Chapter 31
OPHELIA
When I opened my eyes, everything was dark except for the thin glow of a desk lamp flickering somewhere behind me. For a second, I couldn’t remember where I was…then the smell of paper and dust hit me, heavy and stale, and my heart sank.
The stacks.
I pushed upright too fast, the corner of the table jamming into my hip, a tower of books toppling beside me with a dull crash that echoed through the underground room. My neck throbbed, and I could feel a faint imprint on my cheek from the spine of my notebook.
There were no windows down here. No hint of daylight. I had no idea what time it was, if it was midnight or morning or something in between.
“Oh no,” I whispered, fumbling for my phone.
It was black. Dead. I hit the button anyway, over and over, like maybe I could will it to wake up.
Nothing.
My stomach twisted. I was supposed to go to Matty’s after I was done studying. He’d probably texted and called…He was probably worried.
I pressed my hands over my face, breath catching. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I’d just wanted to finish one more chapter, one more page, until the words started to blur together.
I’d come to the library feeling desperate. I thought that maybe if my grades were perfect, my mother would finally back off a little. Maybe she’d see that everything was okay. That I was okay.
But now, sitting here in the dark, neck aching, heart pounding, it didn’t feel like I’d made progress in anything. It just felt like I’d failed…again.
He was going to think I didn’t care.
The thought made my chest ache. Miserable didn’t even begin to cover it.
Panic clawed up my throat. What if he thought I’d done it on purpose? What if he was angry, really angry, and decided he was done with me?
A small, reasonable part of me tried to cut through the noise. Matty’s not like that, it whispered. He wouldn’t just give up on you over this.
But reason had never been my strong suit. Not when it came to him. Not when the thought of losing him made my chest seize and my vision blur. Logic didn’t stand a chance against the spiral already building in my head.
I pressed a hand over my chest, trying to breathe, but the ache there only deepened. I’d already been quiet yesterday, distracted after my mom’s call. The sound of her voice, that cold mixture of disappointment and exhaustion, rang in my ears all day.
I’d spent the entire day jumping through hoops for her. Phone calls. Promises. Another appointment with Dr. Whitaker that I didn’t want but couldn’t refuse. By the time it was over, shame sat so thick in my stomach I could barely stand to look at myself in the mirror.
“You’re not being honest with yourself, Ophelia.” Dr. Whitaker’s voice crackled through my laptop speakers—calm, clinical, unshakable. On the screen, she adjusted her glasses and tapped her pen against her notebook, the sound loud even through the mic.
“You keep saying you’re fine, that you’re managing,” she went on. “But you’ve replaced one fixation with another, haven’t you? You’re tying your sense of safety to him.”
I stared at the little square that held her face, at the tidy office behind her with its framed diplomas and neutral walls. I couldn’t look her in the eye.
“That’s not true,” I whispered, though my voice wavered enough to make it sound like a question.
“Isn’t it?” she asked softly. “When you talk about him, your breath spikes. Your hands tremble. You describe him like he’s oxygen. That isn’t love, Ophelia. That’s dependency. And you know where that road leads.”
The video lagged for a second, her face freezing mid-sentence, but the words had still crawled under my skin like a burn I couldn’t scrub off, replaying over and over in my head long after the call ended.
Now, sitting in the dark stacks, her voice still echoed in my head. Dependency. Fixation. The words she’d used like diagnoses instead of feelings.
I’d told Matty I needed to study. That I’d come by later.
And that was true.
But I’d also needed some space. Time to gather myself…to stop hearing my mother’s voice in my head, the one that said I was broken and dangerous and lucky anyone loved me at all.
I hadn’t wanted him to see that version of me. Not when he looked at me like I was something he’d never let go of.
My throat tightened. I pulled my dead phone to my chest, whispering to the dark stacks, “Please don’t leave me.”
