12. Konnor
CHAPTER TWELVE
konnor
Blesk is in a girls-only dorm, one of the last original dormitories on campus.
It’s smaller than most, but it’s been renovated nicely.
New lockers. New lounge. I’m glad she is here instead of at the mixed dorms, and I realise how fucking caveman-esque that makes me sound.
Having been in one myself a few years ago, I know exactly what goes on in them.
I approach room twenty-three.
I knock, then smooth my shirt and drag my hands through my hair twice. I give a shit about the way I look, and I’ve not had a drink, so my hands need something to do.
The door swings open and a pair of stern blue eyes hit mine. A petite brunette is staring at me in the same fashion someone who knows all my secrets might.
“Hey,” I say with a nod.
“Konnor?” she queries, lifting a brow.
“In the flesh.”
She hums, stepping back to size me up, her eyes scanning me from sneakers to hair. I can’t help but laugh at that. Holding my arms out to the sides, I grin and do a little spin for her. “All in check? Do I pass?”
“Do I need to give Blesk ones?”
“I, ah...” I frown. “One-dollar coins?”
“Yes.” She’s dead serious. “To throw.”
I laugh once. “At who?”
“Whom.” She smirks. “Blesk,” she calls out. “Konnor’s here.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m Elise.”
“Nice to meet you.” I grin, despite being completely fucking confused about why we might need to throw coins at people. I stick both hands in my pockets and rock back and forth on my heels, waiting to see Blesk.
Elise guards the door.
A few seconds later, a vision in red steps out from behind her.
Blesk smiles at me from under a little black side beanie, and my heart stops.
Everything about her says she’s unique: the way she holds herself, the way she dresses, the way she tries and doesn’t at the same time.
She has a natural, classy kind of elegance—like a duchess.
Her blonde hair is swept to the side, dangling down her torso and splaying over her chest. She twists from side to side, the hem of her red dress kissing her knees, making her look too sweet to be real.
Even if I designed my dream girl, Blesk would be superior in every possible way.
My dream girl… That pulls something in my chest that I…
I can’t remember. She looks too good for the museum.
Elise stares at me while I stare at Blesk, who is eyeing me from head to shoe.
Is she checking me out?
“Blesk is my new best friend, Konnor,” Elise says, narrowing her eyes. “If you hurt her, I will beat you over the head with your own leg.”
I choke on a laugh.
Didn’t expect that.
Fair enough, really.
“Which leg?” I chuckle. “Because I have a favourite.”
She peers down at my legs, pretending to take my question seriously. “Your right one.” She points and smiles. “You favour it.”
“I do.”
“I can tell.”
We all laugh.
Blesk seems different tonight. Comfortable. Confident. I’m in awe of the expression brightening her face.
Is that because of Elise?
“Elise.” I smile at Blesk’s new best friend. “Would you like to join us?”
Elise’s eyes widen.
“Oh, yes!” Blesk blurts out, knocking Elise with her elbow. “It’ll be fun.”
Elise glances down at herself. “I just have jeans on.”
“You don’t need anything special for where we’re going, but if you need a few moments, I can wait.” I turn to Blesk and act like a complete moron again by saying, “I’m a pretty patient guy. I’d wait all night for her.”
Are you even still a man, Konnor?
Blesk is blushing.
Elise turns to look at her. “I’m not sure whether to say, ‘Aww’ or throw up.”
I admit, “I wouldn’t be offended either way.”
“That’s really corny, Konnor.” Blesk giggles.
I grin. “So I’ve been told.”
My hands are shaking.
I try to hide this by stuffing them into my pockets as we walk to the museum. Alcohol, you’re a bitch for company and a cunt in absence, too.
If I could hold Blesk’s hand, that might help.
Thread my fingers through hers, feel her palm pressed against mine…
But I don’t want Elise to feel like a third wheel, so my denim pockets will suffice.
It’s beautiful on campus at this time of night, shadowed and scenic.
It’s how I imagine campuses look in Oxford or London, though I’ve never been to one.
“I realise that perhaps I like walking more than normal people do.” I cringe, just realising I should have ordered an Uber. “Not everyone walks everywhere.”
It’s become a habit. The alcoholic man’s habit. Walk it off, Slater. Very much a part of the experience.
Fuck.
“I do,” Blesk says politely.
“I don’t mind walking,” Elise agrees.
“Well, perfect. Next time, though. Snacks and a chauffeur. You have my word.”
The girls are chatting about classes and their new coffee spot for the twenty minutes it takes to get to the museum. I listen and note that Blesk loves coffee and a fruit salad for breakfast, and Elise fasts until lunch because she heard the monks in Tibet do it.
I chuckle.
She’s great.
We approach the museum, and instantly I know something is wrong. The glass front is underlit; the window displays look like bones on an X-ray.
I frown.
As we buy tickets and head inside, I realise the exhibit has changed.
Last quarter they had a sports theme, but as I gaze around, I get a very different vibe.
The exhibitions rotate. A month ago, the lobby was brightly lit, and the floor tiles had holographic grass; every time I stepped the grass under my foot would crunch and crush as if real.
I’d pictured Blesk’s face when she saw that—the way her eyes might go wide, the little laugh she might make, stepping on it over and over again.
Well, fuck. I look around at the ribcages. The red and bruised-coloured lighting. This time, most of the lobby is in shadow, but every few steps a spotlight appears on the floor, flashing a body part. Ribcage. Blood. Skull.
Not what I had in mind.
Crime. That is the theme.
There are other people around us, moving through the corridors, but they are quiet, so we hear every light footstep, and the sound of something mechanical, yet human, like artificial gasping and gurgling.
What the fuck?
Could I be more romantic? I touch Blesk’s arm. “Should we go somewhere el—”
“Cool!” Elise drawls, already drifting further inside.
Else, I finish in my head.
Blesk hangs back, her shoulder brushing mine. “Creepy,” she whispers to me, but smiles. “What exactly was the inspiration behind this date, Mr Slater?”
I’m stuck on how to rationalise this one. My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
Elise points at a warning sign with real bullet holes in it. “This is where you take a girl on a first date? Was dinner and a movie taken?”
I have to laugh. “It wasn’t like this the last time I came here.
” We wander into a room decorated like a 1920s saloon, with black and white pictures and police tape.
“Give me a break, Elise. I was trying to make an impression. Be cultured and shit. There is a great restaurant on the other side, and it was a sports exhibition last month. I was going to show off and talk about rugby.”
She lifts her brow. “Oh, you’re making an impression.”
I laugh again—at this point that is all I can do—but the sound nearly chokes me as I read the plaque on this section of the exhibition: The District.
Well, fuck.
The girls drift through the space, fascinated, their eyes on the black and white photos, pointing and whispering to each other. I move to the other side of the room while reading. Missing persons. 1970. Bodies found. Names. Dates. None of which mean anything to anyone else in this room.
The girls are over there. I am over here, so they don’t see the news article. The one on the wall from eleven years ago, featuring the most famous missing person in the state. District royalty. Of all the fucking exhibits. Of all the nights.
I shove one hand deeper into my pocket, feeling the tremor in my fingers like frayed wires. I pull out my phone and text Jax: At the museum. Might need back-up. No questions. Just be here.
Zero blood alcohol level—what a night to be sober.