CHAPTER TWO
One night I asked her to trip one of the other models then throw food in her face. Mel hesitated, but only for a minute, before not only doing just that, but laughing and posting a picture to Facebook and The Site. When she came back, she asked, “How’d I do?”
I gave her a smug smile and said, “Better, you can do much better.” And then I kissed her. It was a hungry kiss, a possessive one. The demons laughed in my head as she embraced my neck, and I took everything she’d been willing to give. Every. Last. Drop. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Tristan
MY FINGERS DRUMMED along the dashboard of my truck as I waited by the student center for her to walk by. Students milled about, most of them laughing, talking on their cell phones, looking excited about the school year. Campus was extremely busy since classes were about to start. It was probably useless, waiting for her like this. Every time someone walked by, I leaned over my steering wheel to get a better look, only to be left disappointed. Irritated, I shook my head at myself. She had to get books at some point. After I scared her off earlier that week, I’d been monitoring her, asking around about her. The good news? I was university staff, so it didn’t look too creepy. It just sounded that way.
I groaned.
The university had given me a week to get adjusted from the sudden move, meaning, I hadn’t even taught my first class yet. Meaning, I should probably be preparing for class, but I couldn’t, not until I saw her again, not until I knew it was her. Should I be in my truck acting like an insane person? Negative. What I should have been doing was finishing off the syllabus for first semester.
But I’d always been a procrastinator, not that I’d ever tell my students that, especially since they always assumed someone as young as I, who had a doctorate, was crazy-smart and totally by-the-lines.
If they only knew.
I checked my cell. Maybe she wasn’t coming. I’d probably missed her. I rubbed my face with my hands and cursed myself for the fiftieth time that week.
I really should have kept my mouth shut, but instead I’d said her name, scared the ever-loving crap out of her, caused her to nearly fall over, and then run in the other direction.
Honest moment. That was the first time I’d ever had a girl run away from me, and I wasn’t so sure how I felt about it. The least I could do was apologize.
I snorted. Right, how would that go? “Um, I’m sorry I look just like him?” Or how about, “I’m here because of you”?
Right.
That sounded totally sane. She’d laugh, I’d laugh, I’d ask her out to coffee, she’d say yes, I’d hand over all his stuff, tell her what I thought of her — what I really thought of her — and be on my merry way.
Stick to the plan, Tristan.
The plan only included a semester at UW.
A semester to find out the truth.
Even if it hurt her.
After all, she’d been a bigger player in the mess that was his life than I’d ever realized — until it was too late.
Without even knowing it, she had pushed him until he’d finally snapped and lost his mind. I still felt the overwhelming sense of guilt when I thought of him. He’d been nothing but a kid — both of them had been kids.
I wasn’t heartless; I understood that he was a monster in the making, if his notes were anything to go by; she should have run away rather than encouraged it. What type of girl stays in an abusive relationship like that? In my mind, she should have seen the writing on the wall. All I had to go off was the journal… the journal of a lunatic, and I was only halfway through that specific piece of evidence.
“Whatever. She’s not coming,” I said to myself then started my truck, just in time to see a flash of dark hair. Pausing, I watched, praying she would turn around.
And when she did, I swear I almost choked on my tongue.
Lovely.
She was absolutely lovely.
When she’d run off the other day, she’d looked a bit stressed, and her hair was longer then. Now it was short, elongating her neck, showing off her sharp chin, full lips, and gorgeous cheekbones.
My heart started hammering against my chest; my hand hesitated on the ignition. Did I approach her now? Soften her up? Would that even lessen the blow? The plan had been to befriend her at least. I fought between being angry at her and wanting to pull her into my arms and kiss her.
Whoa! Where had that errant thought come from? My internal response wasn’t expected; it had come out of nowhere, a protective need to jump out of my truck and touch her face.
She turned around and adjusted her sandal, bending over right in front of my parking spot.
I groaned aloud.
She wasn’t just lovely — she was freaking gorgeous, beautiful, a super model walking amongst a sea of boring faces.
