20. Pandora
PANDORA
River’s fingerbones dig into my palm, warming me.
These are mine.
Nobody else gets to see them, touch them.
He gave them up for me.
I storm through the upstairs hallway of the frat, my combat boots thumping hard on the old wood.
One of the doors opens, and somebody peers out. I want to ignore him, but he leers at me with a smile that begs to be carved apart.
“Hey. Pandora, right?” he says. “Asch couldn’t satisfy you?”
I stop and put my hands into my hoodie pockets. I grip my knife tightly and wonder how many slices it would take to give him a permanent scowl. The lips need a downward curve, and maybe his eyebrows need to be cut up too.
“I forgot your name,” I tell him bluntly. “But I’m in a hurry.”
“Declan.” His eyes flick over my face. “Trying to leave the scene of the crime?”
I stare at him, uncomprehending, until he reaches up to gesture to his chin. I mimic the movement, and I feel the tackiness of blood on my face. I look down, where my hoodie is half unzipped to expose my bloody, cut-up chest.
Oh.
If I go back like this, my roommate will have a fit.
So would half the student body on the way there, probably, and they’ll call campus security or the pigs. The last thing I want to do is have to explain that I had amazing sex with a guy who thinks he hates me.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Don’t worry, it’s mostly the other guy’s.”
Apprehension briefly tinges his expression, but then he asks, “Do I need to call the cops? We take crimes against women very seriously at Kappa Alpha.”
Yeah, so seriously that their first party of the year included drunk and passed out girls who are now being threatened with expulsion.
On the other hand, it’s weird that he’s even suggesting calling the pigs.
“You’d turn on a frat brother for me?” I ask, forcing some cheer into my voice.
I don’t want to play nice.
I don’t want to be cheerful.
I just want to destroy something.
The thing inside me starts cutting between my ribs, trying to ooze out of me.
I smile against the pain, against the pounding behind my eyes, and remember that wild Pandora is only fun if she’s also funny, that lashing out now won’t get me anywhere. Above all else, I can’t get expelled because somebody talked to me while I’m coming apart.
“I mean, we can’t have our frat brothers attacking hapless young women,” he says. “And Asch isn’t exactly the cream of the crop, if you get what I’m saying.”
My vision goes hazy, and I almost take the blade out, almost slice it across Declan’s smug face because how fucking dare he say that about Asch, there’s nothing wrong with Asch, Asch is perfect, he’s hot and he cut me up exactly like I wanted and I can see the fire behind his eyes, not a blaze but something else, a furnace, a stoked inferno?—
I swallow and let out a few gasping breaths. “Yeah. I’ll take your shower. You have one, right?”
Declan takes a step aside, but the way he’s holding himself is tense. “Sure, you can use it. I really can get someone for you. Maybe Zayden? He’d take care of any problems that came up.”
“It’s fine. I’ll shower and wash up.” I walk past him into his bedroom.
It’s smaller than Blaze’s, but it’s still nice. The wall is covered with posters of half-naked women, in poses that nobody would consider artistic unless their only frame of reference was porn.
Very classy. I guess I know who picked the decor downstairs.
I’d make a snarky comment, but I still don’t feel like I’m fitting in my skin.
I step past the desk and into the bathroom, and before Declan can say anything, I shut the door and lock it. It’s one of those locks you push in, which means he could easily unlock it with a simple pin on the other side.
“If you come in here, I’m going to murder you,” I tell him through the door.
Is that a joke?
I don’t think it is.
I’m never really joking, am I?
“I would never,” he protests, but he doesn’t sound very convincing. “I’ll find some clothes for you to change into. I’m sure we have something on hand that might fit you.”
I strip down in the small bathroom, dumping my clothes on top of the toilet seat. I set my boots right in front of the door, as if that would stop him from entering—but it might make him trip and fall and smash his head against hard porcelain.
I don’t bother to wait for the water to warm up before I step into the shower. The cold water blasts me, making my skin pebble up. Whatever warmth I felt from the fuck with Asch is gone now, draining away with the blood.
You’re supposed to wash blood with cold water anyway.
I pour Declan’s expensive soap onto my hand and start scrubbing. My nose recoils at the scent, which is something weirdly sweet and off-putting that doesn’t smell like Asch or Blaze or River.
Because it’s not their soap, Pandora . Of course it wouldn't smell like them.
I grip the soap bottle and in a fit of frustration, open up the cap and pour it all away.
It’s wrong, wrong, wrong.
