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I run off to the bathroom for an emergency break as we walk in. When I co
me to our table, Trevor has ordered me a bottle of water and a beer for himself. So much for not drinking and driving.
“So, I’m here,” I say, trying to get the conversation started since it’s clear he’s doing his best to drag this whole thing out. “Let’s talk.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t be in such a hurry, Emily.”
I unscrew the bottle and pour myself a glass. “I told you, I don’t want to get home late.”
He purses his lips. “Why? You don’t want to upset your boyfriend?”
Just then, I notice a flash behind his eyes, and it startles me. In an instant, it turns him into the kind of guy you watch yourself around.
“How much longer are you going to keep up this charade?”
I’m confused. “What charade?”
“You and this guy,” he says. “I know you’re just doing it to get my attention. Well, you have it now. So you can stop.”
I nearly choke on a big sip of water. “Get your attention? Trevor, I don’t even know you.”
“Yeah, right. And all those signals you’ve been sending me on campus? You do that to everyone you don’t know?”
“Signals? Okay, look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You obviously have crazy ideas about—”
“I’m not crazy,” he says, suddenly seething, and I realize my mistake a little too late.
“I didn’t say you were.” I try to backtrack quickly. “I was talking about this idea you have of me being into you or whatever. That’s what’s crazy, Trevor.”
“No, the only crazy thing is you denying it. Things would be so much better if you just, you know, admit that you love me.” He lowers his voice on this last part, glancing around to see if anyone’s within earshot.
There are a few people who are, but there’s also this general hum of conversation that makes it virtually impossible to eavesdrop, even if they wanted to.
“There’s nothing to admit because I don’t love you.” My irritation threshold has been reached.
I’m so done with this guy. I have to leave. This thing is beginning to look like it’s on the verge of escalating to a point outside of my control, and I don’t like it.
The hand he’s been using to absently stroke the drops of condensation on his beer now clenches into a tight fist. His lips are drawn tight into a thin line. I’ve upset him.
“I don’t mean to offend you or anything,” I say, playing nice with my stalker. As one does. “I just don’t feel like we have a connection. I’m sure you’re a nice guy, and that plenty of girls would love the—”
My train of thought has come off the rails for some reason, and I find myself lost. What the hell? It’s like there’s hair on my tongue and balls of cotton wool in my head.
And Trevor’s got this creepy grin on his face as he watches me fight to keep my shit together.
“Feeling okay, Emily?”
Crap. I think I’ve been drugged.
“Trevor, what did you do?” My words begin to slur.
“You should really check the glass before using it, Emily,” he says. “People do all kinds of weird shit these days.”
He laughs that cold, bitter laugh and I feel my head getting heavy. Far too heavy for my neck. Trevor swims out of focus in front of me, and I blink to bring him back. It doesn’t work, and that stupid grin is the last thing I see before everything goes black.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Peter
