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Dread fills my veins with ice, but this is what I'm good for. I have to do this, and nothing matters at this point but survival. The power of deceit is a fixed illusion that can be used as a weapon. In this case, creeps like Michael.
"Let's go."
I follow him, watching his broad back under his jacket. He walks to the parking lot, and I know he is taking me off-campus. When we round the corner, he lets out a string of curses. My eyes widen. His car.
I want to laugh, but the look in his eye has me holding it in. All of his windows have been smashed. The only glass that hasn't been broken into pieces is his windshield. His tires are flattened with his headlights busted, and the condensation from the cold has allowed words to be written on the windshield. Two words.
WE FUCKED.
"Is this some kind of joke?"
"Looks like you pissed someone off. I don't think she likes you fucking someone else." He glares at me. His lip curled in disgust. I point at his beloved Mustang. "You should get that fixed."
"Leave," he barks.
“Gladly.”
I turn and walk like I have to pee toward the dorms. I wonder who did it because I wish I could thank whoever did. If it was his little girlfriend, he would have been fucking somewhere. I could kiss the ground she walks on.
Once I’m inside my dorm room, I shut the door and lock it, checking it twice, and place my bag in my desk chair. I pull my coat off, and I see it. A note and a black gift box.
I bring the note under the small lamp and notice the familiar red script and crème paper.
The sound of music becomes a part of you when my words dedicated to you are composed in a song, taking the pain embedded in your soul away and making you mine. My words scrawled on simple paper are nothing without you reading them.
Ps. Your smile is a priceless treasure that, particularly if I placed it there, no other man has a right to see. Hold on, my love. I am never near or far. I'm right where I need to be…inside you.
Eternally yours,
Z
I look at the black box with a red ribbon. I pull the string, and it unravels. The latest smartphone sits on top of another white box of Bluetooth headphones. I pick up the smartphone, and a sticky note is stuck to it that reads.
Turn me on and play with me.
I lift the box and close my eyes and grin. I remember the bookshelf and all the books toppling over. It was him. It was Zero. I turn on the phone and see it is programmed with one number. The contact reads Z. A simple letter with a phone number.
I decide to punch in the service number. I'm trying to find out who Z really is. All smartphones have an account with a name. I might sound stupid for asking if the account belongs to Zero, but it's worth a shot.
"Hello, I wanted to know if I can find the amount of my bill?"
"Can I have your name, please?"
"Zero."
"I'm sorry. Did you say Zero like the number?"
Damn it. "My name is Jesse Sharpe," I correct her. Even though I did say Zero like an idiot.
"Yes, Miss Sharpe. You have a zero balance, and your account is on auto-pay."
"Okay, Thank you.
"Will there be anything else that I may assist you with?"
"That will be all, thank you."
Shit. It is under my name, meaning he has all my information.
