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Once I'm done, I lean down and drop the knife into the drawer, pushing it closed with the tip of my boot.
A small giggle escapes as I admire my work.
Well done. I deserve a fucking pat on the back.
Vera's bitchis written in sharp, jagged letters across the dark wood.
I kick my feet out, swinging them back and forth as my blood hums through my veins. What else can I do? After everything Malik has done to me, it feels like child's play to draw on his headboard.
One glance at his dresser and I know exactly what I'm going to do.
The son of a bitch took my underwear and made me go to school commando. Maybe it's time he figured out who the hell he was fucking with.
It doesn’t matter that the morning after the mausoleum when I went to change out of my damp clothes, I found them back in my drawer. Like it was some sort of peace treaty or something. The asshole took them in the first place, and because of that, he deserves payback.
I open the top drawer, seeing neatly folded underwear and socks all laying in the same direction.
I frown.Does this guy have OCD or something?
The groan of the pipes as the shower turns off makes my eyes widen. I grab a handful, looking back and forth as I think of what to do.
I could go to my room, but I wouldn't get too far with his things. I glance at the window and rush over to it, dropping his things to the ground. I push up the wooden frame, opening the window wide and glancing out the front of the house.
It groans and creaks, the old wood heavy as I push the window opened, but about halfway up, it releases, gliding easily to the top of the frame.
Perfect.
I grab his things and chuck them out the window. Running as quick as I can back to his dresser, I shove the drawer closed and open the next drawer, pulling out his shirts and racing to the window, throwing them into the air as well. I feel like I should stop, but I rush and do one last drawer, grabbing a handful of his dress pants for school and rushing to the window, throwing them over the edge.
I don't even close his bottom drawers, leaving them hanging open as I run from his room and back into mine. I slam my door closed, instantly hearing the creak of the bathroom door opening and Malik's footsteps walking down the hallway.
A chill of instant terror hits me.
Oh my God, what did I just do?
I think about running. Running out of the house and as far and fast as I can go. But instead, I walk into my closet, shutting the door behind me as quietly as possible and squatting into the corner. I shove my suitcase in front of me, curling behind it. I hold my breath. And I wait.
It doesn't take long. Less than a minute for Malik's feet to sound in the hallway again. He doesn't knock. I can only listen as the door flies open, the knob banging against the wall, and he storms inside. I can hear his angry breaths from across the room.
Is he… is he growling?
My palm goes to my mouth, and I hold my breath.
Please. Please go.
Fuck, why do I have to be so damn stupid?
Because he's an asshole.
I should stand up, walk out of here like nothing happened. I should act as nonchalant as he acts, pretending like I don't have a care in the world.
My closet door opens, like he can sense where I am. My suitcase flies from my closet, and there he stands. His damp body, heaving with fury. His hair wet as it falls across his face. The towel, cinched around his waist. Water dripping to the floor from the dark hair on his legs.
His eyes. White. No pupils, no irises. Only white as he glares down at me.
My eyes widen, and I crab walk backward, as far as I can into my closet.
"M-Malik?"
