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No, he didn’t. He said that about thepen.Youapplied the same logic to the Compton file.
I stutter to a stop, cursing out a “fuck” as I realize how royally I’ve fucked up. Cursing colorfully, uncaring of the passersby that eye me warily, leaving a wide berth between us as they walk past, I bring up Robbie’s number on my phone and call him.
If it wasn’t outside of office hours, I’d stomp over to his office right now and demand answers.
“Fuck you,” I snarl into the phone when it rings out, before immediately dialing his number again. With a renewed purpose, I amble toward campus, repeatedly calling him and yelling into the phone for him to pick up.
There’s still no answer as I approach the campus gates and make a beeline for his department, no longer caring that it’s outside office hours. If he’s in there, he’s going to damn well see me.
Reaching his door, I pound on it. “Robbie! Open the damn door, asshole!”
I bang and bang, but there’s no response, and eventually, I have to admit to myself that he’s not here.God-fucking-dammit.
Sinking to the floor, I anxiously pull up news articles on my phone. They’re all pretty much saying the same. No one actually states why the cops are pointing the finger at Nocturnal Enterprises. Other than it was their responsibility to keep the politician alive.
“It’s possible this isn’t my fault,” I mutter to myself.
Yeah, but we both know it is.
There’s no arguing with myself. I can say I’m not to blame until I’m blue in the face, but the truth is, this is too fucking coincidental.
I should call Hawk. Get the facts from him and find out for sure what’s truly going on. Yet, as my thumb hovers above his name, I can’t bring myself to actually call him.
This is all her fault, that stupid fucking voice pipes up.
“Shut up,” I bite out. “I read her letter. I forgave her. I’m not doing this shit anymore.”
My inner voice scoffs. She wrote those pretty words, then went off and fucked those hip-hop douchebags. How much can she really love you? And look at the chaos she’s brought with her now. Body parts at your doorstep, a target on your back, and now she’s gone and ruined your relationship with Hawk. There’s no way Hadley will forgive you after this.
My stomach churns, and my hand shakes as I squeeze the phone so tightly that it creaks under the strain.
Forcing myself to my feet, I blindly make my way to the frat house, ignoring the incessant voice in my head that wants to pin all the blame on Emilia. Finally reaching my room, I grab the first bottle of liquor I find and, ripping off the lid, I down it until I’m gasping for air. It’s the only way to drown out the voice.
* * *
Wakey,wakey.
"Fuck off," I grumble, not bothering to open my eyes. The headache is bad enough without adding sunlight to the mix.
Emilia will be on campus by now.
“No,” I snap sleepily. “We’re trying to be better with her.”
A scoff ricochets through my sensitive skull.Who are you kidding? You’re not a good person. You were only fooling yourself before. You were twisted before you ever met her, but now you’re just plain rotten at your core. In no small part because of her.
“She didn’t do anything,” I argue weakly, even as I feel my body feeding off the simmering anger. “She was a crutch. She kept the demons at bay. However it’s hardly her fault they came back when she didn’t even know they existed in the first place.”
She still left you, though,the voice taunts.For those small-dicked musicians. What did they have that you didn’t? Do you think she still keeps in touch with them? Still fucks them when they’re in town?
My body is vibrating with anger as I drive my fist into my pillow, begging the voice to shut up. My resolve is weakening; that anger burning into an inferno—one aimed directly at Emilia, even though I know at my core that she doesn’t deserve it.
I’m falling into old habits because it’s easier to unleash all ofthison someone else than to bear the brunt of it alone. And there’s only one set of captivating green eyes I want to stare into when I’m warring with myself.
Before I’ve given it conscious thought, I’m out of bed. Still dressed in last night’s clothing, I’m sure I’m a sight as I storm my way through the frat house, drawing questioning looks from my brothers.
Outside, the fresh air does nothing to abate the flames ravishing my body, sliding through my veins, and propelling me onward. As though driven by a higher power, I head toward Burney Hall. My head is full of rage, preventing me from thinking clearly. Only one thought penetrates the fog—unleash this pain. I don’t care how; I just need it to be gone.
Only those crazy enough to choose early morning classes are out and about at this hour, so I only pass a handful of people. All of whom scurry away when they see me, as I stomp down the corridor to Emilia’s classroom.
