Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

without disguising her satisfaction.
    "I don't care what you think," I said quickly, but I had to shift my eyes from hers, for hers burned through me with more fire.
    She flicked me a scathing glance and then laughed as she gazed about the hospital room.
    "You've done your best to make that quite evident," she replied.
    She lifted her cane and tapped the foot of the bed sharply.
    "Look at me when I speak to you," she flared. I raised my head and tried to shout back at her, but the cruelty in her eyes stunned me so much, I was speechless.
    A tiny smile came and went on her lips, lips that seemed to have forgotten how to smile.
    "Don't worry, I didn't expect you to do anything wonderful here, despite the frequent reports we received concerning your supposed singing and musical talent. I knew how you were brought up and how you would turn out. I have been anticipating the eventuality of your causing more problems. I just didn't think it would happen as quickly as it has. In that respect you did surprise me."
    I covered my face with my hands. I felt as if Fate had pulled me once again through a knothole and stretched me out, thin and flat. I trembled and had trouble bringing out my thoughts. It was as if I had lost my voice and everything would be trapped forever inside me, even my tears.
    "There's no sense trying to hide your shame. Soon it will be sticking out prominently. Fortunately," she added, "you had the good luck to have had an accident."
    "What?" I lowered my hands from my face. "How can you call being hit by a car, good luck?" I demanded. A small smile, tight and cold, met my question. No, it was not a smile, it was more of a sneer.
    "The accident provides us with a proper excuse for removing you from the school," she replied, her sneer turning into a smile of victory. Whenever she looked at me now, it was at some particular part of me. She didn't see me as a whole person, but in sections that seemed to arouse her anger . . . and she would destroy whatever made her angry.
    "Removing me from the school!"
    "Of course." She gave me that tight, firm hateful look again, her eyes beady. "Did you think I would continue to sponsor you in this condition? Did you think I would tolerate you walking through the halls and attending classes with your stomach protruding? You're here as a Cutler. Everything you do, whether you care about it or not, reflects on the Cutler name. I have good friends on the board of trustees of this school. I have a reputation to protect."
    She fixed her spiteful eyes on me, that detestable old woman, as if sensing all that I felt. I glared back defiantly, hoping that she could see how I abhorred the idea of even being thought related to her. Perhaps my eyes were only glass to reveal all the spinning wheels of revenge I harbored and vowed to let loose one day. If so, she ignored it. Nothing frightened her.
    "Who is the child's father?" she demanded. I looked away. She tapped her cane sharply on the floor. "Who is he?" she repeated.
    "What difference does it make now?" I asked her, my tears burning behind my eyelids, for I was trying with all my might to keep them from bursting forth. I didn't want her to have the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
    She relaxed her shoulders and nodded.
    "You're right. What difference does it make? You probably don't even know which one is the real father," she added.
    "That's not true," I cried. "I'm not that kind of girl."
    "No," she said, lifting her upper lip so that her pale white teeth were fully revealed in a scowl, "you're not that kind of girl. You're lying here in this hospital bed pregnant because you're a good girl, an asset to your family."
    I covered my face again with my palms. She was quiet for a long moment. I was hoping she might just turn away and leave me alone, but she had come to take control of my life again. I was positive it gave her great pleasure to determine my future the same way she determined everyone else's in the family, even though she despised me and didn't want to consider me a member of the family.
    "You can't return to the school," she began, "and you can't return to Agnes Morris's residence. I certainly don't want you back at the hotel. Can you imagine the embarrassment you would bring to us, parading about the building and grounds with your stomach out a mile?"
    "What do you want?" I finally asked, lowering my hands in defeat.
    "What I want I can't get, so I will settle for what must be. The story will be given out that you've