Chapter 7 Bastian #2
“You’re a fucking disgrace,” she hisses. “It will all come out, eventually. You realize that, don’t you? The complaints, the rumors, your little project. And when it does, I won’t be able to protect you.”
“I never asked for your protection.”
“No,” she agrees, irritation slowly replaced with a bitter smile. “But you sure as hell need it, Bastian.” She taps her nails against the side of her wineglass. “Unless you’d rather start all over again. I’m sure you could find another pathetic college town to corrupt.”
I pick up my empty glass, rolling it between my hands as I keep my eyes fixed on her.
We all make mistakes.
Mine was drinking too much wine around Yolanda before I realized there was a brain in that pretty head.
When I say nothing, she smooths down her hair, pretending to be unaffected. “Fine. You want to burn yourself down, be my guest. But leave my students out of it.”
I still don’t answer, and she seems to take my silence as an admission of guilt. Her face softens, and she considers me over the rim of her glass before taking another sip.
“I miss it. Don’t you?”
For a moment, I think she’s referring to the few times we fucked. Thankfully, before I can answer, she lets out a husky chuckle.
“Feels like anything’s possible in your twenties. You’re healthy, you’re skinny, your life is just bursting with potential.” She sighs happily, but her eyes are sad as she takes another sip. The surprise on her face when she realizes her glass is empty is almost comical.
“It’s so easy to resent them,” she murmurs bitterly. “I was watching them holding hands in my office and I wanted to tell them to enjoy it because it’ll never be better than this. But if there’s one thing I learned, it’s that ignorance truly is bliss.”
“Them?” My own empty glass is warm to the touch. I’m tempted to get a refill, but the last thing I want to do is reminisce.
Yolanda’s eyes focus on me. “Lee and that Jordan boy.” She seems to snap back to the moment, flicking her hand at the wrist. “You probably haven’t read the email yet.
You’ll need to find another T.A. Jordan has officially resigned.
” Her lips quirk into a sardonic smile. “Two Jordans in two years. You do love your symmetry, don’t you, Bastian? ”
Kai resigned?
My mind is spinning, and I fucking hate that those two can knock me off axis without even being in the same room.
I’ve spent the past week methodically driving a wedge between Kai and Haven when I wasn’t…
busy with other things. I tailored every message I sent Kai to remind him of what I have, what I know, what I can do.
What he doesn’t, what he can’t. That unyielding pressure was designed to make him paranoid, possessive, volatile.
He should be pushing Haven away.
She should be running to me.
Instead, they’re holding hands on campus like they’re in a fucking romantic comedy.
“Bastian.”
I refocus.
Yolanda is watching me with what appears to be concern. But if there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s making someone think she’s giving them what they want.
It was how she survived being married to a narcissistic for over a decade.
It’s how she gets what she wants.
She reaches across the table, her fingers brushing mine. “I know you weren’t close with your mother, but maybe you should see someone. Her death is obviously affecting you more than you realize.” Her thumb strokes across my knuckles.
The touch is calculated. As is the lowered voice. That little frown between her brows. She wants me to fold into her, let her console me.
A few months ago, I might have let her.
But then I met Haven.
I withdraw my hand as gently as I can. “It’s best we keep our relationship professional. Like you said, neither of us can afford another scandal.”
Her face cycles through surprise, confusion, then annoyance, which suggests wounded pride.
“Professional,” she says through a most unprofessional snort.
“It’s for the best.”
“Un-fucking-believable.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Fine, Bastian. Let me be very professional then.” She tops up her wine, refusing eye contact as I’m made to wait on her yet again. When she finally looks at me, there’s a hard set to her mouth.
“Get your shit together, Professor Rooke. One more complaint—” she holds up a finger like I’ve lost the ability to fucking count “—one more, and you’ll be cleaning out your office.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Which is strange because I’ve turned off almost all my notifications. All except—
I pull my phone out, glancing at the screen.
Fuck.
“—are you even listening to me?”
I’m already standing. “I need to go.”
“You’re not going anywhere until—“
I pull a bill from my wallet and drop it on the table without looking at her. “I get the message, Yolanda.”
“I’m not finished—“
She cuts off when my eyes flick up to her. “Yes, you are.”
Her mouth falls open, eyes wide with indignation. I leave her like that, hurrying to the door. My phone buzzes again, forcing me into a trot. The cold air hits my face as I shove through the door, and I shoulder aside a couple as they enter.
