Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
“You’re entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell you a secret. All the best people are.”
—Alice, Alice in Wonderland
Slow to shed the comfort of sleep, I crawl out of bed, but my feet barely hit the floor when I see it—bold as you please on my dresser. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the fog from my vision. My breath catches, and a slow grin spreads across my lips.
He left me a gift last night.
With a hand pressed against my racing heart, I shuffle to the dresser. There, delicate white rose petals are scattered around a tiny pink box. I pick up the folded paper resting among the petals and see familiar handwriting that sends a flutter of butterflies swirling in my belly.
Eat Me
Love, M
I rip open the box, excited to discover what Maddox left for me.
My laughter spills out at the delightful treasure inside.
I bite the oatmeal cranberry cookie, astonished that Maddox remembered this flavor is my favorite.
But that’s who he is—he holds onto the little details, the meaningful things most people overlook or forget.
The last time we baked cookies together, we were just kids—around eleven or twelve, if memory serves.
We made a mess in my mother’s kitchen, getting flour and sugar everywhere.
I don’t remember what was more fun, baking or laughing together while we cleaned up.
Or, perhaps, it was afterward, when we devoured our gooey masterpieces.
I polish off the rest of the cookie before texting Maddox to thank him for the sweet treat.
Me: Good morning
I bring the phone with me to the bathroom, with him replying while I’m brushing my teeth.
Maddox: Morning lovely
Me: Thank you for the treat
Maddox: Sweets for my sweetie
Me: OMG how cheesy
He answers with a cheese emoji.
Maddox: Cookie good?
Me: Delicious
I can’t believe there was a time when I thought I wanted nothing to do with this man. Now, here I am, excited to see him again.
Me: Busy later?
Maddox: Yes
That sucks, but I don’t let him know I’m desperate to make up for all the years we lost. Instead, I simply text:
Me: K
I turn on the shower and drop my clothes, and I’m about to step into the stall when my phone bings.
Maddox: Not even gonna fight for me huh? I’m crushed
Me: Asshole
Maddox: Ill be busy w/u silly
Oh.
Well.
Maddox: Wear red underwear
The warmth of a blush radiates down from my cheeks, settling right between my legs.
What a remarkable transformation this is, a stark contrast to the living corpse I’ve been for the past few years.
Only a week ago, I was still an empty shell, clinging to misery because that’s what became safe.
But with his undeniable charm, Maddox shattered the wall I meticulously constructed around myself.
He dismantled it brick by brick. Now, here I am, naked in my bathroom, excited to spend time with him later.
Hoping he’ll kiss me again because being in his strong arms is a sanctuary.
It’s home.
For the first time in what seems like an excruciating eternity, I’m happy again, and right when I’m about to text him back, a new notification pops up.
Maddox: Please
The truth about being best friends with Maddox since we were seven years old is that I have an intimate understanding of how his mind works. For him, the word ‘please’ carries a heavy weight. To Maddox Hathorne, it is synonymous with desperation—with begging.
Me: Perhaps
Me: Dare you to find out if I do
I also know Maddox loves a challenge.
Maddox: Tease
I send him a winking face emoji, then hop in the shower, taking extra time to shave my legs.
My hands shake as I slide on my prettiest red lace panties.
I had a sexier pair, but I think they—embarrassingly—got lost in the laundry because I can’t find them anywhere.
But it’s whatever, and I don’t overthink donning the matching bra.
I cover the racy lingerie with a red pleated skirt, thick, black thigh-high stockings, and a black cropped sweatshirt.
I’m color-coordinated, and with my backpack dangling off my shoulder and what I’m sure is a goofy smile, I head toward the front door.
Today will be a good day.
Leave it to Scarlett to ruin a perfect day.
This morning, I woke up freed from the invisible chains that tethered me to darkness and imprisoned me in solitude.
I wasn’t even mad at Scarlett because her petty attempt to drive a wedge between us backfired spectacularly.
What she tried to use as a weapon was, in fact, the gentle push I desperately needed to demolish the last barrier that loomed between Maddox and me.
