Chapter 10 Reverie
REVERIE
Sable: Are you texting me from the bottom of the pool?
Iroll my eyes. She’s such a smart-ass.
Me: I got a new phone this morning, dick.
This is what happens when I tell Sable all about a stupid mistake that led to my phone shipwrecked somewhere at the bottom of a pool—at least, I think it is. It sure as hell wasn’t in my jacket pocket after I scampered out of it like a drowned fucking rat two days ago.
I chew on my thumbnail, struggling to concentrate on the lecture as my forensic science professor, Dr. Camry, drones on.
Anxiety has curled up like a stray cat and nestled in the black pit in my stomach since I woke up this morning and realized it’s February 5th.
Unbeknownst to Dread and the rest of the world, the Locksmith is being released from prison today.
And the only thing keeping me somewhat distracted from that very daunting fact is the memory of Dread’s tongue shoved down my throat, which is only a hairsbreadth less vomit-inducing to think about.
Sable: Still not too late to get that restraining order.
She already knows I won’t, though.
I tossed around the idea for a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, especially because there’s a sense of responsibility for the way Dread’s life turned out. If I were to go through with it, it would only destroy it further.
The moment the media would find out I have a restraining order against Dreadful Sharpe, they’d eat him alive. He would lose brand deals and endorsements, and even if they allowed him to participate in the next Olympics, his sins would overshadow his victories.
As much as I loathe his existence, he’s already lost so much because of my family, and I can’t bring myself to take yet another precious thing from him, even if the asshole deserves it.
I’m too goddamn nice.
Me: He’d just think I was flirting with him.
A sickening feeling twists my gut. I gave him a lot more of a reason to think I was flirting than a restraining order would.
Which is exactly why I’ve gone out of my way to avoid him since. I even skipped ancient history yesterday so I didn’t have to see him.
So, I’m hiding from him.
Again.
The first time, I was reeling from learning about Roxi and truly did not have the mental capacity to deal with Dread.
This time… I still don’t. But now, it’s because the only thing I can focus on is how his body felt against mine with his dick grinding between my legs, his tongue shoved down my throat. And fucking hell, the sounds he made echo in my head like ghostly screams in a haunted house.
Why my stupid-ass brain decided making out with him was even remotely acceptable, I’ll never know. But what I do know is that I’m a fucking dumbass for allowing it to happen. Not only that, but I feel like I completely betrayed myself.
He's been tormenting me for years, and kissing me is the absolute lowest he's ever gone. He doesn't get to treat me like absolute shit and then shove his tongue down my throat the second he gets a fucking tickle in his pickle.
There are plenty of women he can choose from to take care of that problem for him. Why the fuck would he choose me? And why the fuck did I let him?
Especially after terrorizing me with those girls and forcing me to lie in a grave while they threw dirt on me.
God, I can't even say I hate him. Now, I just hate myself.
I didn’t even know he returned from his trip until I saw him storming up to Luke and me, looking every bit the psychopath he is.
I wasn’t prepared to see him, and when he started acting like he had some weird-ass claim over me, I wanted to prove to him he doesn’t get to control me.
Yeah, that ended really fucking swell, didn't it?
Idiot.
All my regret has fused to my skin like a skin tag. I’ve tried over and over to justify it, but they all fall flat. There is no justification for letting the beast maul me—or for humping him like a sex-deprived succubus.
My stomach flips from that particular memory, and I quickly shove it away before the heat returns to my blood. I do not need that man having any more of a hold on me than he already does. It’s bad enough that he pushed me into a pool and somehow made me forget about my terror within minutes.
How dare he invalidate years of trauma with a single kiss?
I should’ve just bitten his tongue off while I had the chance.
A complete missed opportunity for real vengeance.
Sable: Pretty sure your tongue flirted with him plenty, whore.
Bitch.
I’m so kicking her in the vagina when I see her at work tonight.
Just as I start typing out a message to let her know exactly that, a sudden silence descends over the room. It’s stark enough to lure my attention away from my phone and to the source standing at the door.
I immediately look away, trying to decide if the universe is working against me, because how the fuck did my worst nightmare materialize just like that?
Dread casually saunters into the room, and just that easily, he suctions all the oxygen out of it.
“Mr. Sharpe?” Dr. Camry questions, his thick black brows furrowing in confusion.
