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“I wish I could believe that.”
“I’m sorry, Aspen. I have to go, but I’ll call you in a few days to check in, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree even though all I want to do is throw the stupid laptop across the room, get on a plane, and fly home.
“Goodbye,” she says, and the call ends before I can reply.
The screen goes black, and I shut the laptop a little harder than necessary. I don’t allow myself a second to wallow in self-pity. Instead, I gather up my stuff once more and head out for the library. It’s the only place I can escape, where people leave me alone. It’s where I can sink into my work and read. Where I don’t have to worry about anyone humiliating me or pushing me around.
My haven.
After spending the rest of the afternoon in the library, I return to my dorm just after dinner. I stopped by the cafeteria on my way back and picked up a prepackaged sandwich. It’s expired by a couple of days, but it’s all they’ll allow me to have. Most days, I have to beg for food, which makes me feel like complete shit, and when they do give me something, it’s already expired, like my milk from breakfast the other day. I opened it to eat with some cereal and almost hurled at the smell. After that, I felt it was safer to drink water.
As soon as I reach my door, I know something is off, and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The door is cracked, and I’m certain I shut it before I left. Slowly, I approach the door, waiting for something or someone to jump out. After a minute of waiting, and when I don’t hear laughter or movement, I shove the door open with my foot and flick the light switch on.
No one jumps out or starts screaming, so I walk inside and shut the door behind me. A knot of worry tightens in my gut. I should’ve expected that someone would eventually try to sabotage my room. After all, it is the only place I can escape from all of them.
Placing my backpack on the floor and my books on the desk, I scan the room, looking for anything that might be missing or out of place.
Whoever it was came in here with an agenda; they wouldn’t risk breaking into my room without a purpose.
My gaze passes over the nightstand and then the bed, where I notice something red on the all-white comforter. Pulling the comforter back, I let out a shriek of terror because on my mattress is a dead rat, with a knife stabbed through its body.
My appetite evaporates into thin air, and all I can do is stand there staring at the dead animal and blood on my white sheets. I ball my hands into tight fists, anger overtaking the fear. I don’t need to think very hard to know who did this.
Quinton. He did this to mess with me, to hurt me. By giving me the blankets, he gave me a false sense of hope. He made me think that if I let him do what he wanted, he would help me, but what he really wanted was to hurt me, to make me look like an idiot.
Lava burns through my veins, and I rip the sheets from the bed and angrily toss them out into the hallway. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let a single one drop. I will not cry because of him. I will not show him how weak I am because that’s what he wants. Exhausted both mentally and physically, I curl up on the floor in the fetal position and stare at the door, wondering how I can get even with someone who is bigger than this university, bigger than my father, and far more dangerous than anyone I know.
If he wants a game, then he’s going to get one. It might be me versus everyone else, but if what my mother said is true—that no one can kill me here—then I’m at least safe from that. No matter what I do to get even, he can’t kill me.
I let my eyes fall closed with that thought in my mind. I have to find a way to take back my life.
11
QUINTON
Staring up at the ceiling from where I’m sprawled on my bed, I wonder how many days a few actually is? I’ve stayed away from Aspen for three days now, and the urge to go and find her is growing by the minute. I’m just not sure what I’ll do to her yet. All I know is that I need her in my grasp.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, interrupting my inner dialogue. Pulling the small device out, I find Scarlet’s smiling face lighting up the screen. I swipe to answer the video chat, and the live feed of Scarlet in her room pops up.
