Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Nyx
Obsessed – Jutes
Unknown: Tell me. Does that boyfriend of yours scare you?
What a fucking asshole.
Then stop looking at the message, Nyx.
Except, I can’t. I look at it, I obsess over it, I put my phone away, and I obsess over it some more. That’s all I’ve been able to focus on for the last few days. One. Single. Message.
I lock my phone as I walk into class and sit down. This is our first ear training class, and I sit all the way at the front to make sure that I can hear the best, and also so that I can't see anyone else's face. I don't need their judging eyes.
I haven't heard from Achilles since his text on Monday. He hasn’t been in the music building, and I haven't bumped into him in the castle, where most students hang out outside of their classes.
It took me all of Tuesday to calm my nervous system that kept feeling like he was right there behind me, about to pounce.
I kept reminding myself that he doesn't study music.
That he probably spends most of his time at the med school or his place.
Both aren't anywhere near the music building, and most buildings on this campus are separated by the thick woods.
Achilles had his fun tormenting me before his classes started, but he certainly has better things to do now.
The second someone sits to my right, I know it's Josh. He's been following me around since orchestra placement on Monday. Since he gave my number to Achilles. And I still haven't said a word to him.
"Nyx." His pleading voice earns him no sympathy from me. "I know you're mad, but I promise you, I truly want to be your friend."
I pick up my pencil, open my notepad, and start writing down the date just to have something to do.
"Literally anyone else would’ve done it. When Achilles fucking Duval asks you something, who’s going to say no? You probably would’ve done it too."
I snap my head up, narrowing my eyes as I feel anger bubbling in my chest.
"I wouldn't have."
"Oh, come on. Every single human being in the school of music would ask how high if he asked them to jump. Every woman eye-fucks him, hoping he'll fuck them. And you're telling me you wouldn't get someone's number for him?"
I slam my pencil back onto the table. "I had refused to give him my number for a reason, Josh."
Because he's a fucking psychopath, I don't add.
"When did he ask you?" I inquire, my eyes stuck on his lips. This is where I'll find the truth. "Before he walked me to sit next to you in the audience, or after I played? When?"
He huffs, running his hand through his dreadlocks. They were in a bun the other days, and I hadn't realized how long they are. All the way past his shoulders, which makes him look even more elegant.
Licking his lips, he looks down at his own desk and mumbles something I can't hear or read.
"Could you take responsibility for what you did and look at me when you explain?" I insist, frustrated with his sudden stupid shyness.
He turns to me again and repeats, "He took me aside at the end of the day while you were packing.
I think you were so stressed about everyone seeing you play on the wrong side that you didn't realize we were two rows away, talking about you.
He asked if I could do him a favor and get your number for him because he was too shy to ask. "
I have to bite my tongue not to burst out with insults. Who is so clueless they look at Achilles Duval and believe the man is shy?
I cock an eyebrow at him, and he rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know. I'm dumb."
"You know what? I think you wanted so desperately to get attention from your idol that you were willing to believe whatever fit your narrative." This rings with personal experience. I know, because I did the same thing and ended up with him practically choking me into unconsciousness.
"I'm sure you're best friends now that you gave him my number."
He lets the silence stretch between us before admitting, "He hasn't spoken to me since."
"No. I'm not surprised."
He chuckles. "Me neither."
A sigh leaves me as I watch the other students walk in and sit down.
"I'm sorry, Nyx. Everything I said was true. I think you're interesting and quite exceptional."
"It also happens that someone way more exceptional than me asked you to get my number for him."
His lopsided smile gets to me a little. He is super good at puppy eyes too.
"Whatever," I say. "We weren't even friends anyway. I was just so desperate for a friend in my class that I latched onto your fake kindness."
Rearing back a little, he puts a hand on his heart. "Ouch. But deserved. Can I try again?" He extends his hand toward me. "Hey, I'm Josh. I'm the soloist in our orchestra, and I think you should be friends with me because I'm kind of a big deal around here."
That makes me laugh, and I shake his hand, warming up to him. "I'm Nyx. I play violin in an exceptional way, and I'm very selective as to who gets my phone number."
