Chapter 12
There is a knock on my door. I place the bag of potato chips on the old nightstand next to the soda. I mark the page of the passage from Edgar Allan Poe and get up.
There is no peephole. Someone messed up the hole, and I can’t see who it is.
I’ve told security multiple times, and they said someone from maintenance should have come up to fix it, but no one has arrived. I gave up after the third request.
“Who is it?” I call out.
Nothing. It’s not Amy because she said she would call me tomorrow to go shopping. I didn’t want to tell her I didn’t have money to buy anything, but I didn’t want to miss out on some girl time. She wouldn’t just stand there and say nothing. She comes in like a ball of energy the few times we’ve hung out.
They knock again.
“Who is it?” I repeat.
Nothing.
I kick the door. “I guess you can keep knocking because I’m not going to open the door until you tell me who you are.”
Knock. Knock.
I sigh in frustration. “Who’s there?”
A paper slides under my door. Is this some kind of joke?
I pick up the sheet of note paper. I DON’T KNOCK.
“What?”
The lights flicker off, and my blood turns cold.
“I’m already inside.” Garret’s breath floats over my skin. He’s right behind me.
Sweat trickles from the nape of my neck down my spine. I whirl around, but I can’t see him. It’s dark, but I can smell him.
“What are you doing?”
“I came to tutor you.”
Like hell he is. I walk toward the light switch, but he grabs me and tosses me onto the small bed. “Get off me,” I yell. His weight is crushing me on the mattress, but it's not enough to stop me from breathing.
“This will only take a second.” He pulls the string on the lamp on the nightstand. I swear he must have night vision because I wouldn’t have known where to pull.
Warm light spreads around the room like the glowing sun. The only darkness comes from the dark eyes pinning me to the mattress. His gaze trails over the T-shirt I use to sleep in, stopping at the two points of my nipples.
“It’s cold,” I reply.
He looks up, and his pitch-dark eyes are like two moons during the phase of an eclipse because of the light. “Then I should warm you up,” he breathes. His mouth is on my neck, his hot breath warming my skin. I try to squeeze my legs together, but all I do is straddle his hips, pushing him into me. His mouth trails over my left breast, hovering over my nipple beneath the thin T-shirt. “Is this how you study?” His eyes pause on my hard nipple. “Dressed like this?”
I can smell the scent of his shampoo from his hair tickling my chin. His cock is pressed against my panties through his black jeans, causing my pussy to ache.
“Garret,” I croak, not knowing what to say or how to move.
How did he get in here without using the door? It means he could get in here whenever he wants.
“Yes, my little Darkthorn?”
I swallow thickly, wondering why he calls me that. “Why do you call me Darkthorn?”
He arches his back and removes his shirt in one go.
My eyes are lost in a world of black ink. It’s everywhere except on his gorgeous face—angels, skulls, demons, and flowers. It’s almost too much until I stop on his heart: the petals of black roses with large thorns piercing a heart. The heart is bleeding black ink.
He grabs my hand and places it over his heated skin, right where the thorn pierces the heart. Right where his heart beats. “I have never been in love,” he says, his hand warm and firm over mine. “I thought I had, but it wasn’t love. Because the greatest love hurts. It’s kind of like the feeling when you lose a parent. I imagine when it finds me, it will hurt. It will come from something beautiful—a rose with hidden thorns. Painful if touched, yet impossible to resist. I will bleed, and it will consume my soul.” He pauses, and his expression darkens. “You remind me of a Darkthorn.”
“It’s best if you don’t touch me then.”
He pushes away from me, taking his scent and warmth with him, leaving me feeling empty.
I pull the hem of my t-shirt down to cover my thighs and sit up. He moves to the small closet. “What are you doing?”
He slides the brown door open. “Getting your things.”
“For?”
He turns around, glancing around the room before looking back at the closet. “Where’s the rest? A suitcase?”
I grab my black backpack from in front of the nightstand and place it on the bed. “This is it. Now tell me why you need to get my things.”
He stares at the black backpack, then at me, as if he thinks I’m joking. I wish I weren’t. There isn’t much I was given, but why should he care?
