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Against my better judgment, I click the message open, surprised to see that a tip notification pops up on my screen as I do.
Three hundred dollars have been delivered to my account, and my heart nearly stops at the prospect of two shows worth of money given to me without me having to do anything at all. Well, unless I count concussing myself at the house of two serial killers.
Belatedly, my eyes flick to the message, and my heart thrums in my chest as I read it.
I’m worried about you, Love. Having him say my last name like this suddenly has a much different connotation than it had before. Pressing my lips together, I keep reading.I figured youwouldn’t stream today. I don’t want you to be low on money because of it. If you need anything else, you can just ask.
The message was sent hours ago, right after I’d missed my stream. He’s not online anymore, and that knowledge is the only thing that gives me the courage to type back and send,I didn’t ask for it. I don’t need money from you.
Before I can close my laptop lid, however, a message notification appears on my screen, and his reply appears under mine.
I know you didn’t. But I don’t think that’s exactly true, either. I’m not buying your silence about Oliver, or paying you for anything. I just don’t want you to struggle.
I barely hesitate before replying, and I still wonder why in the world I don’t just shut up.Juniper came home. I told her about finding a dead body.
Again, his response is quick, and I want to ask why in the world he’s still online this late.Did you tell her that the bodies have an eerie resemblance to her? I don’t know if she’d appreciate the knowledge, but it’s not my place to tell you what you should or shouldn’t say.
Aren’t you worried I told her about you two?
No, baby girl. I can’t help the shiver that works its way up my spine at the nickname.I know you didn’t. And I’m not worried about it, or you. How are you feeling? Is your head still hurting?
Does he really not care? Or rather, is he really not worried about me telling her? Surely, two of us going to the police would be more influential than me going alone.
It hurts,I say finally, not adding anything else.
It shouldn’t for long. Take some ibuprofen. And let me know if you aren’t coming to class tomorrow. I’ll have Oliver send you a copy of his notes.
It’s so… considerate that for a moment I can’t even believe this isRook. Or rather, Professor Solomon to me, up until this weekend.
I already took some. I know how to deal with a headache. And won’t you be upset if I don’t show up? You’re never this nice to me, so I’m going to assume you’re trying to get on my good side so I don’t go to the cops about Oliver. It’s risky, and stupid, but I’m much bolder here, behind a computer screen, than I was when I was in their house.
I might be a little disappointed. The response takes him a minute, and is followed quickly by another.But I’m also not an idiot. I figure you most likely won’t show up, and I can’t exactly fault you for it. I’m also not worried about getting on your good side, but if you keep trying to push me into saying something cruel, then you’re not going to love where it leads,Love.
I’m not coming tomorrow. I send the message, not interested in addressing the rest of the message, or dragging out the conversation. Still, I hesitate, feeling suddenly guilty.And thank you for the money.
You’re welcome. I’ll have Oliver email you notes tomorrow night. Get some sleep. You probably need it.
I don’t respond. Instead, I slam my laptop shut with a sigh and let it slide to the floor beside my bed. Then, without doing more than dragging a blanket up and over my body, I bury my face into my pillow with an exasperated moan and try to find sleep.
Chapter 19
Even though I’d told Rook, and myself, that I wouldn’t go to photography on Monday, somehow my feet have dragged me here, anyway.
It’s last-minute, unlike my normal routine that gets me here much earlier than this, and if I’d maybe planned it this way in order to avoid Oliver, then it’s certainly not something I’m going to admit. Though realistically, it’s pretty obvious.
I see Professor Solomon striding toward the door to slam it, as he always does, when his eyes find mine and he pauses. His brows climb a few centimeters, and if I wasn’t sure he was too proud to be impressed, I’d absolutely say he was. He stands back, tilting his head toward the door, and I realize that I’ve stopped walking to stare at him.
“Today, Love,” he drawls, in the voice I know him best for. The words seem to stiffen my spine, and I stride in like I hadn’t just been considering escaping down the hallway. It’s not like he would’ve stopped me, after all.
The room is as full as ever, and no one bothers to give me more attention than usual as I breeze into the room and run a hand through my long blonde hair to untangle it from myhoodie. The door closes hard behind me, a rush of air hitting my bare thighs where my denim shorts end.
I don’t bother to hesitate here, either. I sit down in my spot like I belong here. Like Oliver doesn’t scare me to the edge of the universe and back, and like I still trust him to get me through this class. When I sit, I hear his soft intake of breath, but to my surprise, he behaves himself. He sits there, at a chaste distance, not looking up. It’s as if I haven’t come in at all.
Or, more likely, that he’s worried about scaring me off. It would be cute if he wasn’t a psychotic murderer who spends his free time killing women who look like my roommate.
What am I saying? It’s still sweet of him. Still cute, too, but with a new undercurrent of blood and danger.
“As I was saying.” Professor Solomon’s voice is sharp, and he pays me no more attention than usual. “Group projects are due in two weeks. I’m not monitoring your progress, so I’m assuming you’re all in a spot to be finished by then. Obviously, if you haven’t even picked your subject, I would assume you’re not doing well.”