“Hey! Watch it—”
But I’m already past them.
I’m behind the wheel of my car before I’ve fully processed the alerts on my phone, jamming the gearshift into reverse, tires squealing against the pavement.
Hollow Way’s quaint storefronts blur as I speed down the street. I run a red light. Then another. A horn blares somewhere behind me, but it’s just meaningless noise.
My grip makes the leather steering wheel creak.
The drive back to my property usually takes around eleven minutes.
I make it in six.
My headlights bounce through the darkness between the trees as gravel sprays against my car’s chassis.
My house comes into view.
I slam the car into park, leaping out and nearly losing my balance on the gravel. Racing up to my front door. Hand flying off the handle when I try to rip it open before my security system can register my proximity and unlock the door.
It opens on the second tug, and I rush inside like the motherfucking idiot I am.
Pain explodes against the side of my head.
I stumble sideways, hand catching the edge of the door, slamming it shut as I fall back against it, nearly losing my footing. Through the ringing in my ears, I hear a scream that’s equal parts terror and triumph.
“Ah!”
Melissa swings the fire poker again, and I barely duck in time.
Iron whistles past my head, smashing into the doorframe with a crack that sends splinters flying. I stagger into the foyer, trying to get my bearings, but she’s already coming at me again—wild-eyed and feral and nothing like the docile creature I left behind.
“Melissa—”
“Stay away from me, you freak!”
She swings again. I throw up my arm, forearm coruscating with pain at the impact.
My yell nearly drowns out hers.
The agony pulls me back into my body with a snap. Adrenaline chases through my blood vessels, as ancient neurological systems hard-wired for survival flip on like a light switch.
When she comes at me again, I catch the poker shaft mid-arc and wrench it sideways. She clings to her weapon with utter desperation, sending us both crashing into the table by the door when the poker doesn’t leave her grip like I’d expected.
A vase shatters.
The bowl where I normally toss my keys wobbles precariously before joining it in a hail of glass. Melissa ends up sprawled on top of me, screaming, kicking, clawing at my face with her free hand as she tries to tug the poker free.
When her nails rake across my throat and I feel my skin split, Bad Wolf howls.
Not in pain.
But in wicked delight.
I rip the poker from the girl’s grip and hurl it away. It clatters on the floor, far out of reach. Realizing she’s outmatched, Melissa tries to scramble up, but I grab her hair and tug her to the side, rolling on top of her.
“Alexa, lock the doors!”
We’re close enough to the front door that I hear the door latch in the beat of stunned silence.
I grin down at her. “Now what?”
She spits in my face.
And when I sit back with a laugh to wipe my face, she punches me in the fucking dick with alarming accuracy. I roll off her with a groan, rendered incapacitated and left to watch as she scrambles up and yanks on the front door.
“Alexa, unlock the door!” Melissa shrieks.
“What’s your voice code?” Alexa drones, completely unaffected by her life or death situation.
“Fuck!”
Melissa throws a glance toward me, then runs into the kitchen. She’s grabbing for a knife, fingers closing around the handle just as I reach her.
I seize her wrist.
Twist.
The knife clatters to the floor, and I spin her around, slamming her back against the counter hard enough to rattle the dishes in the cabinets.
“Stop!” I snarl.
“Let me go!”
She drives her knee toward my groin. I block it with my thigh and pin her tighter against the counter. She’s panting, shaking, tears streaming down her face.
“P-please,” she shivers out. “Please just let me go.”
I lean in closer, and she cringes away with a muffled choking sound. “You’re a smart girl,” I taunt. “You know we’re way past that.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” she blubbers. “I swear on my life.”
I chuckle. “You really expect us to just go back to the way things were, Melissa?”
“Y-yes. I can—I can pretend—”
“We’re not the same two people who woke up that Sunday morning. Everything changed when you got into my car.”
“But—But—” Red-veined eyes swivel up to me, and I’m surprised by the flare of anger in them. “You tricked me!”
I rock back on my heels with a sigh, caging her in with a hand on either side of her slender waist.
Her Chanel dress is no longer immaculate—and neither is she. Trails of black mascara paint her cheeks. Her foundation is smeared, the flawless skin beneath peeking out. Hair that swung like a silk curtain now clings to her scalp, matted with oil and blood.
“You saying I forced you to get into my car?”
Her mouth opens, lips trembling, but she cuts her gaze away without answering.