Chapter Twenty
“I really don’t have a good feeling about this,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time, dragging a hand down my face as Meg pivots her phone slightly so I can see both outfit options properly.
Unbeknownst to her, I have a panoramic view given that her webcam is secretively streaming onto my computer.
I’ve been watching with rapt interest since the cream envelope was slipped beneath her door this morning, triggering the motion sensor before she’d even woke.
Then, once a sleepy-eyed Meg had torn it open and groaned the words, ‘Damn Fresher Frenzy’, I’d taken to the internet pulling up every reference I could find related to Hollowbrook Academy. I’ve regretted doing so ever since.
This isn’t some stupid frat party. It’s a massacre led by the King of Fuckery himself.
Every year seems to follow the same pattern.
Too much hype, an air of exclusivity, the actual carnage of the event, and then a thorough digital sweep.
Anonymous forum posts detailing unconfirmed substance use and minor hospitalization are quickly shut down, the comments locked and the threads buried beneath filtered images of fairy lights and red cups.
And I haven’t forgotten about the redacted file I found last week when doing a deep-dive on Everest. The words female, altercation, injury and on-campus party have been circling around my mind all afternoon.
“Are you going to choose or shall I?” Meg brings my attention back to the hangers she’s holding.
She stands in the middle of her room in nothing but black shorts and a fitted bralette, her hair falling loose around her shoulders as she presents two options that are a far cry from the pajamas and headset I wish she would put on.
On the desk, out of view of the phone but picked up by the webcam, is a half empty bottle of pink gin she’s hiding from me.
Hence, I can’t comment on it or her already-tipsy state.
“I’d rather you didn’t go at all,” I mutter, though I know she hears it. She ignores my comment, lifting one hanger higher. A cropped, strappy top that would absolutely have half the lacrosse team forgetting their own names. The other option is safer. Still figure hugging, but safer.
“The tank top and high waisted jeans,” I sigh, forcing my tone to lack the possessiveness that’s trying to bleed through. “And wear your leather jacket. I heard there’s an early winter frost rolling in tonight.” Meg eyes me skeptically, an easy smile on her face.
“At the beginning of September?”
“Global warming and all that.” I shrug, leaning back in my chair and swiveling slightly. “You’d better put on a scarf for good measure.” Her laugh, as delightful as it is, guts me.
“Sure, Thi. Don’t go anywhere.” Leaning forward, I catch a glimpse of her cleavage before she cuts the cam and mutes her phone.
My eyes instantly flash up to the computer to see her take a long swig from the gin bottle.
Huffing a soft laugh to herself, she places the bottle back behind her phone and wriggles out of her tiny shorts.
I tell myself to look away, as I do every time she changes, but each time, it’s becoming harder.
Pun intended. Meg has no idea how incredible she is.
Not just her toned body that seems to remember its athletic definition after all this time.
Not how perfect her ass looks as she pulls the jeans up her legs and shimmies into them, or how her brunette hair shines in the artificial light.
No, Meg’s appeal goes far deeper. She’s proud to a fault, unable to walk away from a challenge, refusing to let anyone see her fall except me.
I get her vulnerability, I get to be the valiant protector, even if only in a video game or through the phone’s speaker.
I’d give anything to have her before me, my hands on her waist and mouth against her neck. Instead, like the pathetic fuck I am, I reach down and grip my cock through my sweatpants. Shame isn’t a notion I feel anymore. I’ll take whatever part of her I can get.
Whilst I’m stroking my shaft, Meg pulls on the tank top, adjusting her breasts to lift them higher and I groan, dropping my head back against the leather headrest. Her arms raise above her head, her hips swaying to a song solely in her head.
For once, the room next door is silent. The perfect chance to catch up on some sleep or game without interruption, as I’ve already pointed out.
It doesn’t matter. Meg is set on attending this party for some reason.
The phone’s camera feed is turned back on, and Meg gives me a twirl.
The jeans are molded to her body, highlighting her hips and height in the ankle boots she’s pushed her feet into.
The tank top is ribbed, and although it’s high-necked, there’s a heart cut out over her cleavage that I didn’t notice when it was on the hanger.
I school my features and clear my throat.
