Chapter 6 Mackenzie
After spending weekends with my mother, I feel like a goddamn zombie. The week goes by in a blur of exams and boring lectures. It’s all the same to me—shuffling from class, to my dorm, and maybe a night at Gavin’s when I don't want to be alone.
The only weird part about this week is that I haven’t seen Marcy Pembrooke, the dead girl who became like a shadow—although I’m not complaining, it’s just odd. Usually, they don’t leave after I’ve acknowledged them. Nothing in the world will make them go until I talk to them.
I started to feel like myself again last night, after one of my much needed hour-long showers. And now that it’s Friday, I finally feel my chest loosen, and I’m able to breathe again.
At three, I find myself in the lobby of our library with my friends for our usual gossip session instead of going directly back to my dorm.
Students are scattered around, trying to get back to the way things were—laughing with friends or trickling around the few tables that lined the outskirts, doing anything to bring back a sense of normalcy.
“What makes you think he’s cheating, though, Mack?” Stormie asks, brows knitted in concern. “You said he’s been good. Didn’t he even give you the password to his phone?”
“I know.” I shrug at my two best friends sitting beside me, one sitting on top of the table, barely listening to the tangent I’m going off on about Gavin.
“He’s just acting too sweet, ya know? Just like when I found out about him and Crishele…
but more intense,” I say, popping another piece of cool pineapple into my mouth before licking the residue off my fingers.
“Dump him, then,” Tiffany says, shrugging. “I’m sure there is someone out there that won’t constantly question his integrity or be so insecure.”
“Jesus, baby. Have a little compassion!” Stormie snaps, tipping her head back to look at her girlfriend as she lounges between her legs.
She blinks down at Stormie for a moment, thoughtful. “You are right, lovebug. I’m sorry.” Tiffany cups the side of Stormie’s neck, thumb tilting her chin as she leans over Stormie in an upside-down kiss.
“Uhh… She’s perfection!” Tiffany squeals, causing a few students passing our table to look. “My girlfriend is perfection!”
Stormie giggles, swatting Tiffany’s thigh. “Shh, babe, stop. They’re gonna kick us out.”
It’s as if they forget I’m there for a moment; they only have eyes for each other, until Tiffany’s eyes slide to me again.
“I’m sorry,” Tiffany says to me, though she looks to Stormie for approval, to which she nods. “I’m just saying if he’s acting sus, drop him.” She leans back against her palm, the other hand resting comfortably in Stormie’s, fingers interlaced.
I shove another piece of pineapple into my mouth, trying to quiet my thoughts, but mostly trying not to fire back at Tiffany’s usual crassness. She makes me want to beat her face in every day. Sometimes I wonder if we are even really friends.
Absentmindedly sucking the pineapple juice off my fingers, my mind drifts to the boy with eyes the color of crystalline oceans, wondering if he would make me as anxious as Gavin does.
If he cheated again, I don’t think it would hurt as much as it did before—maybe I might feel less guilty about the constant marathon I’ve been doing to keep Daxton out of my thoughts.
Come to think of it, I haven’t seen the asshole all week, not even in our psych lecture. Maybe that’s how he ended up here. Rich boy flunks out of his old school for skipping classes, but of course, Daddy has enough money to send him to another one of the best schools on the East Coast.
Figures. I’m sure his family has that “fuck you, I do what I want” kind of money.
“Hiya, Kenz.” A husky voice dances into my ears as if I had somehow conjured him just by the thought. His face is inches from mine when I look over my shoulder. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man as fucking beautiful as him—I’m almost sure my stomach does an Olympic-level somersault.
A big smile spreads across his face, but friendly, not kind—the kind that makes a deadly enemy of your panties. He parks himself on top of the table on my opposite side. “Hiya, ladies.” He nods in the general direction of my friends, but his eyes never leave mine.
When neither of them says anything, I turn to see them sitting there, jaws hanging, before Tiffany finds her words. “Don’t call her that, asshole,” she says, but her words are airy, not quite landing the blow I think she was going for.
My head swivels back to him as he pins Tiffany with a hard stare. “Why not?”
It takes another moment to find my voice, attempting to stop the sparring match that I’m sure Daxton would win. I clear my throat. “Because I don’t like it. My dad used to call me that, and he’s…no longer with us.”
He understands instantly, and his brown furrows. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding almost genuine, his smirk transforming into something sincere. “Forgive me?”
The truth is, I’m not mad; it just caught me off guard the first time he said it.
It made me long for my dad in a way I haven’t in years—the more I thought about him, the more it hurt, no matter how hard I tried to shut it out—until he dug up all the memories from the place I’d buried them.
But after the tears, I actually smiled. He was the first person to call me that since my old man, and I like the way it sounded when he said it.
“It’s okay, really. I’m fine,” I assure him, and his furrowed brows finally relax, a soft smile finally returning to his lips. “It’s fine.”
“Anywhoooo.” Tiffany hums as I turn my head to catch her mid-eyeroll.
It’s as if the girl couldn’t function unless everyone’s attention was on her.
“Did you hear OEP is throwing a Valentine’s Day rager?
We have to go!” She squeals, snapping her bubble gum three times as she twirls her blonde hair around her finger, and I don’t miss the way Daxton tenses.
“I heard that they are going to have some kind of ‘tunnel of love,’” she continues, making air quotes with her fingers.
“It’s supposed to run through half of campus. ”
“Sounds great, babe.” Stormie grins. “Let’s do it!”
