Still, it helps me not obsess that he’s going cold on me again.
By the end of the day, I’m feeling a lot less pressure in my chest about things between us and am comfortable playing with the idea of maybe reaching out to him to say I’m ready to talk. I reach for my phone, not to text him but just to type out what I might say if I did, and realize it’s missing.
“What the hell?” I groan. I’m already walking up to my dorm’s main entrance but release a sigh of frustration and turn right back around to head to the history classroom. I know I had my phone during that class, and I figure I left it there.
The halls of the academic building are empty and quiet, and my footsteps echo off the tile floors as I hurry to the room. I pause when I see the door’s slightly open and the light inside is on. The substitute must still be here, which is a good thing. At least the door’s unlocked and I won’t have to track down a janitor.
I push inside and stop dead in my tracks.
It’s not the sub.
It’s Dylan.
He’s packing things into a cardboard box, and when he realizes he’s not alone, he glances up. His eyes narrow in a flash and burn with such hatred it makes my skin crawl. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks.
I manage to pull myself back together enough to respond, “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been fired,” he hisses. “Your dream came true.”
“Why aren’t you in jail?” I clarify.
His eyes narrow. “She wasn’t a minor.”
“This time,” I snap.
“Watch your fucking mouth.” His face goes bright red, but it’s nothing compared to my own fury.
“You deserve everything that’s happening to you,” I say, repeating what Saint’s told me repeatedly.
There’s a moment of complete silence where Dylan just stares at me, and I get a horribly bad feeling that I might’ve gone too far.
“You bitch!” he suddenly explodes, making me flinch. “You evil, manipulative, selfish whore! You destroy everything you touch, don’t you?”
He’s shouting at me, and I’m actually getting scared with each word he snarls. Slowly, I begin to back up, but he steps toward me
“Fucking you was the biggest mistake of my life.” His hands are clenched, and for a second, I worry he might actually try to hit me. I’ll fight back—hell, I’ll fight this bastard in a heartbeat—but I know doing so will finally give Aldridge the leverage he needs to kick me out of school. “You should’ve been the one to die in that fire. Not James!”
“I know that!” I cry, turning away from him.
To my horror, he snatches my arm in his grasp and yanks me back around. His grip hurts, and I wince as I try to pull myself free. “I’ll make you pay for all you’ve done, you filthy cunt!” He raises his other hand, and he’s definitely going to strike me. I reach up, ready to block him, but there’s a sudden roar of rage behind me.
Dylan jerks at my arm and then releases me completely. When my mind catches up and processes what I’m seeing, I gasp.
Saint has Dylan shoved up against the wall.
“You ever touch her again, I’ll fucking kill you,” Saint barks. He’s enraged, his whole body tensed, and he reminds me of a wild beast gone rabid. He’s even baring his teeth, like he’s going to tear Dylan’s throat out.
After his initial shock at Saint’s attack, Dylan’s expression darkens, and he grabs Saint by the front of his white uniform button up. “You’d better back the fuck off,” he says. “I don’t give a fuck who your parents are. I’m not scared of you, you little prick.”
“Oh, you’re not?” Saint’s lips curl into a wicked grin. “You don’t think I can bury you and take everything you care about? I’ll destroy your whole life, and I won’t even break a sweat doing so.”
Dylan’s eyes slide toward me and he murmurs, “Don’t worry. She’s already destroyed my life, and I won’t forget about it until she confesses.”
Saint shoves away from Dylan and moves to my side, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. “Come on,” he gruffly orders.
I numbly follow after him. Before we step out into the hall, I glance back over my shoulder at Dylan. He’s still pressed against the wall, his head tilted back, his eyes closed. There’s pain in his expression, and I swallow hard because I can feel it deep in my chest.
Saint doesn’t look at or speak to me until we’re outside the building. When he does finally turn to me, he freezes, and his eyes go wide with shock.
“What?” I murmur.
“You’re crying,” he answers softly.
I am? I press my fingers to my cheek, and sure enough, they’re wet with tears. Why am I crying? Why didn’t I notice?
And why can’t I seem to stop?
Saint steps closer and cups my face, wiping at my tears with the pad of his thumb. It’s a shockingly tender gesture that shakes me to my core.
“I hate it when you cry.” His voice is so soft, I barely hear him.
The irony of his statement isn’t lost on me. He hates seeing me cry, but he continuously does things to me that would cause most normal people to do so. I step away from his touch and turn my face away.
“I need to go back to find my phone,” I mutter. In all the chaos of the confrontation between him and Dylan, I forgot my reason for being there in the first place.
“I have it.”
I spin back around to face him. “What?”
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls my phone free, waving it in the air between us.
“Why do you have my phone?” I sputter. “When did you take it?”
When was he even close enough to me to swipe it?
“I took it during class when you went to the bathroom. I wanted to talk to you, and I’m tired of waiting.”
While I wish I could say I’m shocked at his nerve, that would be a big fucking lie. I’m just … tired. I tried to take back some power. Tried to meet with him on my terms in my own time, but he just won’t let me. It’s futile trying to control the uncontrollable, I realize.
My shoulders slump slightly as I come to the conclusion that I’m not going to beat him in this.
“Fine,” I say, defeated. “Let’s talk.”
26
We drive to the beach. I don’t know why he takes me there because we could just as easily talk in his dorm or mine, but I don’t question or fight it. I don’t have any fight left in me right now. Silence stretches between us as we get out of his car and wander through the sand toward the water. At this time of day, it’s quieting down and there aren’t many people left playing along the shoreline.
When we reach a spot where we’re completely alone, we stop. I don’t say anything, leaving it to him to start whatever conversation he’s been so intent on having with me.
“You need to leave Angelview,” he says, confusing the hell out of me.
“Are you kidding me?” I hiss, turning to face him fully. “I thought we were past this.”
He turns to me as well, and we stare each other down for long moments, his gaze drilling into mine. “Please, Mallory. You need to listen to me.”