Chapter Four
I wake up hard. Like, rock-hard.
Sheets tented, breath heavy, a layer of sweat clinging to my chest despite the cool hum of my fan. My fingers twitch beside me, the memory of her skin still seared into them. Except it’s not real. It’s another damn dream. Another cruel reminder of what I want but can’t have.
In the dream, she’d pulled my hoodie off with shaking fingers, and asked me to touch her like I meant it.
Like I wasn’t only her friend. Like I wasn’t the one she calls when she can’t sleep, or when she needs a distraction from the world that’s closing in on her.
It was just Meg on her knees. Meg in my lap.
Meg looking at me with unhindered desire, her skin glowing and flushed whilst I told her she’s mine.
I groan, dragging a hand over my face to scrub her out of my skull, but it’s no use. She's in there deep. Embedded in my mind, taking over my usually cautious nature.
Sitting up, bones cracking, I reach for my laptop without even thinking. It’s muscle-memory at this point. A growing obsession I can’t deny. Morning wood will have to wait. I’ve got bigger problems to deal with.
My screen flares to life, and I slide into my custom server.
I’ve had a heat-sensor built into the keypad which biometrically scans my fingertips, bypassing the need for multiple passwords to cover my tracks.
No one can get into my server except yours truly, and if they try, the hard drives start erasing themselves after three failed attempts.
I ignore my inbox and go straight for the feeds.
The video loads, jittery at first before sharpening into clarity.
Camera: Eastwell Apartments. Corridor 3.
Aka, the hallway outside of Meg’s door. There’s nothing out of the ordinary.
A couple leave for breakfast from the same room, and a girl who’s dressed as if she’s stepped straight out of the nineties smuggles out a tiny dog in an oversized handbag.
No sign of Meg yet, so I filter through the footage of the previous night just in case.
I didn’t expect to find anything, but the head of brunette tousled hair leaving her room at one in the morning causes my heart to flip.
I slow the feed, zooming in to watch her adorably disgruntled face.
Dark circles line her eyes, her hands balled into fists as she stops to bang on the next door along the hall.
I smirk to myself. I’m guessing the music finally got to her.
She shouts some silent obscenities through the door and middle-fingers the peep hole before turning to storm back to her room.
The feed, which happens to still be enlarged, gets a perfect view of her ass.
Hot damn. Meg’s butt cups the hem of the cutest satin shorts, a leaf print covering the pajama set.
I’m not ashamed to admit I rewound that footage six times, watching her ass flex with each step of her mini rage until her door slams closed between us.
I bite down on my fist, committing that image to memory for tonight’s dreams to bring to life.
Fuck, I need a distraction. I tap over to the Moving Company Tracker, checking in on the two guys I’ve been tracking from the moment they picked up the call.
They used a third-party subcontractor with sloppy encryptions for their website, which makes them easy to trail and less likely to be raping serial killers. One can never be too careful though.
I watch their van crawl across the map on the way to Meg’s new campus dorm, her computer and new belongings in tow.
I made sure her name was listed under an alias in the delivery manifest. Just in case.
Paranoia? Maybe. But until the ex-con who kidnapped and tortured her is captured, and probably for a long time after that, I’ve tasked myself with keeping her safe.
No matter the cost, I’m going to prove to her that someone has her back. Someone is watching out for her.
On that note, I rearrange my dick beneath the cover so my laptop isn’t resting on it awkwardly. I toggle over to Meg’s phone signal next.
MEG'S DEVICE ONLINE. Location: Waversea Campus – East Quad.
I zoom in. She’s on the move, but within seconds of watching, I can tell exactly where she’s going.
There’s a coffee house at the other end of the pathway she’s taking.
The overview of the building appears much smaller than the main cafeteria, which I may or may not have inspected in the school’s prospectus.
In fact, I’ve read the brochure, website and reviews for Hollowbrook Academy three times over.
I needed to soothe my mind before Meg returned, ensuring it was still the best fit for her.
As she keeps telling me, she’s not the same girl she used to be.
I have wondered if she reminds me of this fact in a reverse way of saying she wouldn’t have liked me if I’d met her before, but I’m not one for getting caught up in the past. All that matters is the here and now.
