I shuddered as the voice got louder and louder, the laughter more menacing. “Even in my death, you’d be mine. Every time a man touches you, you’ll think of me, of what we shared…”
Tremors wracked my body, and, by the time I reached my dorm room, I was ready to puke.
I ran up the stairs and pulled out my key, only to find that my door had been broken. I pushed it open and gasped.
The word Whore was spray-painted across my wall… and on the table was a dead rose. With trembling fingers, I picked up the note next to it. Black angry block letters were scrambled across the white paper.
Now your shame will be broadcasted for all to see.
I dropped the note like it was on fire and backed into the couch, bumping my knee and nearly falling over.
“Sucks,” a voice said from the door. I looked up to see my RA standing there, arms crossed. “Sorry, Lisa. Someone called the dorm last night to say you were staying somewhere else, so we weren’t concerned for your safety. But it still sucks. You up to file a report? Campus police want to know.”
“Yeah,” I croaked. “Just let me get my bag.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I never went to college. Didn’t want her to go either. It meant she was finally thinking of a life away from me, even if she didn’t admit it. It meant it was almost time for my grand finale. Funny, in that moment, I wasn’t even pissed! I was excited, so excited to put my plan into place. The plan I’d carefully constructed since the beginning. It was going to be epic. Too bad I wouldn’t be around to see it — then again, people would eventually find out why. Find out that my death? Would be on her hands. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Tristan
THE BLACK, ANGRY writing stared back, mocking me. My lesson plan was in English — after all, I’d written it, but nothing looked familiar. It may as well have been crisscrosses and smiley faces.
Getting Lisa out of my head wasn’t working. I hated that I’d hurt her feelings, hated myself for getting involved. What the hell had I thought would happen? I’d teach for a semester, find out what I came to find out, apologize while still gaining revenge for his death, and move on? I’d never been heartless, but during all the planning, the reading, the scheming, I’d never added her into the calculation.
I’d assumed she’d be different.
Not perfect.
Not absolutely, mind-blowingly perfect from her teasing nature to her addicting lips — damn. She could be my poison, and I’d drink from her cup, embracing sweet death if only for another taste.
Shaking, I pulled out my prescription and took the daily amount, pissed that I had to, pissed that it controlled my life — pissed that I’d let it.
I checked my phone. Father had called and, of course, her. I’d catch up with them later on in the week. Right now, it would be impossible to mask my emotion. My father would think I was off my medication, though I’d never given him any indication that I was the type to stop taking my meds. I was the good son, the perfect son. The one who crossed his Ts and dotted his Is; the son that was groomed for bigger and better things.
The son he’d actually wanted.
As opposed to the one he’d damned to hell.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“What?” Mel asked. “You’re really quiet.”
I shrugged. “Well, it’s just… it’s funny, I guess, that they would want you… I mean, you have shit grades, and, let’s be honest, you’re not that smart.”
Mel’s eyes filled with tears before looking away. “I got a really high score on my ACT.”
I laughed out loud. “Well, that explains it.”
She grinned. “I studied really hard.”
“No.” I shook my head at her innocence, at her trusting nature. “I mean, clearly they messed up and swapped your scores with someone else’s. It’s the only explanation.” —The Journal of Taylor B.
Lisa
BY THE TIME I filed a report…
I was late. Of course, I was late! To the one class I wasn’t supposed to be late to. My RA had taken pity on me, and the campus security had written me a note, but I was still nervous about barging into Tristan — Mr. Blake’s class, feeling his heated gaze, knowing I’d be in trouble… again.
Gaining confidence, I opened the door to the classroom and stepped in. All eyes darted in my direction. The flame of heat burst across my cheeks as I slowly approached Mr. Blake.
His face was stern; his mouth formed a straight line as he put his hands on his hips and looked down, literally looked down at me. “Lisa? What time is it?”
I paused and looked down at my feet, note clenched in hand. “It’s nine forty-five, but my room was—”
“What?” he addressed the class. “Your room was dirty, and you had the sudden inclination to do a bit of spring cleaning before coming to class?”
“No, but—”
“Do you truly believe I care what you do during your personal time? And should that personal time directly affect your ability to be at class at the scheduled hour?”
Shaking my head, I found my voice. “No, my personal time isn’t important, but if you would just listen—”
“I think we’ve all heard enough. Now, if you’re done giving me excuses and interrupting my time, the time I use to teach, you can find your seat. If this truly is becoming your habit, then you’re more than welcome to find the door.”
He dismissed me with his hand, just as I was trying to set the note on his desk. It fluttered to the ground. Instead of picking it up, I turned on my heel and went to the closest desk possible so I could disappear. Tears burned the back of my eyes, but I kept them in. For the next hour, I kept them in and took notes, never once looking up from the desk.