Needing to pit-stop at my locker, I race down the crowded hallway, pushing my way through the throngs of students. As soon as I wrench open the metal door, an eerie stillness stops me dead. It suspends time and place, and even my hands stop mid-motion.
A chill shivers down my spine. My blood turns to ice, flowing like a frozen river through my veins. A toxic mix of disbelief and horror steals my breath as I peer inside the locker. A shockingly familiar sight stares back at me, plummeting my heart to my feet like a stone dropped off a cliff.
Panic coils tightly around me, straining every muscle and electrifying every nerve.
After the initial jolt of panic fades, I can finally draw air into starved lungs. My vision tunnels, blocking out everything but the tiny canvas on a mini stand staring back at me. The highly detailed and remarkably vivid painting is an exact miniature replica of my grotesquely severed head.
Oh, my fucking God.
Rook.
He’s the only one who would have done this, and I feel violated all over again.
All that terror and vulnerability come flooding back right when I’d made so much progress to break free of those chains.
But I do my best to remain calm and think.
Think of who else knows the details of that sick painting.
Could be anyone, really, since photos of this awful painting made the rounds at Krobes.
Okay, but that’s a start. Who here knows anyone there?
Think, think, think.
But I can’t think clearly because fear has me in a chokehold.
Thankfully, though, my mind is functioning enough to remember to inspect my locker for tampering. It doesn’t look like anyone broke into it, meaning whoever got into it used the combination. Who the hell knew I reset the code to match Maddox’s birthday?
I don’t like this.
I don’t like this at all.
Scanning the busy corridor, I search for Rook as if I’ll find him hiding in plain sight among this crowd.
Of course, he’s not here. Even if he was the sick bastard who left this in my locker, he’s the sort of deranged asshole who likes to leave gruesome little surprises…
then run away because he’s a coward who lacks the courage of his convictions.
Besides, now that I’m a bit calmer, I rationalize that getting on campus would take more effort and cunning than he possesses.
Briar Rose is a veritable fortress, designed to be damn near impenetrable to protect its students.
Armed guards patrol the grounds, and the security system is state-of-the-art.
Everyone entering the campus must present a photo ID at the front or rear gates—the only two points of entry—critical checkpoints to keep out those who don’t belong.
And good luck scaling the towering walls that surround the grounds. They’re more like castle ramparts topped with battlements, with additional armed patrols.
Also, Rook is flagged, making it impossible for him to surpass all of those security features.
Dean Stockwell is aware that Rook Knavish stalked me, threatened me, and vanished before he could be served with a restraining order.
Stockwell explicitly banned Rook from campus, leaving me with the unsettling conclusion that someone here knew about that painting and thought it would be funny to replicate it.
Scarlett.
Had to be her.
Who else could it have been?
She’s the only person cruel enough to do something this low.
Besides, she already knows about Rook. Assuming she would sink down to the gutter isn’t such a stretch of the imagination.
Fucking bitch.
With anger replacing fear, I drop the backpack at my feet and kneel, fishing out my cell phone. My hands shake, and my heart races as I search for Maddox’s name. I tap the screen, but after a few rings, it goes to voicemail. Frustrated, I try calling Ivory, but she doesn’t answer either.
I snatch the painting and shove it into my bag before slamming my locker shut.
The force of the bang sends an echo of metal crashing against metal throughout the hallway.
Urgency propels me forward, and I sprint down the corridor.
Bursting out of Juniper Hall, I race across Brakel Green.
The rain is coming down in sheets, and by the time I reach Gryphon Hall, I’m breathless and soaked as I beeline for room 103.
Every head snaps toward my direction as I storm into Advanced Digital Illustration and Design. Professor Riddle whirls around, his usually composed demeanor replaced with outrage. He scolds me for intruding, but I barely hear him as I gaze around the room, searching for Scarlett.
At that moment, I struggle not to wilt under the heat of every eye on me. A chorus of whispers swirls as I stand there like a drowned rat. But my focus narrows to Scarlett. Look at her, the smug little witch, half-hidden behind her computer screen. I want to smack that smirk right off her face.
“You!” I shout, charging toward Scarlett.
“Miss Knightly, you’ll kindly—”