Page 66 of Darkest Obsession

Kit: shagging someone, please don’t come in.

He’s probably having a wank and pretending it’s a shag. Whatever. That gives me an excuse at least to wander the girls’ dorms. I stop outside Clover’s window but she has the shades down and the lights off. Still, wouldn’t hurt to hang around and make sure no one thinks of sneaking in through the window. I lean against the wall and then crouch down, pulling out my phone for entertainment. I wish I had a bloody cigarette.

I message Kit back and then get an email. I feel the buzz in my pocket and know who it’s from without looking.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: fuck you

You both fucked up.

Thanks for the money, but you betrayed me.

Clover’s dead meat and you can’t stop me.

All you have to do is break that bitch for me.

Tell her exactly what you think of people like her.

Or I’ll gut her like a fish and spread her entrails on your bed.

Sleep well, Thomas.

I love you.

Spicy

There’s no universe where this is okay. Now, I don’t want to leave her window. I can’t. Kit texts me when he’s done with his shag, but I just lean against the wall and watch shit on my phone until the morning. I’m fucking tired, but I get to my feet after too long crouching down and wait for the sun to come up properly. By 6 a.m., I should probably get breakfast. This arsehole won’t strike during the daylight.

Whoever this is, they’re a fucking coward.

I stand up and press my nose to Clover’s window at the moment she flings her shades open. When she sees me standing there, she screams at the top of her lungs. Fuck’s sake. I didn’t mean for that to happen.

“THOMAS!!” Clover shrieks, flinging the window open after the shades, complete outrage all over her face. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Chapter Thirty

Clover

He’s grinning, but he looks tired, like he’s been standing outside my window all night. Knowing Thomas Bainbridge, he probably has been. He has his hoodie pulled all the way up, but a shock of wavy brown hair peeking under it. He doesn’t brush his hair, but it’s never gross or greasy. I don’t know how.

“Good morning,” he says cheerily, in a sleepy, but very British voice, nearly making me forget how much of a creeper he’s being because his eyes are such a pretty shade of clear grey. It’s so unfair that he’s a dick.

I have to remember to keep it together around him. I know what he’s capable of and I need to keep him on his toes. Last night doesn’t change anything and neither does the fact that we can’t seem to stop kissing each other when it’s obvious that we loathe each other.

“What are you doing?”

Thomas leans on the window sill and pushes his hoodie down, freeing his hair to capture and reflect the early morning sunlight. He’s so tall that he can lean on my window sill, even if it’s 6-feet off the ground.

“Taking you out to breakfast,” he says. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Boy, I’m always hungry. He doesn’t need to know that though.

“It’s six in the damn morning, Thomas. You came all the way here at six in the morning to take me out to breakfast? We have the dining hall.”

I don’t know why he keeps messing with me. It’s probably some inside joke with the crew team, but I’m not going to be the butt of anyone’s joke anymore. I messed up with Jude. I messed up with Kit. I’m living with more self-respect now, which means no more messing up or messing with any white boys who are obviously bad news.