Chapter Twenty
Zayden
The smell of Safra’s cologne clings to my skin, tangling with the floral perfume that belongs to Fabiola. The night air continues to slap against my skin, and the cold sting is enough to keep me awake. Enough to help clear my mind as I head towards campus. Wondering what the hell happened tonight…
The thought stops me mid-stride, my hand moving towards the joint carefully stored in my pocket, alongside the lighter.
Grabbing one, I bring it to my lips and light it.
The flame flickers against the wind before it catches, and the first drag burns down my throat.
Some smoke curls through the night air as I exhale through my nose.
My mind is restless, and my nerves shot from all the adrenaline coursing through me, urging myself to move, so I can focus.
The questions in my head won’t stop clawing at me.
Were the donors truly set up? If so, by whom?
Could it be that Greyson found out about the truth and retaliated? Peter? Safra, maybe in a fit of jealousy, not knowing his father was with them.
The possibilities are endless. A deep groan escapes me, feeling the headache that begins to form behind my eyes. I rub the bridge of my nose, trying to organize the chaos in my head, but it’s useless. No matter how much I try not to think about it… I simply can’t.
I don’t care about donors; what I do care about is how this will affect us.
And that question lingers in my mind, like a festering wound.
Infecting my bloodstream with dread and unease, knowing that what happened tonight could happen to any of us.
After all, we’re all capable of getting our hands dirty for the people we love.
I glance down at my hand, the joint dangling from the corner of my lips, imagining the invisible stain of blood that coats them.
It could be any of us… that realization settles like cement inside my chest, heavy enough to crush the air out of me.
The joint smokes itself to ash, exhaling through my nose.
I watch the plume escape into the cold. My feet move before my mind does, carrying me through the thinning crowd.
Dodging party goers as they drift away from the gym, whispering amongst themselves, making up stories that fit whatever narrative they want to run with.
“My bet is that Thiago got all jealous and went berserk,” a girl states, looping her arm around her neck.
“I don’t think so,” the blonde one chimes in. “He’s too hot… Literally can have whoever he wants.”
A guy snorts, causing me to snap my head in his direction as he opens his mouth and says, “My guess is that she was giving them some good top, and bam. Accident.”
The girls seem to cling to that, their heads nodding in unison, agreeing with him, then continuing with their laughing and drunken walk down the streets that lead to our living space.
I pick up my pace, putting distance between me and any of my peers.
It’s usually quiet around this time, but not tonight.
Instead of everyone being busy with sex and partying, they busy themselves with gossip.
Students begin to gather around the Delta Kappa’s building, and one by one, the sorority sisters step outside, causing me to stop and watch the show they are about to put on.
They hold hands, standing in a semicircle under the porch lights, all wearing the same solemn expression on their makeup-streaked faces.
And in the center stands Fabiola with a napkin pressed against her nose as she listens attentively to how Katie speaks. A shiver runs through me, the rehearsed act of grieving so perfectly on display it has the hair rising on the back of my neck, making my skin crawl.
I watch transfixed, as they mourn Allison, but none of them look guilty—just fake as fuck.
My shoulders go stiff, my jaw working overtime from how hard I bite down the urge to call them out on their act.
My hands curl into fists, nails digging into my palms. The disgust sits heavy, sour, and crawling its way up my throat, knowing that we are surrounded by snakes. No matter how low you keep your grass…
Fabiola is another liar, and soon she will be his wife.
And I’ll have to watch it happen.
The thought burns hotter than any fire, consuming everything in its wake.
I flick the butt of the cigarette into the gutter and keep walking, leaving behind the stench of fraud.
The campus lights hum, illuminating my path like guiding lights.
I cut through the courtyard, past the fountain and the cracked marble steps.
I don’t even notice that I’m running until my lungs burn from the exertion, my muscles pumping, demanding for more fuel.
For energy, but I’m fucking exhausted, and just as my dorm comes into view, a shadow moves through the alley that separates the living spaces.
My eyes quickly scan my surroundings, feet slowly inching closer as my heart takes flight behind my ribs.
Ricocheting harshly against the bone, making blood rush through my ears.
A deep groan comes from deep inside the shadows.
I blink, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
A figure leans into the brick wall, and well…
after blinking two more times… I can tell that’s a girl on her knees for Wyatt, who’s wasted, hands fisting each side of her head as he thrusts harshly into her waiting mouth.
Just as I inch backwards to retreat, he looks up, catching sight of me, and with a shit-eating grin, he says. “Zayden, my man! Wanna go next?”
He chuckles darkly, his eyes moving back to the black-haired girl before him. Something about his features softens; it’s like his mind is playing tricks on him. Is he envisioning something else, something I can’t see?
“Come on, she’s great at this,” he mutters, voice slurred, fingers tracing her cheek.
I don’t answer. I also don’t look away… Not even as he laughs and picks up his pace.
The sound of wetness between gags has me clearing my throat and walking away.
The walk back to our dorm isn't long, and for once, I’m thankful that they didn’t make it inside.
I hate being in the room when Wyatt is drunk and in the mood to fuck.
