Chapter 40 Haven
Haven
I hate football.
Actually, hate’s not strong enough.
I fucking despise it with the passion of a thousand flaming dumpsters. Sweaty men in tight pants crashing into each other just to grab some misshapen ball while the crowd screams like they’re in the coliseums of Rome watching gladiators battle it out?
Hard pass.
Yet here I am, wedged between Melissa and Abigail on AHC’s freezing metal bleachers, surrounded by our official colors, black and yellow.
The Agony Hollow Hornets are playing some team from Cinderhart Academy, and judging by the scoreboard, we’re getting our asses handed to us.
Not that I’ve glanced up from my phone more than twice in the last hour.
“Aren’t you freezing?” Melissa asks, eyeing my thin hoodie with concern.
“Rage keeps me warm,” I deadpan, not looking up from my screen.
It rained for a whole day before the clouds switched to hardcore mode, and slushy ice came down instead of water. That cleared up during the night, but even this morning’s bright sun couldn’t combat the chill that had seeped into everything.
But overcast skies eradicated that sunlight by mid-morning, and things aren’t looking good. The wind has picked up drastically and thick, gray clouds are organizing on the horizon as if they’re planning something eldritch.
My nipples can cut glass, but I couldn’t summon the energy to put on anything warmer this afternoon. Couldn’t summon the energy to do much of anything since Thursday, really.
Two days since I discovered Kai filmed me being assaulted like it was some fucked-up amateur porn shoot.
Two days since I made the spectacularly stupid decision to kiss Bastian.
Two days of hiding in my room, building a fortress of blankets and self-loathing.
But Melissa practically dragged me out today, because apparently I need ‘fresh air and school spirit.’ I tried telling her I wasn’t a houseplant, that I needed junk food and another season of Supernatural to tide me over until classes next week, but she wasn’t buying it.
So here I am, pretending to give a solitary fuck about touchdowns while obsessively checking my phone and trying not to freeze to death.
Three rows down and twenty seats over, I can see the back of Kai’s head among his fellow Neanderthals from NEX. He’s wearing a black beanie pulled low, hunched forward like the weight of his own douchebaggery is finally catching up with him.
I’ve been watching him tip a silver flask to his lips since kickoff. At this rate, he’ll be unconscious soon.
“Why don’t we bring flasks?” I ask Melissa when I notice how many frat guys are passing flasks between them. No wonder none of them are freezing their tits off. That…and, well, they don’t have tits.
“Because we’re fucking ladies,” Melissa says, handing me the neon pink Stanley cup she’s been clinging onto for dear life since we left the sorority. I wave it away. She wriggles it meaningfully. When I give her some bombastic side-eye, she leans in close.
“You want booze or not?” she hisses.
Oh.
I take the gigantic cup and sip tentatively through the thick straw.
My splutter is not ladylike at all, and neither is Melissa’s evil chuckle.
“Jaysus,” I rasp hoarsely, shoving the cup back at her. “What the fuck is in there, local anesthetic?”
“Told you I love football.”
I get it now. In fact, the sea of pink and blue and purple cups in the sorority bleachers makes a hell of a lot more sense now than when I first arrived. I’m even starting to understand why they’re kitted out with lipstick containers and cellphone holders.
Alcoholism hiding in plain sight.
It feels like my phone vibrates, but the screen is blank when I check.
Still no response to my last text.
Looking up, I glare at the back of Kai’s head hard enough that his beanie should spontaneously combust…but I guess the bad weather is affecting my pyrokinesis.
I bite my lip hard enough to hurt and type another message.
@lee.haven
I need that video.
He starts typing a reply. My heart gives an annoying little skip before I remind myself that I’d rather gargle battery acid than admit I feel anything but pure disdain for Kai Jordan.
@jordan.kai
Not happening.
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck.
Around me, the crowd erupts in a collective orgasm as someone in a black and yellow uniform does...something athletic. A tackle? A goal? A ritualistic dance to summon the football gods? Who the fuck knows.
Thunder rumbles in the distance like said gods have found their sacrifice wanting.
@jordan.kai
We’ll use it when we really need to
Safer this way
Yeah, safer for him.
Because what I realized the past two days of moping, is that the video Kai claims to have is just as incriminating for him as it is for Bastian. Accessory to the crime, that kind of thing.
A nuke that will leave both him and our professor radioactive.
The sheer audacity makes me want to find the nearest sharp object and go full slasher-film on his stupid face.