The class is harder than I thought, especially for me.
First of all, because our professor clearly hasn't been made aware of my problem.
He speaks in almost a whisper, keeps walking and talking, and I can never quite catch what he's saying.
It's only when he starts playing the piano and gets us to write down in staff notation what he's playing that I finally get to do something easy.
I don't leave the building all day. I've got classes after classes, then eat the lunch I brought from home in an empty rehearsal room, and by the time I leave in the afternoon, I realize I haven’t looked outside a window today. It's pouring rain.
I shoot a quick text to Chase, asking if he's still picking me up, but after ten minutes of not getting an answer, I know something’s wrong.
I decide to cross the woods to the castle, and then head to the visitors’ parking lot where he picked me up last time, in case he's waiting for me.
I'm already drenched when he finally replies.
Chase: Can't.
Can't?
Can't?
Is he serious? I stupidly look around me through the battering rain to see if it's a joke.
It's not. The bastard knows I have no way of getting back to the North Shore on my own and without a car. No public transport from the South Bank ever goes to our side of the river, and it's not like I can afford a taxi.
"Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you," I rage to myself in the lot.
The rain is getting heavier, and my violin is going to get damaged if I don't make a decision, and fast. But I have to get home. I've got a shift at the diner this evening that I can't miss. I owed Colin to switch whenever he needed after he took my Saturday shift.
Walking it is. Here's to hoping the rain calms down.
Fuck, it's going to take me over an hour to get home.
My entire uniform is dripping by the time I'm down the hill the castle sits on. I haven't even passed the gates yet. It's a road through the woods that links SFU to the rest of Silver Falls, and I'm all alone as I try to trek back to civilization.
A few cars pass by, and when one ends up splashing me, I freeze on the spot. A ball forms in my throat, sickness seeping through my body.
I'm sick. Sick of living my life depending on Chase's moods. Sick of not being able to afford the simplest things. Sick of having to survive every. Fucking. Day. Can't one day, just one day, go right for once?
The road is on my left. So I don't hear the car slowing to a stop next to me, nor the sound of the window rolling down through the heavy curtains of water. It's only when I see it in my peripheral vision, and only when I see Achilles's face that I can make out what he says.
"I think you need a ride."
Of course, the only person willing to help me is the one who is probably going to murder me by the time I get home.
"I'm fine," I snap at him and keep on walking.
He follows me, window open and letting rain splash into his expensive Range Rover.
"Don't be stubborn. Not when I'm being nice."
"Fuck off."
"If you don't care about catching the cold of your life, I'm sure you'll care about the fact that your violin won't survive the walk. That's a pretty shitty case you got there."
My spine straightens, and every step becomes harder to take, especially having to keep looking at him to understand what he's saying.
"Lord help me." I huff, drops of water flying off me. It's complicated to even keep my eyes open with the rain pouring on me.
I watch him reach across and open the passenger door.
"Wise decision," he says proudly as I hop in and put my case on my lap.
I'm too scared to open it and see the damage, so I just rest my forearms on it as he starts driving.
"I'm going to need your address." He puts his phone on top of my case, and I eye it warily.
There's absolutely no way I'll be putting my address in here.
"I'll guide you." I put his phone in the middle console.
I'm desperate to look out of the window on my side, but if I do, I might miss something he's saying, so I keep my eyes on him as he focuses on the road.
Rain batters the windshield, and the swooshing of the wipers calms me for a minute.
The consistent sound repeating in perfect rhythm gives me a sense of safety that’s actually non-existent.
Our drive is silent the whole time we're in the woods, Achilles not saying a word until we're along the South Bank.
"Was your boyfriend not picking you up today?" His tone is derisive enough to explain exactly what he thinks of my relationship.
"There was a last-minute emergency," I lie.
"I'm sure." He chuckles.
I don't give him what he wants. I don't engage in his taunting. All I need to do is survive until I get home. That's it. And the view of the neglected truss bridge leading to the North Shore is a reassurance. It's only another ten minutes before I’ll be home.