Brutal Obsession (78)

“You should really get better lines.” I roll my eyes. “Go away.”

He sneers. “Just wait. Whore.”

He doesn’t see my flinch. He’s already turned away, striding down the stacks to get back to the main room. Stupid me, I shouldn’t have chosen an isolated desk. I was looking to get a reprieve from the stares.

Of course, I get accosted instead.

I finish my work quickly, but I can’t shake the unsettled feeling.

Whore. I never solved the mystery of who trashed my room. I thought it was the same person who was in my room the second time, but the more I think about it, the less it makes sense.

I flip my notebook open to a new page and start a list.

Greyson and I discovered that we were at school together my first night back. Before the semester had even officially begun. That same night, he gets a video of me drunkenly giving Jack a blow job.

Total mistake, by the way. I barely remember doing it. I think I would, because I like the thrills that go along with something like that. Almost getting caught. Well, obviously we did get caught. Did Jack notice them? Did he see Greyson film and not say anything?

Then, someone breaks into my apartment and trashes my room. They leave Willow’s room—and the rest of the place—alone. They write whore across my wall of pictures. Most of my clothes were destroyed.

I suspected Greyson, but he never said anything about it. At all. He’d have found a way to rub it in my face by now.

The locker room incident was next, followed immediately by the second break-in.

Not long after that, an article comes out that included a picture I was sure I had on my wall. It was of my mom and I in front of the hospital, but we weren’t happy. Not the one on my Instagram, where we faked our smiles. I remember that giving me pause.

The article, featured in print and online, was taken down. I don’t know if the print copies were destroyed, but I do know that they were removed from campus. And maybe other places, too.

I tap my lips.

Since the article, of course other shit has happened between Greyson and me. But beyond that… I’ve felt like I was being watched.

I brushed it off. I foolishly thought Greyson was the one doing the stalking, even when I was with him—or headed to him. I’m a bigger idiot than I give myself credit for. Has someone been watching me?

Did whoever destroy my room have something to do with the article?

By the time the second break-in happened, most of my personal belongings had been tossed. My room is no better than an empty slate at this point. Clothes, some baubles, a few pictures I salvaged and put into frames. If they were looking for more, they didn’t find anything useful.

So what’s the connection?

I don’t have an answer.

Instead, I pack up and head home. The walk home gives me the creeps. I keep my keys between my fingers, hidden in the sleeves of my jacket. My hat is pulled low over my head, covering my ears, and I keep glancing around like someone is going to jump out at me.

Willow has a late dance meeting, so the apartment is dark when I turn up the front walkway.

“Violet.”

I almost jump out of my skin, then focus on the person sitting on my porch steps. They’re no more than a hunched shadow until they rise and push their hood down.

Jack.

Relief goes through me, and I march toward him. I smack his shoulder. “You scared me half to death.”

He chuckles. “Sorry. I tried calling, but it goes straight to voicemail.”

I step past him and unlock my door, flicking on the lights as I go. He follows me in and kicks off his shoes. I pause a beat, then shrug off my coat and toe off my boots.

“It hasn’t rung,” I offer, scrolling through my recent calls. “Not sure what happened.”

He runs his hand through his hair. “Well, I just wanted to offer my support. I know that you might not be getting a lot of that right now…”

“That’s true.” I frown. “One of your football buddies went off on me in the library, actually.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What? Who?”

“Wish I knew.” I sigh. “Actually, it’s probably better that I don’t. Who knew people could be so invested in one guy?”

One popular, hot, charming…

Stop it, brain.

“Well, I’m here to make you feel better.” He steps forward and runs his hands up and down my arms. “Dinner? Movie?”

I take a breath and find myself nodding, although something twists in my belly. I’m not sure why I don’t want to hang out with him—probably because he’s not who I really want here. But who I want is a figment of my imagination. The truce Greyson and I bartered for was temporary. It ended the minute we got back to Crown Point.

So I’m not going to delude myself.

“Sounds good,” I add belatedly.

He flops on the couch and pats the space beside him. “You know,” he says, “if I were you? I’d want to get back at him.”

I raise my eyebrow. “How?”

“I don’t know. Hit him where it hurts. It was clearly Greyson behind it, right? I’ve never liked that guy.” He pats the space again.

I ignore it and sit on the other end of the couch, wrapping my arms around my legs. “Hit him where it hurts? The guy is practically made of armor.”