Page 48 of Darkest Obsession

“Lucky girl?”

“Not telling.”

“I know it was Sylvia.”

“It wasn’t.”

Kit whines, “Then why won’t you share her.”

“Because women aren’t objects, Charles.”

“Fuck’s sake, when did you get so serious?”

“Light the spliff, or I’ll kick your arse.”

Thankfully, Kit’s rather averse to having his arse kicked and my bruises probably convince him I’m serious. We smoke and then drink more, then Kit tries studying while drunk, so I fill my flask with Barclay rum and mumble that I’m going on a walk. When Kit asks where I’m going, I can’t answer.

Some nights, I just need to be alone - black trousers, black hoodie, headphones, and the poorly lit paved walkways connecting all the buildings at Fox Academy. I don’t need more liquor, but I sip from my flask as I leave the dorm. I’m drunk enough not to worry about a hangover affecting class, but sober enough to put my feet in front of me without stumbling over.

I don’t know where I’m going until I end up there. I guess where she lives because I helped Sylvia move a couple boxes in and I can picture the arrangement of the girls’ dorm perfectly with a few context clues. She has the fourth window on the left and she shares her room with a nerdy girl named Molly. Don’t know her last name, Molly. I’m sure she’s rather nice.

I wonder if she’s there tonight. I wonder if Clover’s alone. I wonder if she’s thinking about our kiss. As I get closer to her window, I see a light on and movement through the Venetian blinds. I can’t touch her tonight. I can’t do anything but watch through the window. Easing closer takes little effort without discovery. Even if Clover stared right out the window, it’s dark enough that she wouldn’t see me without pressing her face right up to the glass.

My breath catches as I watch her lean over her desk, her dreadlocks cascading like a curtain over her computer as she hunches over, typing furiously.

I can’t help but think of the blackmail. The emails. If it’s this easy for me to see Clover and everything she’s doing, our blackmailer could do the same. I want to suspect that Clover has some involvement with this, but considering the way she attacked me, nothing could be further from the truth. Oh, fuck it. I should stop just staring at her window.

Do something.

It’s the worst fucking idea I’ve ever had, but I push myself to go to the window and I rap on it lightly. I don’t think she hears me at first, but I rap again and she takes her headphones off, gazing around the room as if the noise could come from anywhere else but outside. Maybe her window’s unlatched. I try moving it a bit and it slides up easily. Clover screeches as I push it up all the way and races towards the window armed with her desk lamp that she rips out of the wall, plunging the room into darkness.

Before I can tell her my name, the lamp comes at my head. I’m a bit more primed for Clover’s fighting. I groan. “It’s me! It’s Thomas.”

I hear the lamp clatter to the ground and Clover racing to the other side of her bedroom to turn on the overhead lights. She flicks the light on and drops the lamp.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Climbed in.”

“I can see that. What the fuck, Thomas?”

“Had to see you.”

“Are you drunk?”

Yes, I’m bloody drunk. I must be out of my mind drunk to think this was a good fucking idea. I feel sick and stupid and Clover looks like she wants to kill me. I can’t blame her.

“Yes.”

“You smell like weed.”

“Yes.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Are you afraid?”

It’s a stupid, drunken question. I don’t want her to be afraid.