I scrambled to my feet and started shoving my books and notes into my bag with shaking hands. A few papers fluttered to the floor, but I didn’t stop to grab them. I just needed to get out of here—now.
The metal stairs groaned under my boots as I climbed, the air growing warmer with each step until the door at the top burst open into blinding light streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the library’s main floor.
I winced, throwing a hand up to shield my eyes. It was morning. Actual morning. I slept through the entire night.
“Shit,” I breathed as I speed-walked through the library. The fluorescent lights were on, and students were already hunched over their laptops. I could feel every tick of panic crawling under my skin as I realized how late it was.
Matty was going to think I’d ignored him. Or worse, that I didn’t want to see him.
I moved faster, heading for the exit, thumbing the power button like it might suddenly wake up, even though I knew it was useless.
I tried shaking it, rubbing it against my sleeve…
anything to coax a flicker of life from the black screen.
I wasn’t even watching where I was going until I slammed into something solid.
No—not something. Someone.
My breath hitched as my bag slipped from my shoulder and crashed to the floor, books and papers scattering across the tile. I froze, my pulse roaring in my ears, and slowly looked up at the broad chest I’d just run straight into.
“Whoa—Shit, I’m so sorry!”
The voice was deep, startled. I stumbled back a step. My stomach dropped when I saw I’d run into Garrett, Matty’s teammate. The one who’d walked up to the car that day.
For a second, I couldn’t move.
He crouched immediately, scooping up loose papers, muttering apologies under his breath. “Didn’t even see you there,” he said, his tone rough with guilt. “My fault, totally my fault.”
“It’s—fine,” I managed, kneeling to help him, trying to keep my hair in front of my face.
He picked up my notebook and then glanced up at me, frowning slightly. Then again. Longer this time. His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing like he was searching through memories.
I reached for my notebook at the same time he did, our fingers brushing…and that’s when it happened.
His entire face changed. The confusion dropped away, replaced by something like shock. Horror.
“You’re her,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the girl in the car.”
I blinked up at him, stunned, my pulse hammering so hard I could barely hear myself think. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, clutching my notebook to my chest like it could hide the guilty flush spreading across my chest.
But Garrett wasn’t listening. He was staring at me like he’d just seen a ghost. His face had gone pale, his mouth parting as the words started spilling out fast and uneven.
“You’re definitely her,” he said, breathless. “Holy shit—shit, shit, shit.”
My stomach flipped. “What car?” I tried in a voice too thin, too high.
He ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting around the library like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Does Matty know?” he asked, more to himself than to me. Then his expression twisted, and he answered before I could even breathe. “Of course he doesn’t know. Oh fuck.”
“Garrett—”
He shook his head, stepping back like he needed the space to think. “He’s gonna lose his mind,” he muttered, half under his breath, half to the world. “He’s actually gonna—Fuck, I shouldn’t even—”
“Please stop,” I whispered, the words breaking, but he just stared at me, wide-eyed, horrified, and completely unraveling.
Cold prickled under my skin, crawling up the back of my neck. My fingers went numb around the notebook still clutched to my chest, the edges biting into my palms. Every muscle in my body screamed to move, to run, but my legs felt locked, rooted in place by the weight of his stare.
The nightmare that I’d imagined so many times was happening.
“Please don’t—” I whispered.
But Garrett wasn’t stopping. He was staring at me like he’d just solved a puzzle he wished he hadn’t. “You’re Matty’s stalker. You’re really her. I just—I just can’t fucking believe it.” He looked like he was about to pass out.
The word stalker hit me like a slap.
“I—What?” My throat closed. “No, that’s not—”
He kept talking, half to himself, his voice rising with each word. “Holy shit. You’re her. You’re the one who’s been sitting out there in that car every day. Fucking hell.”
“Stop!” I shouted, but it came out strangled. Every nerve in my body lit up, my vision blurring at the edges. People were starting to look.
I backed away, shaking my head, clutching my bag so tightly my fingers hurt. “You don’t understand,” I choked out, but his face said enough…He’d already decided what I was.
