Which left… Dr. Myers…？ She couldn’t think who else she could approach.
For a while, she stood under the stream of hot water considering the problem, trying to imagine bringing it up with Dr. Myers, trying out the words in her head. He assaulted me? No, that wasn’t quite right. That sounded more… sexual than she wanted it to, though the memory of Neville’s crotch pressing into her backside was still uneasily vivid in her mind.
He tackled me. That was closer to the mark. But did it sum up the seriousness of what had happened? Did it convey the real fear she had experienced, feeling Neville’s crushing weight on hers, his arm on the back of her neck, his body pinning her to the gravel as he ground her face into the dirt?
He hurt me.
No. That had the pathetic ring of a child in a playground scrap, even though it was true.
At last, Hannah gave up and turned off the tap, toweling herself gingerly, trying not to open up the partially healed scrapes and grazes from last night. She got dressed and then stood, uncertainly, her towel and pajamas in one hand, her wash bag in the other.
What she should do—the logical thing to do—was go back up to her room and drop off her things before heading to breakfast. But she couldn’t face it. April’s visitor might still be there and Hannah wasn’t sure which would be more awkward, confronting April in a potential betrayal of Will, or bursting in on their makeup sex and having to deal with Will’s concern and pity over her bruised face.
Neither appealed—at least not before coffee.
Instead, Hannah rolled her pajamas up inside her damp towel, tucked it under her arm, and headed down the stairs to the hall, and breakfast.
* * *
“HANNAH! OVER HERE!”
She heard Emily’s voice before she saw her, waving an arm from the other side of the hall and pointing to an empty place on the bench beside her. Taking a deep breath, Hannah waved a hand back, and then began to edge her tray of coffee and cheese on toast through the breakfasting students.
When she got to the table she was half fearing Emily’s reaction, but Emily was busy talking to Hugh, sitting opposite, and didn’t seem to clock the bruises on Hannah’s face. Feeling an odd sense of relief, Hannah slid into the free space with her head down and said nothing as she began to eat.
“Well,” Hugh said at last, pushing away an untouched slice of toast and standing up, “I’d better get going. I’ve got my first exam at two and I haven’t done nearly enough prep.” He looked almost sick with nerves, and Hannah found herself wondering, vaguely, why he had allowed himself to be talked into attending April’s play the night before his prelims when he was clearly so worried. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” Hannah said, and smiled encouragingly at him. As she did so, her face caught the light filtering through the high leaded windows, and Hugh stopped. He put his tray back on the table and adjusted his glasses with a frown.
“Hannah, what happened to your cheek?”
“What… oh.” She touched her fingers to the graze on her cheekbone and gave a self-conscious laugh. “Is it that bad?”
“Hannah?” Emily said. She leaned forward, drawing back the curtain of Hannah’s hair with one finger, and then her expression changed. “Whoa, did you fall off that wall?”
“No,” Hannah said. She felt a sudden wash of self-consciousness and something else… something closer to guilt, though she could not have said why. She twitched her hair out of Emily’s hand, letting it fall back over her cheek. “Not exactly. I got… well, someone caught me.”
“Someone caught you?” Hugh was frowning. “Doing what?”
“I climbed over the wall and, well—” She stopped, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone else was listening. Why did she feel so ashamed of what had happened? “One of the porters… kind of… tackled me.” She gave a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “I’m quite sore this morning. Makes me feel like maybe the rugby players earn those stupid blues after all.”
“One of the porters?” Emily said in a hard voice, ignoring Hannah’s attempts at diversion. “Hannah, which porter are we talking about? Not—？”
Hannah said nothing, but she nodded, and Emily’s face changed.
“Jesus Christ. What did he say? Have you reported this?”
“Not yet,” Hannah said. She kept her voice low, horribly conscious of Emily’s ringing indignation. “He didn’t say anything—I didn’t wait around to talk. Someone turned up and I ran off.”