I watch the soap foam up on the shower floor, then toss the empty bottle into the sink. I reach for the shampoo, and one whiff of it makes my ribs break in my chest and spear my insides.
I pour all of that away too, disgusted by it.
The water has warmed up, and I scrub myself with my hands to get most of the blood off. My hair will need to be shampooed properly when I get home—no, when I go to River’s, and I steal his soap and shampoo and can wash away every part of me that’s trying to destroy me.
I shut the water off, and I grab one of Declan’s white towels to dry myself. Blood smears across it, my cuts catching against the fabric, but it’s another thing I don’t care about.
I get into my dirty underwear and shorts, but I stop before I pull my bra on.
I should bandage myself, or I’ll end up in the same mess as before.
The cabinet behind the mirror has shaving supplies and over the counter pain meds, but no bandages. I bend down and check under the sink. There’s a proper first aid kit there, and I pull it out so I can treat my wounds.
My fingers tingle as I clean the cuts with isopropyl alcohol.
That’s a good sign, I think. It means I’ve got feeling in them. It even stings a little when I cover my cuts with the bandages .
I pack everything up again and move to put the first aid kit back when I spot something in the back of the cabinet. It’s a small jar, and when I open it, I find a blister pack of tablets inside.
They’re white, with lines for easy cutting across two directions. The Spanish on the back has usage instructions.
More importantly, it says flunitrazepam on it.
I don’t have to look that up to know what it is.
I stuff all the packets into my backpack and put the jar and the first aid kit back where I found them. I finish dressing, not bothering to zip up my hoodie.
When I stand and look at the mirror, I force myself to smile.
Look at that. I look almost normal. My makeup is smeared, and my lips don’t quite look right, but I’m getting there.
I open the door and say to Declan, “You’re out of shampoo and soap.”
Declan blinks at me. “But I had…” He trails off, his gaze going to my chest, then he pauses. “Okay. Here.” He holds out a shirt and a skirt, but he seems preoccupied with the sight of the bandages.
I take the shirt, holding it up to myself—and freeze when I see the design on it.
It’s got a movie poster on it, from one of the indie movies Carly was telling me about.
If the roofies in his bathroom weren’t proof enough, I’m now sure of it. Declan is the one who drugged her.
“Where’d you get this?” I ask. I have to take the hoodie off so I can pull the shirt on, baring my chest to him. “You don’t strike me as the obscure indie movie type of guy.”
He shrugs, his eyes glued to my tits. “We keep clothes on hand, just in case.”
“In case what?” I ask as I put my hoodie back on. I sling the backpack on too, and I stuff my hands into my hoodie pockets. “In case you need to burn evidence?”
“Burn evi—” he begins, then shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, Zayden will be here any second. You can talk to him about what Asch did to you.”
What Asch did to me? He didn’t do anything! Asch was fucking perfect.
He and Blaze ruined it, but I’m over it now. I’ve forgiven them for not knowing they weren’t allowed to touch my charm.
Honestly, it’s mostly a shame Blaze didn’t join in and smear the blood across my chest.
I nod and go to sit in Declan’s desk chair. “Sure. Before he shows up, do you want to tell me why you roofied all those people?”
His eyes widen, and while he tries to play it cool, he can’t hide from me. “I didn’t roofie anyone,” he says. “That’s a really fucked-up accusation to make, Pandora.”
“Oh, did nobody tell you about me? I am fucked up!” I say, and maybe parts of me are still oozing out of the holes in my chest, but I’m feeling much better now.
I roll the chair closer to the door, blocking Declan’s exit.
Declan’s cheeks flush red. “I wouldn’t roofie anyone. No one in Kappa Alpha would ever need to! The women who waltz into this place are all looking for a good time.”
Like Carly?
Like Rachel?
I get up and roll the chair back against the door.
My hand is firm around my knife. “You think I don’t know about what you people do here?
Chaos isn’t a nice, innocent little frat house.
Your ties to the Bouchard Syndicate? All the women who disappear?
” I grin wildly as I stalk closer to Declan.
“I’m on to you fuckers, and I’m not going to stop until I take you down. Let’s start with you.”
“ Kappa Alpha Omega Sigma ,” he says, putting emphasis on the words, “isn’t involved in any of that shit. I’m not involved with any syndicate, and women aren’t disappearing.” He stands his ground, but his eyes flick to the door.
He’s probably waiting for Zayden to come through it and save him .
“You want to know how Asch cut me up?” I ask. I lift up my karambit. “It was my own knife. And that only worked because I let him. Asch is lucky like that. You? You aren’t going to be so lucky.”