I lean back against the headboard, still naked beneath the sheets, ignoring the ache between my legs. She hasn’t messaged me good morning yet and she won’t until she’s caffeinated.
For now, I let my eyes flutter closed and imagine what it’d be like to walk across campus with her.
We joked that I could apply, but that ship has sailed for me.
I’m a high school drop out with a sprinkle of dyslexia and a dash of ADHD.
I can’t put pen to paper, but I can type faster than a chode can nut, and coding is my hyperfocus.
It’s all that stops my brain from running in sixteen different directions.
Although, as of late, maybe coding isn’t all I’m fixated on.
Moving onto the next agenda for today. I open a second window, my fingers flying across the keys as I pull up Everest’s student record.
The front-end system is a joke. I’m inside in under ten seconds, and pulling up his student profile with a beaming photo to accompany it.
He definitely has a punchable face. I can see why Meg hates it so much.
“Hmm, let’s see here,” I mumble to myself.
“Everest Calloway. Born with a name that screams trust fund and fake humility. Sandy blond hair. Lacrosse team captain, currently.” I scoff.
“Oooh, academic probation twice, but both are scrubbed from the official records. Naughty, naughty. Daddy must have donated just enough to keep the reporters at bay.”
I keep digging deeper. Buried inside a private staff drive is a sealed incident report from last year. Redacted to hell, but not for me. I isolate the black bars, invert them, and overlay a background data mask.
Keywords: altercation, injury, on-campus party.
I stare at the screen, eyes narrowing. There’s no name on the victim.
No charges. No follow-up. Just a signed note from a Dean stating that the matter has been resolved.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, rage beginning to curl around my spine like smoke.
Meg might have been lucky yesterday, but what if this Everest is the kind of asshole who waits to get his revenge?
My knuckles tighten, aching to drive my fist through the screen at his stupid smiling picture.
I pick up my phone, tempted to relay this new information. At that very moment, a text comes through, instantly dousing my unease.
Meg: Morning. I would say good morning, but nothing is good about an hour of sleep and the barista making a shit cup of coffee. I hope you’re having a better one than me.
Thi: At least you get to kick some ass on the pitch later. Knee him in the balls for me.
Meg: Bitch move. I love it. Yesterday’s stunt has gone semi-viral around here. Maybe that’s why the barista couldn’t steady his hand long enough to froth my latte.
Viral? I inhale sharply. There’s something online that I missed.
Typing out a quick lie about needing to shower, I log out of the student admin panel and barely hang around long enough to cover my tracks before opening a new search.
Within seconds, #MegVsEverest is filling my screen with videos from various angles.
They’re wobbly and out of focus, but someone helpful has cut and clipped together the best parts for a panoramic video of the whole thing. Thank you @InkedInsomniac23.
The footage starts with a shaky, vertical angle from the bleachers, showing Meg storming across the pitch, all fury and fire, her hair whipping behind her like a war banner. Heated words are exchanged, Meg’s face more closed off than I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something.
The girl on the screen is completely unfazed by those glaring daggers into her back, but I know Meg.
I know her hands tremble in her sleep, know the way her voice cracks when she pretends she’s fine.
I know her silence better than most people know their own damn reflection.
In this particular instance, she must have buried everything so far beneath the surface, only a shell of herself acting on instinct is left.
Everest stands and rounds the table he was sitting at.
Everything in his strides scream smug and too casual for his own good.
I knew he’d be an arrogant prick. He dips low, speaking into her ear.
I expect the punch any second, but Everest turns away, flashing a charming smile to his audience.
He starts to leave, patting Meg’s back, and I freeze the video at the exact moment her face changes.
The crazed glint in her eyes, the feral flicker in her features.
I press play and Meg’s fist connects with Everest’s throat, clean and brutal. The camera jolts, moving to another viewpoint as the crowd lets out a collective gasp, and Everest stumbles back. I rewind it and watch it again. Again. And again.
Every time, I catch something new. The tight line of her jaw.
The way her muscles coil just before she throws the punch.
The way Everest’s eyes widen right before he loses his air.
