Chapter 4 #3
“My best friend is a Kappa. She had to go to the party tonight, and I went with her so we could watch each other’s backs. We left early because she had a headache. I walked her back to the sorority house and then headed back to my dorm.”
“She let you go off all by yourself?”
Not caring that he’s all kinds of dangerous, I straighten up and defend my friend.
“She gets really bad migraines sometimes. Even if she could’ve walked with me, I never would’ve let her because then she’d have to walk back all by herself.
I have pepper spray, and I have my cell phone.
I told you I could’ve gotten away from those guys. ”
“And why didn’t you use either of those things then?”
Feeling like an idiot, I lower my eyes and say, “Because I thought maybe I was wrong. I didn’t want to spray someone in the face or call campus security if it was just three guys acting like assholes.
They could’ve been harmless, that’s what I kept telling myself.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’ve just had too much to drink and don’t realize they’re scaring me. I don’t know.”
I run my fingers through Chort’s fur, feeling like a dumbass and wondering if I just got three men killed tonight. If I’d sprayed them, then he wouldn’t have had a reason to kill them.
As if he can read my mind, he says, “I would’ve still killed them.”
Lifting my head, I ask, “Why?”
He shrugs one broad shoulder and says, “That’s a complicated question, Cyn, and it has an even more complicated answer.
” Before I can pry, he adds, “Next time spray them in the fucking face and run. Trust your instincts, and even if you’re wrong, at least you’ll be safe, but if it makes you feel any better, you weren’t wrong tonight. Those men were going to hurt you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He gives my hair a gentle tug. “I just am.”
When he brushes his thumb along my cheek again, the room suddenly feels even smaller than usual, and it has nothing to do with the small space we’re in.
I have the distinct impression he’d be a dominating presence no matter where he was.
Mask or no mask, weapon or no weapon—it wouldn’t matter.
It’s just him. His very existence demands you take notice and sit back in either awe or fear.
“What are you going to do to me?” I whisper the question, unable to make the words come out any louder.
“I’m going to leave so you can get some sleep.”
“That’s it? You’re just going to let me go after everything I saw you do tonight?” My inner voice screams at me to shut the hell up, because it sounds an awful lot like I’m trying to convince him his plan of letting me go is a bad one. I’m not, though. I’m just having a hard time believing it.
“We both know there’s nothing you can do, and like I said, my little Cyn, I know where you live.”
“So I’m just supposed to pretend none of this happened, just forget everything I saw tonight and go about my life like normal?”
He hears the disbelief in my voice but nods his head anyway, making the bloodstained mask move up and down as he keeps his eyes on mine.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” I admit.
“You don’t have much of a choice. Just remember they were going to do very bad things to you. Some people aren’t worth crying over.”
“It’s still a life,” I say. “Still someone’s son, and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen violence like that. I can’t just forget I saw it.” After a few seconds I add, “Or heard it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, but I’m confident you’ll figure out a way to put this behind you.”
“What about you?” I ask. “Is it really so easy for you to just kill someone and then act as if everything is normal?”
He slowly unravels my lock of hair from his finger. As he drags his thumb along my jaw, he says, “It’s not an act. What I did doesn’t bother me, and it never will.”
I must scrunch my brow while I think about what he’s said because he reaches up and presses the pad of his thumb against my skin, gently massaging between my brows in a way that instantly makes me relax.
“Don’t try to figure me out, my Cyn. You’ll only end up disappointed.”
I don’t understand why he keeps calling me his. I don’t understand anything that’s happening, and before I can ask, he drops his hand and stands back up. I’d almost forgotten how tall he is, but with him towering over me, it’s impossible to not be aware of it, to not be aware of him.
He snaps his fingers, and Chort instantly lifts his head, ears up, eyes open and alert. I pet his head, and he looks over at me. I can’t help but smile at him.
“Your dog is really sweet,” I say, wondering how on earth this guy ended up with such a sweetheart of a dog.
A deep laugh comes from behind his mask, surprising me by how genuine and carefree it sounds.
I don’t understand this guy, and I shouldn’t want to, but a part of me is curious.
I want to know who he is. I want to see what’s behind the mask, but all I can do is sit and watch because I’m pretty sure he won’t be answering any of my questions or revealing his identity to me anytime soon.
I still ask him what’s so funny. I’m hoping he’ll at least answer that one.
“No one’s ever called Chort sweet before.”
I lean down and kiss his cute, brown eyebrows. He licks my cheek and gives a soft whine. Keeping my eyes on the Doberman, I say, “I find that very hard to believe. He’s only ever been sweet to me, and he tried to help when he heard me scream tonight.”
“You screamed?”
There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there a few seconds ago, and it surprises me enough to make me lift my eyes to his. “Just for a second when they first jumped out and scared me.”
He watches me for a few seconds before saying something to Chort in Russian.
The dog makes a sound that’s very grunt-like, but when his owner snaps his fingers again, he finally lifts up and jumps off my bed to stand beside him.
I hurry up and grab one last treat. When I meet his blue eyes, he gives a quick nod to let me know it’s okay, and then I kneel down and give Chort another milk-bone.
He eats it while I pet him, and then I give him a quick hug and kiss his head.
His owner might make me nervous, but I really wish his dog could stay the night because I could really use something to cuddle with tonight.
I think I’d sleep a lot better if I had Chort sleeping next to me.
Standing, I wrap my arms around my chest, feeling awkward for so many different reasons as the masked guy keeps still, watching me with that same intense stare of his.
He takes a step so he’s right in front of me.
I drag my gaze from his black boots, up his long, jean-clad legs, and then along the lightweight, black hoodie he’s wearing, until I’m finally tilting my head so I can see the mask that I’m pretty confident will star in my nightmares every night for the foreseeable future.
He seems to have a real thing for my hair, so I’m not all that surprised when he reaches up to touch it again.
No one’s ever treated my naturally red hair with such reverence, and it makes me uneasy.
I keep waiting for a sharp tug or for him to call me something derogatory and hoping it won’t be Ginger Bitch or the one I really despised in high school that still makes me cringe when I hear it.
I swear to god if he calls me Fire Crotch, mask or no mask, I will reach up and smack him.
But he doesn’t make me relive the traumatic events of my teenage years. Instead, he gently strokes my hair, brushing it off my forehead and carefully pushing it behind my ear. He seems reluctant to let it go, but eventually he does, dropping his hand to his side while he continues to stare at me.
“Be careful, my little Cyn,” he murmurs from behind his mask. “No more late-night walks by yourself.”
“I won’t,” I say, wondering if I’ll ever work up the courage to leave my dorm room again, even when the sun is shining.
He watches me for a few more seconds, and then without a word, he turns and leaves.
Chort stays right on his heels, only stopping long enough to give me one last look before trotting after his owner.
Once they’re gone, I lock the door and sit on my bed, trying to wrap my head around what in the fuck just happened.
In a daze, I get ready for bed and crawl under the covers.
Knowing I’m going to need the extra comfort tonight, I grab the stuffed dog I’ve had since I was little and clutch it to my chest. I’ve replayed the night over and over again, and no matter how many times I run through it, I still don’t get it, and I still don’t know what to do.
Even if I call the police, I have nothing to give them.
I believe the masked guy when he said there won’t be any bodies to find.
I don’t know who he called on the phone, but it was obviously for help.
No bodies, no way for me to identify him, no one to corroborate my story, and no proof that any of this even happened means that there’s no point in making the phone call.
There’s also the very big detail of him knowing where I live.
He didn’t hurt me, but that doesn’t mean he won’t if I start yapping it up to the campus police.