring me to speak.
“Mr. Clinton, whatever I told in my room was the truth,” I said, my eyes shifting to Erin, whose bright mocking smile sent a shiver down my spine.
We continued staring at each other, with neither of us willing to look away; my expression remained unreadable and bold as I used the chance to dislodge my arm from her grip.
Mr. Clinton let out a frustrated sigh, averting his eyes away from us. “Erin, Sarah said you’ve been tormenting her, and I don’t understand what that’s supposed to mean,” he said, his voice calm but with a hint of irritation.
“Did Sarah tell you that?” Erin chuckled, feigning amusement. She then glanced at me, raising one eyebrow. “Seriously, Sarah, how could you say that?” Then she turned to Mr. Clinton, her smile fading as she sounded innocent. “It was just the pranks we usually play with each other.”
I was so tempted to slap her across the face and tear off that mask hiding her deceit. My face scrunched up as I fought the urge to stay calm. I wanted to speak, but every word died in my throat. I felt defeated again because I knew that what I wanted to say would end up sounding like a joke.
Mr. Clinton crossed his arms, his expression serious as his eyes flashed with disapproval. “So, I was just wasting my time with you two.”
Erin smiled apologetically. “Sorry, Mr. Clinton, Sarah is just a drama queen,” she said, rolling her eyes at me.
Mr. Clinton peered at me, his gaze piercing. It seemed his eyes were boring into me, searching for something I couldn’t quite pinpoint. His expression wasn’t stern; instead, his eyes flickered with concern.
He looked away, concealing his unease. He then turned to the door and stopped at the exit. It seemed he wanted to say something but stopped himself and glanced at me before leaving.
As the door closed behind Mr. Clinton, Erin’s demeanor changed. Her smile vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating gaze.
“Why do you keep trying, Sarah, when you know whatever you say seems absurd?” Erin said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I felt a surge of anger, but my words remained trapped in my throat.
Erin’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You’re so easy to manipulate. I’m starting to think you enjoy it. It was fun seeing you infuriated,” she said, chuckling in between her words, seeming to find pleasure in my reactions.
My face burned with frustration; I was just a breath away from losing my composure.
And Erin’s gaze seemed to feed on my frustration, her smile twisting into a cruel grin.
It made me keep wondering what I had done wrong and why she chose to hate me all of a sudden. I still couldn’t figure out the excuse for her cruel behavior. “Erin, how did I offend you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Erin’s smile slowly faded, her expression turning serious as the dim lighting in the room seemed to amplify the shadows on her face.
“You want to know? Then I’ll tell you; it’s fair you know why I hate you,” she said, her low, husky voice sending shivers down my spine.
The air thickened with tension as she closed the distance between us, her warm breath whispering against my skin. My heart skipped a beat, its rapid pounding echoing in my ears; my feet remained rooted to the floor, masking my fear with a fragile bravery.
“Go on, I’m listening,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, refusing to feel intimidated by her demeanor.
“My father…” she began, her voice trembling slightly, her eyes fierce and piercing. “He left my mother for someone younger. Someone just like you. He threw away our family for his own desires.”
She spat, and I could sense the anger creeping into her voice, her calm and poised composure breaking away like shattered glass.
My eyes drifted to her chest; it heaved slightly with uncontained anger and overwhelming emotions. My brow furrowed as I felt a pang of sympathy despite her animosity. “I’m sorry… to hear that,” I responded, my voice laced with empathy.
Erin chuckled, a bitter smile etched on her face. “Really? You’re sorry? Don’t be…” Her expression darkened in an instant, her aura turning dangerous.
“You’re just like her. The same age, the same innocence. People like you and her seduce and wreak havoc on a peaceful home.”
“That’s… not…” I hesitated, short of words to reproach her claim. I found myself drowning in her emotions; realization dawned on me. Her hatred flared from the day she discovered my diary, my secret crush on Mr. Clinton, and now she was comparing me to her father’s mistress, probably recalling her past predicament in her home caused by a younger woman.
“Erin, listen…” I said softly, my eyes flickering with compassion but still guarded around her. “I understand your pain, but I am not her, okay? And I am not wreaking any home; Mr. Clinton isn’t married…” I said, attempting to justify myself, my gaze softening.
Her face contorted in contained anger; her lips twitched. “How can you love an older man? Is that love, huh? For me, it’s lust, not genuine love.” She said, and for the first time, I saw a different shade of Erin-no sarcasm, no cruel smile, or menacing voice. She sounded just like a hurt and betrayed child, her voice laced with vulnerability and desperation.
“Erin, I truly love Mr. Clinton…” I interjected, my voice firm and sincere.
She shook her head, certainly not buying my reply. “I hate girls like you,” she spat, her voice venomous. “Girls who settle for older men, money, and attention, who think they can buy love in their youth, not caring who they hurt in the process.”
I felt a sting from her words, but something in her tone made me calm down to comprehend her full motivation for hating me.
“Erin, you know I am not her, and I don’t know what she did to you and your family, but that’s none of my concern…”
“Just shut up,” she interrupted me, her voice sharp enough to cut steel.