Of course, the professor knows Dread—everyone does—despite having no business being in this class.
“Sorry to interrupt, Doctor. I came across your article in The New York Times, the one diving into the psyche of serial killers, and I found it so enlightening. I’ve been wanting to listen to a lecture of yours since. Hope you don’t mind.”
Dr. Camry’s eyes light up from the compliment, and my heart picks up speed, as if it's desperately searching for a way to get us out of here.
“Of course. Take a seat anywhere you’d like.”
In a room of over two hundred students, Dread’s stare scans the sea of bodies for all of ten seconds before they find mine. It instantly makes me sick, having his attention on me.
The energy between us is poignant, and naturally, several pairs of eyes follow the trajectory of his gaze, landing on me before flickering back to him.
I force my focus back to my laptop screen, despising that he grew up to be a goddamn prodigy. If it were anyone else, Dr. Camry might not have appreciated him crashing his lecture midway through. But Dread? He’s special. He can get away with anything.
Each time he proves rules don’t apply to him here, the more I feel like I’ve found myself in the center of a maze built purely for Dread’s entertainment. No matter where I run and where I find an escape, the exit will always lead straight back to him.
Whispers rise, students murmuring to one another as he makes his way toward me. There isn’t a single chair open surrounding me, but I already know that won’t matter.
I close my eyes when Dread stops next to my row and spears the guy sitting to my left with his ice-blue stare.
I think his name is Stanley, and while we’ve been sitting next to one another since the semester began, we’ve never spoken more than a handful of words.
My reputation precedes me no matter where I go, and he’s yet another person who avoids me at all costs.
Dread says nothing, and after a few awkward beats of Stanley shifting uncomfortably, glancing around and searching for some type of direction, he relents. Quickly, he gathers his laptop and stands with a sigh.
He sweeps a hand toward his vacated chair. “Would you like my seat?” he offers, mumbling the words with barely concealed annoyance.
The corners of Dread’s mouth curl upward, imitating the Cheshire cat.
He’s evil. Pure evil.
“Why, I’d love to. Thank you for offering.”
He claps a palm on Stanley’s shoulder, who wastes no time flying down the steps to find himself a new seat.
Dread’s presence is suffocating as he sits beside me, his scent clogging my sinuses. I’m convinced hell doesn’t smell like sulfur and brimstone, but amber and sandalwood, an aroma concocted specifically to bring endless torment upon anyone unfortunate enough to inhale it.
My stare bores into my laptop screen, and I bite my tongue, refraining from demanding he leave.
After a few more stilted beats of silence, the entire room’s attention on us, Dr. Camry resumes his lecture.
Slowly, the rest of the class returns half of their focus to the lesson, though many heads periodically turn in our direction, checking to see if he’s chopped off my head yet, maybe pulled a classic Mike Tyson and bit my ear off.
Instead, he keeps silent. The tension surrounding us is as ominous as an asteroid entering Earth’s orbit. The impending destruction is looming, and it’s not about if it’ll strike, but when.
Soon, people grow bored with the lack of entertainment, and they’re all sucked back into procedures for conducting forensic examinations, though I'm incapable of fully relaxing.
With stiff fingers, I attempt to take notes, but my brain can only comprehend half of Dr. Camry’s words.
Every tiny movement Dread makes, I’m zeroed in and on high alert, expecting each time to be when he finally strikes.
But ten minutes pass, then twenty, and eventually, only fifteen minutes remain. I haven’t absorbed a single word, and my muscles are growing sore from the constant tensing.
I swear to fuck, if I get a hit with a pop quiz on this lecture, I’m going to riot. Maybe after class, I’ll ask the girl to my right, Mira, for her notes. We don’t speak much, either, but she’s friendly enough, and there have been a few times she shared them if I missed class.
Though right now, she deliberately points her knees away from me, nearly giving me her entire back.
She’s literally giving me a cold shoulder.
Goddammit. I can’t have anything nice.
“Isn’t it crazy to think the forensic scientists who worked on your father’s cases listened to this very same lecture?” he asks quietly, his tone teetering between amusement and curiosity.
I startle at his sudden words, and I loathe the satisfaction I’m certain he feels because of it.
I bite my tongue again, set on ignoring him.