He hesitates, then grabs the bag and stuffs the few items I have hanging on the mismatched hangers the previous student left. Once he’s done, he looks around the room as if he’s about to be evicted, grabbing papers and notebooks from the small desk.
“Toiletries?” I point to the small shower caddy from the dollar store. He picks it up like he’s checking for rotten potatoes and drops it on the desk with a thud. He scans the room one more time. When he’s satisfied he didn’t miss anything, he says, “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To my house.” A fluttering sensation fills my lower belly. “You’re not staying in the dorm anymore.”
“Who said that?”
“The Order.”
I almost choke on my spit and stammer, “T-the Order?”
“Yeah, the people who run things around here, and that includes me. You’re stay with me.”
“Until when?” I ask. “What if you throw me out, and I don’t have a dorm to go back to? How about John?”
He pushes his hair out of his eyes in frustration. “Relax with the word vomit. It’s getting late. We still have to study, and you need a shower.”
“Are you saying I smell?”
He snorts and points at the shower caddy he discarded like a sack of potatoes. “No, but you can’t call that soap. It should be illegal in all fifty states.”
“Tell that to John and the twenty bucks he gives me a week. What am I supposed to do?”
He glances at the half-eaten bag of chips, and a look of disgust crosses his features.
Yeah, not everyone is born with a silver spoon in their mouth.
**
I’m back in his car, heading for his mansion four blocks away. It takes about six minutes to reach his house and another three to finally park in his garage. A thought crosses my mind after he puts the car in park and shuts the garage door.
“Where will I go when you throw one of your lavish parties?”
He opens the door. “I haven’t thought that far yet.”
Flashes of him with girls like Cassie in the king-sized bed make me want to throw up. I slam the car door shut harder than necessary.
“What’s wrong, my little Darkthorn? Your thoughts getting ahead of you?”
It’s like he knows what I’m thinking. Am I that transparent? Does he see the way I look at him, the way he unravels me with his dark gaze?
“I don’t have any thoughts when it comes to you,” I snap and walk inside as if this is my house.
I head down the hallway, remembering the bedroom he always takes me to, but then I recall the flash of black and the pointy ears. I pause at the threshold and scan the room.
Awareness skates down my spine. “You like this room, don’t you?”
“It’s the room you always leave me in.”
I haven’t had the chance to explore the huge house, something I might do when he isn’t around.
He chuckles, and I feel it all the way to my toes. “Whose room do you think it belongs to?”
My heart races as I stare at the bed that belongs to him. It’s why the sheets smell so good—they’re slept in by him. The decor and the painting all make sense, but why would he bring me to his room and let me sleep in his sheets? Sheets he didn’t burn because they are still here.
“You didn’t burn the sheets.”
“I planned on bringing you back. I had them washed instead.”
I didn’t burn the clothes he gave me either. I kept them like precious souvenirs because I knew I could never afford something so luxurious, but deep down, the real reason was that they were his. No one had to know, but I’m sure he noticed when he grabbed my things.
“Why? The last time, you seemed hell-bent on getting rid of me. Won’t I contaminate them?”
He moves past me, pulls clothes in my size from a drawer, and places them on the made bed. “I’ll take my chances.”
It’s another designer hoodie and a pair of black leggings. This is the sixth outfit he has chosen from the closet. A tiny flutter rises in my stomach knowing he picked them out and placed them in a drawer in his room.
“Where are you going to sleep?”
He steps closer, his scent a breeze that permeates the air between us. “In the bedroom next door.”
“Why not put me in that room? Why this one?”
Why does he want me in his room, on his bed? The thought of sleeping in his sheets feels personal. I’m not sure what to make of it.
“Because no one comes in this one except Ace. Not the housekeeper, not a friend if they show up, not when I have a party, or a girl I want to fuck.”
At least I’m not sleeping in cum-infested sheets. I should be grateful, considering it’s him. Who knows how many women he’s been with?
“At least I won’t catch anything.”
