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I sit on the couch for twenty more minutes, watching Kellan move around the field. Soaking in every detail. I listen to the announcer talk about Kellan Drake, and I know as soon as I turn the DVD player off, I’m going to search my phone for Kellan Drake, USC student.
Questions whirl through my mind—like how a USC quarterback could blend into the fabric of our student body here at CC without attracting anyone’s notice. Is it possible that I’m the only one who doesn’t know about his past?
I watch as he jogs to the bench. He takes his helmet off. His hair is black. My pulse thuds in my throat. His hair is black, but that’s his face. What the hell is going on? I pull my phone out and open up my browser window.
I DRIVE IN CIRCLES, blind to everything. My hands on the handles, the tilt of my body as the road curves—I move on memory. My mind is reeling, even as my body feels so good and satiated.
I didn’t know.
I should have known.
I didn’t know, and when I did, I let her stay.
It’s wrong. So fucking wrong, to let her near me.
She won’t find out, I want to scream—but if she did.
I don’t care... can’t care. And that’s how I know I’m truly sick.
I shouldn’t need anyone the way I need to string her up. It just confirms what a monster I’ve become.
“I’m Nessa.”
“Kellan,” I say teasingly.
“You deal weed, don’t you?”
“Who’s asking?”
She smiles. Her lips are blood red. Her skin is white.
I touch her auburn hair. “Is this stuff real?”
“My hair?” She laughs.
“It looks like a wig.”
“No, it’s mine.” She smiles again.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Why are you here? I’ve seen you before, at—”
“I want to help you with the... special cases. Someone told me what you do.”
I look into her brown eyes. “Why?”
“Because I like to break the rules. And because I like to make a difference, you know?”
“Make a difference?”
“Don’t judge.” She smirks. “You don’t know me. There’s no type for Nessa.”
“You’re brave, to come to me like this.”
She shrugs. “I trust you. We’re not so different.”
