Chapter 3 – Reese
FROM THE FIRST DAY I MET YOU, YOU WERE LIKE A POISON
REESE
Iexpected Ashbrook to be another Tagerton, with modernized buildings that had no personality. Instead, it looked like something built in the seventeenth century—and for all I knew, maybe it was.
It was kind of neat.
I’d shelled out a couple days’ worth of food money to take a taxi over this morning because there wasn’t any way to walk here from New Haven.
I was pissed about that, but it was what it was.
When I’d arrived, I’d spoken with someone who’d given me my dorm assignment and room key and told me to come back for a full rundown once I’d gotten settled in.
My roommate wasn’t there, so I’d just dropped my stuff off and gone exploring.
A quirky but kind older faculty member who’d given me a run-through of the entire campus told me there was a cemetery just past the woods, so that’s where I was headed.
I didn’t care about socializing and making friends; I had two more semesters left, and then I’d be done with this for good. I could move on with my life and do whatever the fuck I wanted. I wouldn’t have to feel obligated to keep chasing a dream that had died a long time ago.
I followed the path deeper into the woods, and stopped at a fork. To the left, there was a rusty old sign warning me to not go beyond that point. The path to the right looked like it went toward my dorm.
I turned left and ducked under the chain holding the sign up.
It smelled like rain, like dead leaves and plants and dirt and bark, and I loved it.
When I glanced to the left, a stone wall just beyond the trees caught my eye. I could make out a few headstones beyond it.
I moved off the path and headed toward the cemetery. The stone wall was maybe five feet high and crumbling in a lot of places. There was wire all along the top, which was weird. Ivy clung to faded stone and weaved in and out of the wire.
Was that to control the ivy? Help it grow? But wasn’t ivy invasive?
Beyond the wall was an old cemetery; the headstones were tilted, chipped, or broken completely, and there were a few tall oaks scattered throughout the open space.
I looked to the right, and about twenty feet down, part of the wall looked like it had broken off, and the wire disappeared.
I could climb over that.
I stepped through overgrown grass and weeds, dodging thorn bushes that tried to snag my pants.
When I got to the break, I braced both hands on the top of the wall and jumped up until my stomach was pressed against the stone.
I peered over the other side, where a tangle of ivy and thorns adorned the stones.
I swung my leg up and over until I was straddling the wall, then brought the other leg up.
When I jumped down, my foot snagged on something, pitching me off balance and tripping me up fast. I hit the ground hard, and the explosion of pain that followed was enough to leave me gasping.
“Fuck,” I groaned, pushing against the dead leaves and dirt. Something tugged on my right calf, and I tried to pull my leg forward, but it wouldn’t move. “What the hell?”
When I looked back, I saw the wire was tangled around my calf.
What the fuck? Damn it, I thought it ended further down but it had just fallen off on this side.
I pulled my leg back, but the wire cinched tighter.
Great.
And then, as if getting caught in this shit wasn’t enough, thunder boomed above, followed by an intense downpour.
Lucky me.
I was soaked in under a minute, and when lightning streaked across the sky, I sat up and started tugging at the wire.
I was gonna die out here in the cemetery, and oh, the fucking irony.
My foot started to tingle, and the heavy rain made it hard to see the wire properly. My ribs were screaming in pain—
“Want some help?”
Shock sparked through my system, and I whipped my head to the right. When my eyes landed on the tall figure standing about five feet away, a slow cascade of uncomfortable prickles rolled down my spine.
How long had he been there? And in this weather?
Dark, stormy eyes stared into mine, but underneath the reflection of the gloomy sky there was a stolid blankness that unnerved me. An emptiness that seemed content to be just that.
His dark hair was tucked behind his ears, a damp lock of it clinging to his brow. He had sharp, high cheekbones that were almost too severe and only accentuated the narrow shape of his eyes and the perfect straightness of his long, slender nose.
It was an almost wolfish face, and the freckles dotting his skin only lessened that likeness the tiniest fraction.
But it was the enormous scar cutting a thick, jagged diagonal line from his right temple to the left side of his jaw that commanded all my attention and left me with a hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach.
A thickness hung in the air between us that had nothing to do with the storm.
“You know, there’s a gate down at the other end. You didn’t need to do all this.” His head tilted to the side as he studied me, the indifference in his eyes and posture only adding to my discomfort.