He smiles, and I think my heart skipped a beat or slowed down. “Funny, that is the part you’re most worried about—me fucking someone else.”
“No more than you. I distinctly remember you pointing out my pussy. I also want to note that you made sure you shaved it.”
“Correction, I bathed you. Thoroughly.”
“I was unconscious. You’re lucky I didn’t claw your eyes out.”
He leans close, his breath skimming my ear. “We both know you would have let me.”
I push him away, and he laughs. The motherfucker laughs.
My blood boils, threatening to explode inside my veins. “Am I a joke to you?”
He stops laughing. His sexy mouth hardens, and his darker side makes an appearance. I wonder how many people have seen this side of him. It’s terrifying. His eyes grow hard, like an animal in the dark, ready to pounce.
I step back, cursing myself for letting my mouth get the best of me. An uneasy feeling replaces the flutters in my stomach.
“You being here is not a joke, Rose. You should be nice to me. After all, I’m keeping the monster that keeps you awake at night inside his cage. I’m also generous enough to give you better accommodations.”
He means John, but I don’t buy it. My internal alarm is going off. There is something he isn’t telling me, and I have a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. I’ve been taken from one trapped door to another. My fate is sealed.
Garret is a psychopath. He is popular but hides his true nature from others. He is cold. The way he dismissed Cassie after he’d been intimate with her, not caring if he hurt her feelings, speaks volumes. His impulsivity in bringing me here that first night shows he lies and is manipulative. Flashy cars and the over-the-top designer items he buys, are just a way to inflate his ego.
It’s why he’s at Kenyan.
“Your mind is turning,” he says with a smile, but his eyes are distant. “I can practically hear the wheels turning in that pretty head of yours.”
“You’re going to kill me.”
He angles his head to the side. “Is that what you think?”
Dread pools in the back of my eyes, forming tears that threaten to fall. There is a huge ball lodged in my throat, robbing me of speech. I nod.
He claps. “Congratulations. Now you know the reason you’re here.” He moves to leave. “Don’t forget to wash up. I’ll order you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I blurt, thankful I found my voice.
He pulls open the door wider, allowing Ace to saunter in, his nails clacking on the marble floors. “I don’t think you have a choice.” He snaps his fingers. Ace lays on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Promises, remember?”
“Fuck you.” I’m past caring. If he was sent to kill me, fine. It’s what I’ve been wishing for anyway. At least he has the balls to do it. I’m sure he wouldn’t lose sleep over it.
I still can’t believe I agreed stay here with him. Maybe it’s self-preservation knowing that John wouldn’t show up. There is something freeing knowing that I’m safe from him while I’m here. John is afraid of Garret. I don’t know why but maybe I do if Melody’s actions that day with Melissa is a hint of the depravity Garret is capable of. Images from the day Melody stabbed Melissa to death flash like a horror movie thinking of all the ways I’ll be his victim.
I’m crying for not being strong enough. I don’t care if he sees. Psychopaths don’t feel. I could cry and sob my heart out, and he wouldn’t flinch—just like he isn’t now.
“I think we’ve established how I feel about your cunt.”
How could I forget?
I smile. He must think I’m unstable—crying and smiling at the same time—but I won’t go down without a fight. Even with my limited ability to read people, I’ve managed to figure out the basics about those who are mentally disturbed. I wanted to understand what I was dealing with when it came to John and the others; Garret is the classic type of psycho.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
He’s trying to hide his confusion, but he’s failing. I’m supposed to be crying and trembling, not smiling and laughing when he’s about to leave the room. “This whole time, I’ve been around the one person who would kill me and end all my problems.”
“What the fuck are you saying?”
“You asked me the other day if there was something I wanted more than anything. Death.”
He flinches, not expecting my revelation. He thought I wanted white picket fences and a savior.
“Death is the one thing I want more than anything, Garret. You killing me is my greatest wish. I’m hoping you can bury me in Kenyan’s cemetery right next to the church that decides my fate. I have a spot picked out.”
He storms out, slamming the door behind him. The force rattles the painting representing envy on the wall. I walk up to it and trace my finger over the bone on the woman’s hand.