Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
HARLEY
FRESHMAN YEAR
Two months into freshman year, and before this week, I’d only caught sight of Savannah a handful of times and always from a distance. Whether she’s avoiding me, or I’d been subconsciously avoiding her, I’m not sure.
The rage in me has been building every single day, my thoughts constantly straying back to what she did.
What she did to my family, to me, to us.
I’ve never really hated anyone before. Sure, I’ve disliked certain people, but I’ve never felt a gut-churning, skin-burning, wrath-inducing hate for anyone.
Until her.
I’ve also never felt so indecisive. I know I need to stay away from her, to distance myself from her, but there’s also this need within me that wants to make her pay for what she did.
I need to see her cry, to beg, to make her feel even the slightest fraction of what she made me feel.
I’ve been quelling that urge. For two damn months, I’ve been forcing myself to stay away, to ignore her, to internalize the pain and torture my subconscious is begging me to inflict before I do something I’ll regret.
But no more.
The longer I hold out, the stronger the urge becomes, and I can’t fucking take it anymore.
It may have been my father who suffered the consequences of her actions, but I’ve felt the guilt of them every day. I’m the one who chased her like a dog with a bone, I’m the one who gave her access to get the information, and I’m the one who let her into our home.
It’s eating me up inside, day by day, and slowly killing me.
Why should I take the brunt of this shit? Why should I be the one who’s being tortured when it’s her who deserves it most?
I shouldn’t.
Which is why I’ve found myself hanging out in the stacks of the library, watching and waiting.
It’s not a want anymore, it’s a need. An impulse. A pull I’m not strong enough to ignore. I need to punish her, to make her feel even the slightest bit of hurt that I’m living with.
I may have spent the last few days watching her movements, and what I’ve learned is she’s a creature of habit.
Every evening without fail, she’ll come to the library, sit at the same table, and study.
Then, when most people have cleared out, she’ll spend time perusing the books, like she has nothing better to do.
I always knew she was smart, even before the summer, but I had no idea how much time she dedicated to her studies.
I also had no idea how much of a lying, betraying, conniving little shit she is, but here we are.
I wait at the end of the aisle, hidden by shadows, and my entire body tenses as she turns the corner, heading towards me.
She looks beautiful, her red hair thrown up in a bun, black flared pants with a tight-fitting white shirt that accentuates her curves, and a book cradled in her arms. Christ, why does the sight of her have my heart racing in ways that it shouldn’t, even after everything she’s done?
I shouldn’t still want her. No, I don’t want her, not really, my dick just needs to get the memo because there is no damn reason it should be thickening in my slacks at the sight of her. No fucking reason at all.
I squint to see what she’s carrying and inwardly scoff when I realize what it is.
A criminal law textbook.
Of course it is. How fitting.
I want to charge out of my hiding spot and confront her, to see her eyes widen and her breathing change as she realizes she’s cornered and alone with a predator, but I don’t. Not yet. This has been building within me for over a month—the need to hurt her—and I don’t want it to be over so soon.
So, I wait. I watch her walk toward me, stopping every couple of steps to look at the books surrounding us. Her face is the picture of concentration as she takes in the titles, and the closer she gets to me, the more my pulse kicks up.
Am I really going to do this?
It sounds ridiculous, but this moment feels like one I’ll never be able to take back. Once I do this, there’ll be no coming back from it. Once I take this step, I’ll never be able to undo the damage.
Am I okay with having that hang over my head for the rest of my life?
If this was only a few short months ago, the answer would be a firm no.
But now? After my father announced his early retirement?
After me drowning in the guilt and the shame and the rage?
I’m not the same person I was then. I’m not the same guy she knew, because even though she wasn’t in my life for long, her betrayal changed me in ways I still haven’t even begun to understand.
And honestly, she deserves everything she has coming to her.
So, I take a deep breath, steel myself for what’s to come, and step out of the shadows.