@lee.haven
Bet you don’t even have it
Were you even there?
@jordan.kai
I wouldn’t lie to you
The metal stands vibrate beneath me as people stomp their feet in some coordinated display of tribal belonging. Pop music blares from the speakers.
But everything feels dull and heavy, colors darkened by the gray skies overhead, the wind picking up and snatching away the music, the voices, the excitement.
@jordan.kai
Believe what you want
“Motherfucking cocksucking piece of shit,” I hiss, loud enough that the senior in front of me turns around with a scandalized expression.
I smile sweetly at her.
“What was that?” Melissa turns to me, eyebrows raised.
“Nothing.”
She frowns. “You’ve been weird since Thursday. And not your normal, delightful brand of weird.”
I force a smile that feels like it might crack my face. “Just fantasizing about homicide.”
Across the darkening field, I spot Bastian in the faculty section, looking unfairly attractive in a black peacoat and dark gray scarf. He’s chatting with an ancient professor whose bow tie suggests he started teaching when dinosaurs roamed the earth.
As if sensing my gaze, Bastian turns, his eyes finding mine with the precision of a predator spotting wounded prey. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk that makes my stomach flip and my common sense take a vacation.
I look away first, willing away the heat that floods my face. Apparently, my body missed the memo that he’s a psychopathic asshole.
“Look, there’s Brad!” Melissa points to a hulking figure in black and yellow padding who resembles a refrigerator with legs. “He’s been on fire today.”
“I hope not literally. Polyester is highly flammable,” I mutter. “I should know. Get too close to the grill, and your uniform is toast.”
Melissa either doesn’t hear me, or decides she doesn’t want to encourage my new brand of weird.
My phone remains silent. I’ve tried three different approaches with Kai now, and nothing’s worked. If I could just get my hands on that video, I’d have my own leverage on Bastian.
But Kai’s determined to take gold in the Hard to Get Olympics, apparently.
I glance back at Bastian, who’s still watching me like I’m a particularly interesting lab specimen. He lifts his coffee cup in a mocking toast.
Below, on the field, the referee blows a whistle. Players begin jogging toward the sidelines, their shoulder pads making them look like action figures come to life.
“End of the first quarter,” Melissa explains when she sees my confusion.
A squad of cheerleaders in skimpy black and yellow uniforms cartwheel onto the field, sleek ponytails bouncing. Bet none of them have professors who’ve drugged and assaulted them. Or childhood best friends who filmed it happening.
I also doubt any of them have fantasized about burning this place to the ground and dancing in the ashes.
They’re too busy practicing spirit fingers.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and for a second, I think it’s Kai finally growing a conscience. But the screen shows ‘UNKNOWN NUMBER’
I hesitate, then answer with a cautious, “Hello?”
“Every sip from that cup is eradicating hundreds of brain cells,” Bastian’s deep voice purrs into my ear.
I cut my gaze across the field, catching him staring at me with such intensity, it feels like a physical touch. He holds the stare for a second before turning away.
Guess he doesn’t want to make it obvious who he’s talking to, in case one of the faculty members around eavesdrop.
“Are you seriously watching me—” I cut off when Melissa’s head turns my way, a tiny frown between her brows.
She shrugs like she’s asking who’s calling, but I say nothing, grabbing her cup from her instead. I take a long, slow sip through the straw, so the slurping is extra obnoxious.
Bastian had his back turned. But he glances at me over his shoulder and then slowly turns to face me across the distance like we’re standing right in front of each other.
“Sorry, couldn’t hear you,” I say into the phone, my voice husky from the strong booze. “Too busy culling the herd.”
I end the call with a stab of my shaking thumb.
Damn, it’s getting cold.
Even at a distance, I can see his mouth turning up at the corners with a rueful smile.
I have to force myself to look away.
Maybe I don’t have any common sense left at all. How else can I explain the urge to text him to meet me somewhere discrete so—
So what, Haven?
Kai stands, the guys on either side of him following suit. They follow him to the aisle, and all three head down toward the food trucks. This stadium only has one confection stand that sells hotdogs, drinks, and snacks, but the food trucks nearing the parking lot make up for it.
People are swarming towards the area to stock up before the rest of the game. When I came in, I thought I’d see Milo’s truck, but either he wasn’t invited or decided it wasn’t worth his while.
Don’t see why—looks like they’re making a killing.
“Hungry?” Melissa asks, probably mistaking my frown.