Chapter 11 Deirdre
Deirdre
“In visions of dark night, I have dreamed of joy departed.” Edgar Allan Poe
Adeep breath escapes me, and I feel the weight of the last few days, all of the fear, the uncertainty, and the anger just wash over me.
I pull the plush comforter up to my chin, and as I close my eyes, I let the exhaustion pull me under.
One thought remains crystal clear: I’m going to find the bastard who did this to me. And when I do, I’ll make him regret it.
I try to focus on sleeping. But the room is too quiet, and the darkness feels like I am being swallowed whole.
The silence presses in on me. It’s thick and suffocating.
I twist under the blanket, trying to find comfort, but even the velvet-like feel of the sheets is no match for the hard knot twisting and turning in my stomach.
My body is restless. And in the still and darkness of the room, I feel like I am being haunted by the ghosts of memories that keep clawing their way to the surface.
I shut my eyes, trying to will the images away. But they come anyway.
I’m catapulted back to that night again.
Being dragged against the carpet, feeling it burn against my flesh.
Then I am in the stairwell. The dim lighting flickers above me, casting long, ominous shadows on the wall.
The cold air wraps around me, seeping into my bones, just like his touch.
His fingers dig into my skin, and I can feel his breath hot on my neck.
I try to scream, but my voice is lost. The sound doesn’t escape me.
I feel the weight of his hand on my shoulder, spinning me around.
I can’t see his eyes, or much of his face, for that matter.
His hoodie is too dark, too concealing. But the way he sneers at me like I’m just a thing to be broken, to be taken, fills my stomach with dread.
His hand grips tight around my throat, his hand pulling me closer. His voice was low and venomous. “If I can’t have you, then no one can.”
Then I feel it. The fall.
The scene goes black.
I jerk awake, gasping for air, my chest rising and falling rapidly.
My skin is slick with sweat, the dampness clinging to me like a second skin.
My heart hammers in my chest as the aftershocks of the nightmare rattle through me.
My hands tremble violently as I clutch the sheets around me, desperate for something to anchor me back to reality.
The realization hits me with full force. The guy in the hoodie. He was the same one standing outside the auditorium in the courtyard before the exam. I didn’t know it then, but now, the pieces click together. The recognition is too strong, too real.
Brandon Danforth.
My fingers fumble for my phone, the screen bright in the dark, and my hands shake as I type.
Deirdre: I need you.
It’s not a question. Not a plea. Just a desperate, quiet demand for the only person I trust to come to me, to hold me steady when the world around me feels like it’s breaking apart.
I hit send, my thumb lingering on the screen for a second longer, before I toss it aside, pulling my knees to my chest and burying my face in my hands. My mind is racing, my thoughts too loud. I need to know the truth.
My mind races. Why would Trevor follow me?
It’s been over a year since I left the West Coast. Surely, he’s moved on to another unsuspecting, naive girl.
It had to have been Brandon… He was so mad that night at the party.
Then, Kieran did something threatening enough to withdraw from the most prestigious university and ultimately throw his college career down the drain, or at least hit a huge roadblock.
If it was Brandon, I’ll make him pay.
The seconds crawl by, stretching into eternity, before my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Kieran: I’m on my way.
It’s only midnight. I still have hours before Claire will be home. But I can’t wait.
I don’t know how long it takes him to get to me, but I hear the sound of heavy footsteps outside the door, followed by a knock that I’ve been waiting for.
My breath catches as Kieran strides in, his presence filling the space in a way that settles me, even as the tremors from the nightmare still run through me.
He’s here.
“Deirdre?” His voice is laced with worry.
It cuts through the panic that still has a grip on me.
He moves quickly, taking in the sight of me sitting up, clutching the sheets with wide, tear-filled eyes.
His gaze clouds with concern, and without a word, he crosses the room and sits down beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body, grounding me.
I blink at him, tears stinging my eyes again, and I lean into him instinctively. His arms are strong as they wrap around me, pulling me into the safety of his chest. The touch of his hands on my back, his warmth, it feels like a security blanket.
“I…I saw him again,” I whisper, my voice barely holding steady. “It was him. Brandon. He’s the one who did this to me.”
Kieran’s body stiffens in an instant.
