15
For the next several days, I’m a nervous wreck. Saint knows about me and Dylan, and I have no idea how he’s going to try and use that knowledge against me. He still avoids me and ignores me as though I don’t exist, but I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. He could just be biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike at me.
Thankfully, everything else has started to settle down for the most part. Rosalind hasn’t confronted me about their breakup, and her friends have followed Saint’s lead and decided to just ignore my existence completely rather than torment me. Even Laurel and her crew have returned to their first semester taunts and jabs which do seem somewhat tame in comparison to what I’ve endured so far this semester.
Only one other point of major stress apart from Saint has cropped up, and I have to admit, I should have expected it once I found out who died in that dorm fire.
Jon Eric has taken to harassing me on a near daily basis.
He’ll text me terrible, threatening messages, or hunt me down around campus to do the same in person. He’ll call me a bitch, slut, whore, or murderer, and remind me that I’m going to die this year. For the most part, I try to ignore him.
I delete his texts.
I walk around campus with Loni and Henry to avoid getting cornered by him.
I don’t even acknowledge his existence when we’re in the same space together.
Despite his threats, I don’t think he’s really got the balls to see them through considering how much attention I’ve drawn to myself from the administration and campus police. He’s just angry and loud and has decided I’m the audience that should be forced to hear his bullshit.
It isn’t until he ups the ante that I realize I should actually be very, very afraid of him.
Late Thursday afternoon, almost two weeks after my first encounter with Ghost, I make my way to the library to pick up the yearbooks I’d requested. I’m still investigating Nora and who she might be because despite what she claims, I’m convinced that Jenn is a lying asshole. I’d hoped that the original photo in the rec center award case might help back my claim, but when I convinced one of the janitors to open the display for me, I’d discovered that even though it was folded, there was no Nora in the picture.
Still, that didn’t mean Jenn was being honest. Besides, what would taking a look at the yearbooks hurt? I’d gone through the trouble of coming back to this hellhole and requesting the damn things, the least I can do is follow through.
I stop at the front desk and pick up the books, then wander towards a table in the back, somewhat hidden among the shelves, so I can sit and flip through them in peace. Just as I’m settling in my seat and spreading the books out in front of me, movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention.
I turn my head and freeze when I see Jon Eric emerge from among the shelves.
Motherfucker.
My heart begins to race as he approaches my table. His eyes are flashing with rage and aggression, and I’m painfully aware that not only am I alone, there’s no one nearby to even witness what he might do to me.
I shoot to my feet before he reaches me, knowing I can’t be at a disadvantage with him.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss.
He points a finger at me. “I’ve told you, haven’t I, bitch? Your ass is mine.”
“What’re you going to do?” I snap, my voice filled with more bravado than I’m truly feeling. “Murder me in the library?”
He smirks, and it’s as ugly as the rest of him.
“I’m not a total idiot,” he replies. “I’m not going to kill you. But I figure, as big of a slut as you are, I should get a taste for myself before I—”
When I reach for my keys and the pepper spray, he charges me. Before my brain can scramble to come up with an escape route, he grabs my arm and throws me down onto the table on my back.
“Let me—” I start, but then he slaps his hand over my mouth and muffles my shouts. His other hand rips at my t-shirt and I hear the fabric give way before cool air breezes over my bare skin. I struggle and fight with everything I have in me, but he has me pinned down too tightly.
I feel his bulge press against my leg as he forces my thighs apart. I redouble my efforts to fight him off, my hands flailing as I try to hit at him. He just shrugs my blows away, like I’m just some pesky fly he can easily brush off.
At one point, he slaps my hand away and it falls against my stack of yearbooks. An idea enters my head and I grab for the books. I manage to get ahold of a stack and, using every ounce of strength I have in me, I slam them against Jon Eric’s head. He lets out a cry of pain and is thrown off of me. I don’t hesitate, shoving to my feet, grabbing my things, and running away as fast as I can before he can regain his bearings.
I don’t stop until I reach my dorm room, holding my books close to my chest to try and hide my ripped shirt as much as I can. When I reach my door, I’m out of breath and shaking so bad, I can barely get my key in the lock.
When I finally am able to push into the room, I slam the door behind and let out a ragged breath.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
I let out a strangled sound and drop my books on the floor. Saint’s standing in the middle of my room, and I stare at him in utter shock for several moments before I can get a response out.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” I gasp.
He crosses to me and grabs my chin, forcing my eyes up to meet his.
“What happened?” His eyes sweep down my torso, over my torn shirt, and then return to meet my gaze.
There’s really no point trying to avoid the topic.
“I’m fine.” But I’m shaking my head. “Jon Eric found me in the library, and he … he fucking attacked me.”
Saint stiffens, his hold on my chin tightening.
“He what?” he snarls, his eyes flashing dangerously. I recognize the murderous gleam in them that he gets when he’s exceptionally angry. “Goddammit, Mallory, did he—”
I shake my head so hard my brain seems to rattle around in my skull. Pushing his hand away, I step around him toward my closet. I don’t have time for his drama on top of my own. There’s only one thing I want to do right now. Only one place I want to be.
“Get out,” I snap. “I need to get dressed.”
His fingers wrap around my arm and he yanks me back around.
“Where are you going?” His jaw his like iron, and his grip almost painful.
I glare up at him. It isn’t lost on me that I’m not afraid of him at all even though he’s staring down at me like he’s thirsty for blood. It’s not the same as the way Jon Eric looked at me, as if he couldn’t wait to tear me limb from limb.
Saint’s gaze is … protective.
Shuddering, I press my palms against his chest.
“I’m going swimming.” I need to burn this anxiety away and just forget about everything that’s happened, even if only for a short time.
My response doesn’t seem to make him any happier, though. “I just need to…”
“Are you smoking crack?”
“No, I—”
“You just said that thick-headed motherfucker attacked you and you want to go swimming?” He shakes his head incredulously, but after a few seconds, his posture goes taut. “Are you going with Liam? Is that it? You think he’s going to take care of you and keep the monsters away?”