It’s not fun…
It goes on all night, and right now, honestly, I would rather be alone.
Wondering what Safra is doing? Wondering what’s going through his head?
I still can’t believe it. The thought has me pulling out my phone before I can register what I’m doing.
Only stopping when I pull up his message thread, my fingers hovering above the keyboard.
I swallow down the lump forming in my throat before deciding against the urge to text him.
Allowing the voice of reason to win as I slide my phone back into my pockets.
My skin is nothing but goosebumps from the cold, and I hurry to get inside.
Closing the door behind me, I look around the room, trying to see if anything is out of place.
Anything that can give me a clue as to why Anonymous would text me my own address.
Everything looks the same, except for the white envelope that rests on the black comforter that drapes over my bed.
My jaw ticks, silently praying that the girl on her knees isn't as good as Wyatt states and keeps him busy long enough for me to see what’s inside the envelope.
My knees wobble with each step, my heart thundering against my ear.
The air inside the room grows thick and heavy, making it harder to fill my lungs with air.
Slowly, I approach my bed, imagining myself walking through a field of landmines, knowing whatever’s inside that envelope isn’t mercy…
It's a ticking bomb. I stop at the edge of the bed, staring at the envelope resting on the black comforter. White against black—a warning disguised as a white flag. I hold my breath, bracing myself, while my shaky fingers reach for the envelope, ignoring every instinct that screams at me not to touch it. But curiosity is a disease, and I’ve always been terminal.
I tear it open and look inside.
Photographs.
So many of them, all printed and timestamped for me to see.
Quickly, I move through them. The first one is Fernanda, alive and well.
The second is me with Greyson only days ago…
My brows furrow, because how the fuck? The third is a shot from a distance, grainy and unmistakable…
Thiago and I the night my father died. My fingers move with eagerness, flipping through the pictures.
The more I see, the more I become aware that whoever is behind this has taken their time to follow me.
The bile burns my esophagus as it climbs higher, matching the intensity that beats there.
There’s a note at the end of the pile, one that reads:
How many sides can one person play before the doors close?
Tick-Tock….
I crumble the note before shredding every bit of it into tiny pieces that reflect my sanity.
Then, placing the contents inside the sink, and using my lighter, I light it all on fire.
An orange tongue devours the edges of the photographs, curling them inward until faces distort and vanish.
Fernanda’s smile melts first, then Greyson’s hand on my arm, followed by Safra’s shadow beside me.
The ink bleeds, the paper blackens, and the smell of burning plastic fills the room, suffocating me with the heavy scent of chemicals.
I wait until the last corner turns to ash before turning on the water and washing my skeletons down the drain.
The words written in the note linger in my head like an unwanted mantra.
I grip the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white from the pressure.
Whoever sent this isn’t just watching… They are actively playing, setting up the board before making a devastating move.
Silence stretches within the room when I turn off the faucet, wondering what move do I make next?
I stumble back toward the bed, the exhaustion finally catching up. My body feels heavy, my head full of static, and I lie down without undressing or even showering. I fix my gaze at the ceiling until the smoke that lingers fades and the shadows start to move within the darkness.
Morning drags itself across campus like a wounded animal.
The sky is clear and sunny, air thick with the smell of rain and sea.
The kind of weather that plays with your emotions is locked between rain showers and scorching sun.
I barely got any sleep, despite the exhaustion that clings to every inch of my mind and body.
No matter how much I try to find peace, it’s the pictures that cycled in an endless loop, every time I closed my eyes.
I woke up to an empty dorm, no messages, nothing.
You would think that no news is good news—but not in this place.
Something is happening… I can feel it.
I’m halfway across the quad when Ezra finds me, Elijah trailing behind him like a fly on a pile of hot shit. My eyes roam over him. He looks wrecked—eyes bloodshot, shirt untucked, and jaw clenched so tight it makes mine ache.
“Have you seen Wyatt?” he asks, wasting no time with simple pleasantries.
I shake my head and lie. No. Not even sure as to why I don’t tell Ezra that I saw Wyatt last night, but I hold on to that information.
Ezra exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s missing. Or hiding. I don’t know which. But if you see him, tell him I’m looking for him.” His gaze flicks up, pinning me in place. “And you—you need to find Greyson. Now more than ever.”
I nod.
It’s not like I have a choice in the matter; Ezra wasn’t giving me a suggestion. He’s giving me orders to follow, ones that I need to obey no matter what the cost.
“You’re fighting tonight… Lose,” he demands as he places his shades over the bridge of his nose. “We need to find out who’s the fucking mole.” Ezra lays out his trap, making me the bait in the situation.
And with that, I watch him turn away and head towards the building he loves to frequent, the one that hides the pretty nurse he likes to fuck from time to time.
All while I remain rooted in place, my mind drifting to Thiago, and wondering if I should reach out, be there for him… the same way he was there for me.
But I shake off the thought, staying in my place.
I shove my hands into my pockets and proceed to walk towards my first class.
When my phone buzzes, a shiver runs through me, dread already wrapping her hand around my throat.
Students around me stop, faces falling to their screens, and I follow right along.