His arms, which just moments ago were pulling me close, go rigid. I feel it in the way his chest stops moving under my cheek, the way his fingers pause mid-stroke against my back. And then he looks away.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough for me to notice something isn’t right.
He turns his head like something sharp has sliced across his mind. His jaw tightens. I pull back slightly, not enough to leave the circle of his arms, but enough to catch the shift in his eyes.
“What?” I ask, my voice firm now, cutting through the fog of lingering fear. “What is it?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
“Kieran.” I reach for his face, forcing him to look at me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
His lips part, and for a moment, I see the battle waging in his mind, his need to protect me from the truth that was clawing its way out.
He exhales, long and slow, and I feel him unravel in real time.
“After the party that night,” he says quietly. “He…Brandon followed me into the parking lot. He was drunk. I was pissed. He kept degrading you. At first, I even tried reasoning with him. He wouldn’t shut up.”
My heart starts pounding again, but it’s a different kind of panic now washing over me.
“What did you do?”
“I punched him again. Hard,” he says. “He fell unconscious onto the pavement. His head hit the parking curb. I dragged him into my car and brought him to the outskirts of town. By the time we got there, he was awake again, still running his fucking mouth.”
He hesitates again, like the words physically hurt to push out.
“I lost control.”
I feel the air leave my lungs. “Kieran…”
“I beat him until he shut up, Deirdre.” His voice cracks, and my blood runs cold. “He hurt you, and he was going to continue to try to hurt you until I stopped him.” He pauses, “So, I did. I—I killed him.”
The weight of his words settles between us like lead. My fingers curl tighter into the sheets.
“Kieran,” I whisper, “are you sure he is dead?”
He nods. “Vincent cleaned up the mess.” He finally meets my eyes again, and what I see there isn’t regret—it’s rage.
Madness. Obsession. “He sent the transfer letter to Sheridan shortly after.” His voice breaks off, teeth clenched.
“It wasn’t Brandon who attacked you. It was Trevor. So, my business isn’t finished.”
I stare at him, my chest tightening with emotion. Anger. Fear. Something else I can’t name because no one has protected me the way he has.
He hurt someone, no, killed someone for me. I should run. I should be scared of this man sitting next to me, but instead, a warm feeling washes over me.
“Thank you,” I say. “For protecting me, for loving me.”
He huffs. “Some protector. Look what happened,” he murmurs. He looks down at his hands like he doesn’t recognize them anymore. “Vincent found proof it was Trevor…I need to finish what I started.”
A silence stretches between us, thick and charged.
And somehow, I understand. Not because I condone it. Not because I think violence is the answer, but because I know what it feels like. The fury. The helplessness. The desire to make someone suffer for what they stole.
And somewhere deep inside me…I don’t just understand.
I want in.
I stare at him, heart pounding so hard it hurts.
Honestly, this shouldn’t surprise me. Not really.
Kieran has always had that edge, the one that flirts with darkness, the one that makes him dangerous and safe all at once.
But this isn’t just broody professor behavior. This is bloodstained and irreversible.
“Now, I need to protect you.” The words feel fragile on my tongue. “You killed someone for me.”
Kieran doesn’t flinch. “I’d do it again.”
The gravity of his answer presses into my chest like a weight, and not because it horrifies me.
I look down at my hands, curled in the sheets. I used to think justice was all about systems and fairness. But now I know the truth. Justice isn’t always given. Sometimes you have to take it.
And we’re going to get justice in our own way.
“I want to go after Trevor,” I whisper, “together.”
His eyes widen as he looks at me.
“You’re angry too,” he says, voice rough. “You want revenge.”
“I want to look him in the eye,” I say quietly, “and make him feel what I felt. I want him to know he didn’t break me. That I’m still here. That we’re still here.”
Kieran reaches out slowly, giving me every chance to pull away. I don’t. His hand finds mine, and our fingers lace together like we’ve always belonged that way, scarred, maybe a little scared, but strong.
“I’m with you,” he murmurs. “Whatever it takes, Deirdre. I’ll help you find him. But we do this smart. We do it together.”
For a long moment, we sit in the quiet hum of the room, holding onto each other. What we’ve become isn’t clean. It’s not what I imagined love to be. It’s dark and messier. But maybe that’s what makes it real. Because it’s forged in fire.
And we’re not finished yet.