By the fourth replay, my hand is drifting down beneath the covers, my mind lost in the image of her. Not soft, not breakable.
“Fucking hell, Meg,” I moan as I close my eyes to wrap my hand around the ache that’s been lingering since the moment I woke up from that dream. I shouldn’t have ignored it. It was never going to go away by itself.
I stroke myself slowly at first, letting the image replay in my mind.
Meg panting, adrenaline high, eyes blazing, her fist clenched and ready for more.
My free hand grips the edge of the laptop, knuckles white, hips twitching upward into my palm.
I imagine her storming into my room straight afterwards, hair still wild, blood humming in her veins. Still furious. Still shaking.
And then I envision her crawling into my lap and using that same explosive defiance on me. How her hips would snap forward, how greedily she would take me until she’s fully sated.
My pace quickens, vision tunneling as my breath stutters, the video continues playing in the background. The names they call, the bitter whispers. It only makes my hand pump harder, knowing that I’m the only person who knows what she’s truly like. I’m the one she confides in.
‘You want me to cum?’ she’d say in a sultry voice.
I nod in real life, my eyes squeezed shut.
I squeeze my hand harder, clenching as if it’s her pussy gripping me, her sweet voice in my ear.
My balls tighten and I just about remember myself long enough to shove my laptop aside and grab a discarded sock.
I finish with a groan, hips jerking, mind hazy as I mutter her name.
“Fuck, Meg. You’ve corrupted me,” I sigh.
Silence fills the room, thick and electric.
I sag back against the headboard, sweat cooling on my chest, and run a hand through my tightly curled hair.
Meg is dangerous. And I don’t mean that in a metaphorical, heartbreaker sense.
I mean she’s lethal. To others. To me. And especially to anyone who thinks they can bully her and get away with it. So damn hot.
Once I’ve cleaned up and composed myself, I go back to play the video one last time, vowing to see it through to the end.
I manage to make it past the punch without blowing my load again, watching the camera angle switch to Everest’s face now.
He’s recoiled as if he’s been burned, keeping a cautious distance from Meg.
Good.
But then it all changes. I tilt my head, not wanting to respect the guy for straightening his shoulders and pulling a calm facade over his expression.
His eyes are pale, awash with green, and there’s something peculiar happening within him.
I pause, leaning closer to the screen. Ahh fuck.
Unlike my initial thoughts, that’s not fear oozing from him. It’s interest.
I throw myself out of bed, pacing once across the room and then back again, then deciding to put on some pants. This isn’t a dick-bobbing moment.
He’s interested in her. Where Meg sees a rivalry, he sees a long game. A mouse to catch in his trap. Did he enjoy getting hit by her as much as I enjoyed watching? Did he jerk off in the locker room, unable to hold off until he got back to his dorm?
“Maldito inferno, Thi. Why do you think thoughts you know you can’t forget?” I hiss and smack myself in the forehead. This changes everything. Everest is going to be a problem. A very... solvable problem.
Turning sharply, I grab my laptop and place it on my desk beside my big boy computer.
That’s the monstrosity I use for paid jobs, with layers of international proxies to mask my IP address and keep my clients and myself anonymous.
Personal shit like ruining the life of the guy interested in my girl, that’s saved for my trusty laptop.
First things first, open a new entry in the student portal and start building a profile.
Financial history. Room access logs. Messages to and from the campus administration.
His timetable, his passcodes. Brick by brick, I mimic everything down to the photo so that the duplication can’t be flagged by the real one.
The shadow account of Everest, controlled by yours truly.
Next, I pull up his calendar. Everest has an early training session listed tomorrow. Private drills. No one else on the field. Perfect. I create a new notification with an urgent email alert attached.
Captain Calloway. Mandatory meeting with Disciplinary Board, 8AM sharp. Attendance required. Uniform inspection scheduled.
I then hack and copy the same notification into the Dean’s calendar, so they’ll both be as confused as each other but forced to go ahead. It won’t do much today, but it’ll keep Everest locked in a room on the other side of campus long enough for me to start phase two of my masterplan.
Because I’m not just going to ruin him. I’m going to erase him from Meg’s world. One click at a time.