Becca
Chapter 5
Becca
50 Days till Death
The second the lecture slides shut off, I’m cramming my belongings into my messenger bag, but I’m not fast enough to make it out unscathed.
“Where are you off to so fast?” Nate’s hand quietly subdues me as he places it on top of the notebook and papers still on my desk.
“I’m not feeling well,” I blurt out the first excuse I can think of as I watch the last of the class exit. What if I scream right now? What if I tell everyone who he really is? What he’s capable of. The fleeting thoughts cross my mind for the hundredth time, but my lips remain closed.
“You look…fine.” He assesses with boredom. “You wouldn’t be avoiding me would you?”
“Would it matter if I tried?” I counter and lean forward in an attempt to cover the corner of the letter sticking out from beneath everything else.
“No.” His eyes snag on the floral paper that’s easy to spot amongst the otherwise bland items. “What’s this? Were you writing me a love letter?” His lip furls around the mockery.
“It’s nothing.” I reach for it, but he swats my hand away with a warning look. Quickly, his eyes scan the lines of poetry, the ones I can’t get out of my head, and dismisses it just as I expected.
“Aren’t we a little old for all that?” He flings it over his shoulder, and I rush after the floating note with a huff.
“It’s for a project, asshole,” I lie easily. The truth doesn’t belong with him. He’ll never have anything honest out of me.
“Such a fucking nerd.” Nate rolls his eyes as his fingers move across the tiny keyboard of his phone. “I’ll see you next Friday, right?” he asks without looking up.
“What’s next Friday?” My gut tightens with the apprehension of whatever terror he’s going to reign down on me.
“Halloween. The party?”
“I’m not much in a party mood, Nate.” I start packing my bag again to avoid the temper in his gaze. Unfortunately for me, my mouth has outweighed the act of submission.
“Too bad for you, I’m not giving you much of a choice.” Nate’s strong hand tightens around my wrist until perspiration coats my brow with the exertion it takes not to make a sound or let a single tear fall. My teeth grind together so harshly that I fear they’ll crack. Only then do I meet his eyes. “Don’t fucking test me, Becca,” he seethes. “If you don’t watch your mouth, I’m going to bend you over this desk and really give you something to cry about.” When I don’t make another retort, he finally releases me and then shoves a plastic bag into my arms. “This is what you’re wearing. Be there before eleven.” Pointing his finger at me he raises his brow. “If you’re not there, I’m showing everyone the tape.”
“Wait. No. We had a—,” He’s moving toward the door before I’m able to object any further. Not that it would do any good. “Fucking asshole,” I growl under my breath when the door finally closes behind him.
With shaking hands, I clean up my desk, saving the beautiful textured paper for last. Rubbing my finger across the delicate leaves fused with the pulp, I read the words again, ‘stand to face me beloved’ and oh, how I wish I could now more than ever.
What I wouldn’t give to have someone worship me with tender words instead of the hissing insults and belligerent commands I’m trying to become numb to. The problem is, I have no idea who could be sending these letters. Who’d want someone like me?