Tiffany gasps, eyes widening as if she just had the most brilliant idea. “We have to match,” she says, eyeing me. “Let’s wear pink.”
I groan. “No, Tiff, any color but pink.”
“Oh, please, Mack. It's just one night, you can go back to your usual doom and gloom right after.”
“I don’t own anything pink,” I remind her.
“I’ll let you borrow something,” Stormie chirps, smiling at me, oblivious to the tension that seems to always simmer just under the surface of our friendship. “We can all get dressed in my suite and go over together. I doubt my roommate would care. I’m sure they’re going too.”
Sweet, happy little Stormie. Our friendship wouldn’t survive without her. “Is Luke going?” I ask. I’d rather spend the night getting high as a fucking kite with him than wear pink at a mind-numbing OEP party.
“I dunno. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard from him all week,” Stormie says.
It wasn’t unusual for Luke to go off the grid, especially if he didn’t have any major exams coming up.
One time, the boy went missing for three weeks.
Turns out, he went to some fucking wellness retreat in Ibiza—the jury’s still out on if we believe him.
“Oh.” I sigh.
“Mack, it’s not that big of a deal.” Tiffany rolls her eyes, snapping her bubble gum again. I can feel Daxton bristle next to me. “It’s just pink.”
Pink. Of course. Of course the hija de puta chose pink. Of all the colors in the world, this motherfucker has to go with the one she knows I hate.
I hear Daxton chuckle next to me. “Something funny, asshole?” Tiffany snaps before I can get a word in.
“Nothing. Pardon me, continue,” Daxton says before leaning in so close I can smell his scent—a smoky sea breeze, with something mouthwatering underneath…pinnapple maybe. “Are you going then?”
“I don’t think I have a choice,” I huff, shrugging.
I have to admit, it’s not just wearing pink that has my panties in a bunch.
The thought of going to another Omega Epsilon Rho party—with their sprawling four-story colonial mansion, their fathers’s hedge fund connections, and their uncanny ability to make campus security look the other way with a handshake and a smile—makes me ill.
They are legendary for parties that transformed their manicured lawn into a hedonistic wonderland of strobe lights and red solo cups that never seemed to empty. But I don’t know if I can stomach that, not since the last time.
Daxton clears his throat, and I look up into a face full of concern, eyebrows furrowed, and it’s then I realize that I must have zoned out.
I plaster a weak smile on my face. “Are you going?” I ask. But it feels like he can see right through my poorly constructed facade. I feel so naked, laid bare under the fire that burns in his eyes.
“Mmm, I don’t know. I don’t have a date,” he says, and his lips curl into that same annoying smirk that I wanted to smack clean off his face. “You know anyone around here that might want to throw some pity my way? Wouldn’t want to look like a loser, loner boy.”
“I never said—”
“No, but it was implied.” He chuckles.
I roll my eyes before plucking another piece of pineapple from the container on my lap, half listening to Tiffany ramble on about the “event of the year,” trying to pretend I don’t care if he comes.
And for the life of me, I can’t understand why it’s so hard to focus on anything but him, or why I feel like I’m on fire every time he looks at me.
I lift the fruit to my lips only to feel a cold, ironclad grip around my wrist. When my eyes flick in his direction, I’m just in time to watch him lift my fingers to his parted lips.
I’m sure death is imminent—he slips his split tongue around the dripping pineapple, and I’m damn near sure I might pass the fuck out. When he winks at me, smirking, my heart stutters.
He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He chews the fruit slowly, deliberately, throwing me a wink before licking my fingers clean.
There is no way to gather my composure fast enough.
Stunned silent, knowing that I should pull away, I’m unable to move—my whole body locks up in a state of shock that conveniently doesn’t wear off until Stormie clears her throat.
It’s only then that I realize we’ve all gone silent, watching intently as this man violates my fingers.
“What the fuck, you freak!” Tiffany snatches the puffy sleeve of my jacket, ripping my wrist out of his grasp. “She has a boyfriend, you know?!”
He simply shrugs, his eyes flicking toward my friends. “And, so?”
“And so? Do you make a habit of being a disgusting creep to unavailable women?” Stormie says.
He grins. “You know, all this this time, you two have been making noise, calling me a disgusting freak, but you know who hasn’t said a word of protest…
” He drops down onto the seat next to me, his eyes gnawing into the top of my head as I try to shrink away.
Gently, he hooks his finger under my chin, lifting my gaze to meet his. “Dost thou protest, lovely?”
“I—” But the words don’t come out, not even the one that I should say…stop.
He leans closer, until his lips are mere inches away from mine. “Didn’t think so,” he whispers, breath as cool as an arctic breeze, fanning over me. As if nothing had happened, he stands, sauntering away. When he gets a couple of steps away, his head turns over his shoulder. “See ya ’round, Kenz.”
Once he’s far enough away, Tiffany scoffs. “Can you believe that asshole?”
“Yeah, right?” I gawf, shaking my head as I twist the sleeve of my turtleneck sweater. I make a piss-poor attempt at not letting my friend catch me watching him. And if I didn’t know any better, I would have thought he heard the things we were saying.
He shakes his head, his shoulder trembling as he looks one last time in my direction. Smugness etched into his features, he vanishes into thin air.
I almost drop the whole damn container of fruit. He’s not a spirit, or else my friends would not have been able to see him. So, what the fuck was that?