“Good to know,” I said. My stomach twisted in discomfort, and I was so embarrassed that the first possible student I was interacting with here was seeing me in such an embarrassing situation.
It was bad enough that I was shy and didn’t like being around people in general, but to now have a witness to this humiliating set of circumstances was just the cherry on top.
When his gaze slid to my birthmark, a horrible flush crawled across my cheeks and I knew what he was going to say before he spoke.
“What is that?” he asked, and unlike before, there was intrigue in his tone. A true curiosity in those gravelly words that cut me straight to the bone. “A bruise?”
So he was just another asshole bully?
Great. At least life was staying consistent.
“It’s a contagious disease, so you might wanna fuck off before you catch it,” I said, my face burning for a different reason now. Humiliation and anger smoldered in my chest, and the light sweater I’d put on this morning felt too itchy and warm.
When I got uncomfortable around people, my anger usually got the better of me and I snapped and snarled until they left me alone. I hated that about myself, and as much as I’d tried to work on it over the years, it still happened from time to time.
It was embarrassing and shameful and I wished I didn’t have such a temper.
The laugh that burst from him startled me. My stomach tightened at the sound of it, the deep harshness scraping against my insides. He brought a hand up to cover his mouth, his eyes sparkling with humor as he stared down at me.
“God, you people are all the same,” I muttered, then flicked my hand toward his face. “Would you like it if I asked you how you got that scar?”
“Yeah, actually, I would. Nobody’s ever asked me before. It’s kinda wicked, right?” He smiled a little, a tiny, self-deprecating thing that only made him look somewhat unstable. “And holy shit, that accent. Are you from Boston? I love it.”
Was he fucking with me? He had to be.
I was used to being messed with. Used to being bullied and picked on and ridiculed because of my appearance. I was used to having to defend myself against people like him.
I studied the horrible slash across his face again.
Whatever happened must’ve hurt, and part of me was curious how he’d gotten it.
That wasn’t just a scar…that was a moment of suffering branded on him for a lifetime.
And that didn’t bother him? I wished I could be that indifferent to my port-wine stain.
I brought my gaze back to his and scowled at him. “Did your parents never let you out of the house or something?”
His lips twitched. “Yeah. Or something.” His gaze dragged down my neck, then over my torso. He kept looking down, down, down, until he’d reached my feet and I felt thoroughly violated by those dark eyes.
He said, “You’re pretty small,” in a nonchalant tone, and a flash of rage blinded me for the briefest moment.
I took a deep breath and held it, my hands shaking as I squeezed my eyes shut.
God, this was exhausting.
Of course the very first person I met upon moving to Ashbrook was a complete bastard. It was just par for the course in my life. A beautiful bastard, sure, but it was rare to find beauty that didn’t have even a little bit of rot underneath.
When his eyes lifted to mine again, the intensity that had filled the void there made my heart slam against my rib cage.
“So…you don’t know who I am?” he asked.
I sat up, ignoring the fresh pain that brought to my ribs. “What? Why the fuck would I know who you are?” I turned my attention toward my leg, which was caught about a foot off the ground.
“Everybody knows who I am.”
I turned to stare at him. Was he seriously that arrogant? “Cool. Really happy for you, but I’ve never seen you before and I honestly hope I never see you again.” I shook my head and focused on my leg again.
I saw him step closer to me out of the corner of my eye. “You really don’t know who I am?”
“No!” I said, exasperated. I turned to glare at him and wished he would leave so I could figure out how to get this fucking wire off my leg.
Then he smiled, and my breath caught in my throat. It was a genuine smile this time, no hint of self-deprecation or smugness. It transformed his face completely, lighting up those dark eyes until they were burning into me with an intensity that made me feel like I’d just been stripped to the bone.
He took a step closer, his gaze locked on the wire around my leg now, then shook his head.
The rain had started to let up a bit, but my clothes were soaked through to my skin, and so were his.
The dark material of his shirt was plastered to his chest and stomach, clinging to lean, rangy muscle that shifted as he moved closer.
My pulse pounded in my ears as he crouched, and when he reached out a hand like he was going to touch my leg, I tried to jerk it away from him. The wire snagged and tightened painfully, and I cried out.