“Stunning,” I comment, though it comes out hoarse. Rolling her eyes, she leans forward on the desk and pouts.
“I look boring.”
“You look like you won’t get roofied in the first ten minutes,” I counter. As soon as I say it, I wince. Meg pauses, her blue eyes widening. Then, she bursts out with laughter.
“Wow, Thi. That’s dark, even for you.”
She reaches for her leather jacket, shrugging it on with that effortless, don’t-care movement that absolutely does care.
For a second, I regret telling her to wear it.
The black leather transforms the softness of the tank into something far more sensual, another layer that those horny fuckers will want to peel off.
She steps up to the mirror, applying eyeliner and mascara, then a muted gloss that makes her mouth look distracting in ways I don’t want to think about.
I give my cock a tight squeeze and then force my hand to retract.
I can’t let her walk out of that room without being upfront.
“Meg,” my jaw tightens. “I really don’t trust Everest or his asshole friends.”
“You don’t need to trust them. You can trust me to handle myself.” There’s a pause on my end, a trickle of uncertainty that somehow tipsy-Meg manages to catch. Ruffling up her hair with a just-fucked look, she turns back to the phone with a slump to her shoulders.
I hate that I’m the one who’s brought her back down to earth, especially when this is the first time she’s going out socially.
If she has any hopes of truly finding herself again, she’ll need to embrace all sides of campus life, but I selfishly don’t want her to.
I want her to stay here with me, just for a little bit longer.
Crossing the room, Meg pulls out her chair and sits in front of the camera, staring directly at me with eyes framed by liner. “Thiago,” her mouth turns up in a small, somewhat pitying smile. “Thank you for always caring about me.” I blink a few times, taken aback.
“Of course. Always,” I reply without hesitation. I’ve never questioned why it’s so easy to care for her. As the man who carried her out of a kidnapper’s car wreck, it became instinctual. She pushes everyone else away, keeps them from seeing her struggles, but she lets me in. She knows that I’m—
“But I’m giving you the night off,” Meg continues and my mind stutters to a stop. My brows pull together.
“What?”
“I don’t want you to come with me tonight,” Meg clarifies with a tone far too balanced for someone who’s half a bottle deep in pink gin. “I won’t be able to relax if I know you’re hacking your way through camera feeds to find me. I want one night without ties, you know? Just freedom.”
Freedom. The word slips through me like the slow slice of a blade.
I bring a hand up to my chest, shifting forward so Meg can’t see how I’m pressing the heel of it into my sternum, trying to dislodge the discomfort.
Suddenly, my perspective changes like a tornado whirling around me.
I’m not her loyal protector. I’m her prison guard.
Caging her in a world that I’m safety-proofing.
Obliviously, Meg smiles sweetly. She doesn’t notice the strain in my features.
The way I’m trying to keep myself upright to see through this conversation.
Instead, she’s glowing with alcohol and the thrill of being wanted somewhere physical.
Somewhere messy where anything could happen.
I’m sitting in a quiet room with LED lights and humming processors.
I have stable Wi-Fi and contingency plans for days.
I’m safe, secluded, and isolated. Something Meg will never want to be.
I lean back slowly in my chair, the wheels creaking beneath me, whilst trying to keep my expression neutral.
In a hidden tab on my monitor, her location will be pulsing in the corner of the map I’ve set up, along with three active street feeds angled towards Everest’s house and two exit routes I’ve already mapped in case of emergency.
I’ve already positioned myself exactly where she’s asking me not to be.
Nodding to herself, seeming blissfully happy with the way this conversation has panned out, Meg pushes her chair to scoot back.
That action alone tugs at my chest as if my heart has decided to rip itself out and go with her.
Time ticks down inside my head, the thought of losing her coming in too fast and sudden.
“Just tell me why,” I say, stopping her from standing. “Why are you so adamant on going? What are you trying to prove?” Meg exhales in thought, head tipping back slightly as if the ceiling might have answers written across it. The pause is so long, I become twitchy until she shrugs.
“I have no idea. I just want to…feel something. I want to be someone.” Meg’s eyes find the camera again, glassy but sincere. “I just don’t know who that is yet, and I’m not going to find out whilst playing Runeborn with you.”