Garrett took a step forward, still reeling. “Wait—Ophelia, I didn’t mean—”
But I was already gone.
I turned and bolted, the sound of his voice chasing me down the hall. “Ophelia, wait!”
I didn’t. I couldn’t. My lungs burned as I tore through the doorway and into the blinding light outside, the world tilting around me as the word stalker echoed in my skull like it would never stop.
I ran until my legs screamed, until the air outside tore at my throat and my bag slammed against my hip with every step. The word wouldn’t stop pounding through my head—stalker, stalker, stalker—each repetition worse than the last.
By the time the dorms came into view, I could barely see through the blur of tears stinging my eyes. I fumbled for my key, my hands trembling so badly I dropped it once before finally getting it into the lock.
The door swung open, and I stumbled inside, slamming it behind me with a hollow thud that echoed through the small room.
My forehead fell against the wood as I tried to reason through what had just happened…and then everything broke loose.
The sobs came fast and hard, shaking through me as I clutched the strap of my bag, tears running hot down my cheeks.
Garrett’s voice kept replaying in my head, looping until I couldn’t tell if it was his voice anymore or my own.
You’re Matty’s stalker.
I pressed my palms to my eyes, wishing I could scrub the words away, wishing I could make it all stop.
But nothing stopped. The words burrowed deeper, twisting into images I couldn’t shut out.
Like Matty’s face when he found out.
I could see it so clearly it hurt. The confusion first, then the horror, the betrayal. The way his mouth would harden, how he’d take a step back like I was something dirty. Like he’d never known me at all.
He’d leave. Of course he would. He’d probably get a restraining order or have someone from the team handle it, making sure I never came near him again.
My chest constricted. I slid down the wood until I was kneeling on the floor, the door the only thing holding me up.
I couldn’t bear to see that look on his face…the disgust, the revulsion. I wouldn’t survive it.
I pressed my hands over my mouth to muffle the sound of my crying, but it didn’t help.
The thought of him walking away, of knowing what I’d done and seeing me as nothing but the thing Garrett had named me—it split something deep inside me, like a seam tearing open that I didn’t know how to stitch back together.
Freak.
That’s what he’d think.
My mind spiraled, frantic, clawing for a way to keep him.
Chain him to the bed. Hide the key. Tell him it’s a game until he believes it.
Drug his coffee. Just enough to make him drowsy, pliant. Drag him into his bedroom. Lock the door.
Get pregnant. Now. Before Garrett can talk to him. He’d never leave a baby.
Cut the brake lines on his truck. Not to hurt him—just to strand him here. With me.
Burn the dorm down. Force him to take me in. Forever.
I rocked on the floor, knees to chest, nails digging into my scalp.
He’ll hate me. He’ll leave. He’ll never touch me again.
“What’s got you so upset, pretty baby?”
An unmistakable voice cut through my spiral like a lifeline.
My whole body went still. The sob caught in my throat, my hands falling uselessly to my sides. For a second, I thought I was imagining it. I had to be. He couldn’t be here—he couldn’t.
I slowly turned…and there he was.
Matty lounged on my bed like he belonged there, back against the headboard, legs stretched out, one ankle hooked lazily over the other. His arms were crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on me calmly.
He was lying right under my shrine.
The glossy corners of photos caught the light—the snapshots, the printouts, the scraps of newspaper clippings, the candid shots I’d thought were safe. Something white was streaked on the photos, dripping down the orange hat, sliding down the wall.
My breath hitched.
He tilted his head, watching me with a kind of quiet amusement that I didn’t understand. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but there was a heat behind them, a dangerous calm that made the air feel too thin.
I couldn’t make my mouth work. Couldn’t force sound past the pounding in my chest.
Matty’s gaze flicked toward the wall again, then back to me, and his lips curled into a dark, hungry smirk.
“Looks like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”