Shaking my head in disbelief that any of that actually just happened, I press the button on the side of my tracking bracelet until the entire thing glows soft blue. Now everyone in my vicinity will know that I’ve already been caught, and I pull my phone out of my pocket so I can figure out where the hell I am and how to get back to The Crypt.
It takes a second for the app to load my location, and I’m relieved to see that I’m only a half mile from the edge of the woods.
Using the compass on the app, I head back toward campus and try not to think about the fact that I just had my first experience with a guy, and now I have to spend the rest of the year, and who knows how many other years, living in the same house as him without ever knowing who he was.
1
ANTHONY
Leaning forwardin my desk chair, I play the section of the video I was working on, carefully scanning every inch of the frame to make sure everything is exactly the way I want it to look.
Once it’s done playing, I go back to a transition at the start that I’m not completely happy with and switch to a different effect. It’s better, but not perfect, so I play around with the settings until I get what I want.
I’m just saving the file when the door to my room flies open and the overhead light flickers on, bathing the dark room in a bright yellow glow.
I blink against the sudden onslaught of light and spin my chair around as two of my best friends walk into my room.
“You know who else spends all their time huddled in the dark watching security cameras like they’re a reality TV show?” Hazen shoots me a pointed look. “Serial killers.”
“Don’t forget sociopaths,” Connor, his twin brother, adds as he kicks the door closed behind him. “And cannibals.”
“Definitely cannibals,” Hazen agrees.
“Interesting thought process,” I say dryly as I turn back to my computer and start shutting my editing programs down.“Somehow I went from being a serial killer to a sociopath to a cannibal, all because I was working in the dark.”
“Yup.” Hazen flops down on my couch with a dramatic sigh.
The rooms at Montague House, or Romeo House as we call it, are nothing to write home about, but they’re not awful, either.
The room itself is pretty basic and has a desk, a bookcase, a huge dresser, and a massive bed on one side, with a couch, a coffee table, and a wingback chair in the far corner of the room.
One of the nice things about Montague House is that single rooms are standard for third and fourth-year students, while most of the dorms on campus are double occupancy.
Another unique aspect of our house is that, unlike the other dorms on campus that have cohesive designs and a running theme that gives some sort of insight into the people who founded the dorm, Montague House is a mishmash of styles that make no sense together, and nearly every room looks like it’s from a different era than the ones around it.
Even the outside of the building looks like someone smashed two different houses together and hoped no one would notice. It’s done in Queen Anne Revival architecture, but they couldn’t settle on a style and just used all of them. Half the house looks like a sturdy stone mansion with a huge wraparound porch and lots of whimsical details like stone figures and detailed spindle work, and the top three floors are a mess of jutting rooms, turrets, and spires.
It’s weird and quirky and extra as fuck, but it’s also exactly what someone would expect to find at an elite, invite-only college where money rules and traditions are a way of life.
And it’s exactly the type of dorm that would house a century-old frat that’s actually a not-so-secret society.
“Seems a bit extreme,” I say as I finish shutting down my computer.
“Maybe.” Hazen kicks one foot up on my coffee table. “But at the same time, is it really?”
“I always thought it was funny how in all those serial killer documentaries, whenever they’re interviewing people about the killer, everyone is always so shocked that their neighbor or coworker has body parts in his freezer and likes to wear people’s faces.” Connor shoots me a big grin. “I wouldn’t be surprised at all if I found out you had a face collection.”
“Fair enough, but also, samesies,” I tell him.
Connor just smiles innocently. “Moi?” he asks primly. “You think I have the capability to be a serial killer?”
I snort-laugh. “Pretty sure the only thing stopping you from already being one is the fact that you’re too pretty to go to jail.”
He shrugs, his look melting into one that I can only describe as a cocky smolder. “You’re not wrong.”
I glance at Hazen. “Who do you think would be the better serial killer? Me or Connor?”
The door to my room flies open halfway through my question, and Logan, or Rath, as everyone calls him, comes into the room with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