In that moment, I wanted her to look at me. Desperately.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she fixed her shoe and continued on her way.
I watched her for five seconds, but the seconds felt like minutes ticking by. She licked her lips, tucked her hair, and looked behind her several times as if someone was following her. Then she looked in my direction, but not long enough to make eye contact.
It was enough, but I had a strange feeling I’d need to repeat the process, not because I needed to know the girl responsible for everything — but because I felt such loss when my vision cleared and she wasn’t in it.
Which was honestly the most messed up thing I could have ever thought. It was betrayal, pure and simple. She hadn’t ever been mine.
She’d been his.
The last thing I needed was to join the same downfall.
CHAPTER THREE
The demons clawed from the inside out, dying to be free. She entertained them for a while. Hell, she entertained me for a while, but in the end, it was never enough. The first time I told her I needed more, she panicked. I explained a man of my tastes couldn’t hold on to just one girl. When fear entered her eyes, I was so turned on, I almost hated myself, so I told her to strip in front of me and walk around the hotel naked in her heels. She did it, and when she finished, I told her to take pictures of herself and send them to three of the girls who had crushes on me, telling them that clearly I wasn’t interested if I had that. She did it. She did it all. And in the end, I rewarded her for it. But the emptiness remained. Even with my body sated, my mind wasn’t free. I was never free. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Lisa
I WAS ALREADY late for class, thanks to another crazy note in my mailbox, and when I’d gone to the student center to change my PO again, the student assistant had rolled her eyes and told me that maybe I should just stop having a mailbox.
Right.
Stop having a mailbox.
Like a hermit who lived in the woods and shot rabbits. I’d given her the best smile I could manage and then resorted to pleading when she didn’t budge. My heart had been in my throat the whole time, my hands shaking. She’d seen me as an ungrateful nuisance; if she only knew how scared I was.
How scared I always was.
By the time we’d straightened everything out, I was already late for my Psychology of Emotion class. It was a sophomore-level class that I needed for my teaching major. In theory, it made sense that elementary ed majors had to take a lot of psychology, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
Psychology just reminded me how messed up I was — how messed up he’d been.
I pulled a granola bar from my pocket and sprinted with it in hand all the way to the Social Sciences building. By the time I made it, I was six minutes late, sweating, and pretty confident I’d inhaled at least two bugs. The granola bar had softened with my tight grip. I tore open the wrapper, scarfed it down in a few bites, and anxiously looked around the building.
Room 202. I glanced at each door and finally stopped in front of the right classroom. With a huff, I pushed the door open and froze.
Every eye turned to me. With a gulp, I self-conscious
ly tucked a piece of short hair behind my right ear, allowing the rest of my hair to curtain across my hot face.
“You’re late,” a smooth voice said.
I chewed my lip and walked straight toward an empty desk. “Sorry,” I mumbled, scooting past two students and finally stopping to turn around. “It won’t happen ag—”
The professor tilted his head.
Words caught in my throat. I couldn’t speak, was finding it hard to breathe, and even though I told my body I needed to sit down and stop making a fool out of myself, all I could do was stare.
The professor cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he examined me with cold gray eyes. “You were saying?” His hair was a dark brown with pieces of copper sewn through. His skin, tan. He was… too young to be a professor, too pretty. And totally the same guy I’d run into the week before and freaked out over. Could my day get any worse? Clearly I’d overreacted when I’d first seen him; he looked nothing like Taylor. Taylor’s hair had been darker, his face harsher.
“It won’t happen again,” I squeaked, my voice high-pitched with nerves.
“Glad to hear it,” he snapped, turning away from me and grabbing a textbook. “Now, where were we before the interruption?”
The smart ass next to me raised her hand while simultaneously giving me a haughty stare.
Like I cared.
Puffing out my cheeks, I pursed my lips and blew out slowly, seeking calm that was proving elusive, as I pulled out my textbook and placed it gently on the desk.
“Dr. Blake…” She leaned forward, her boobs popping out of her tight black tank top. “…I think you were talking about the passion section of the syllabus.”
“Ah.” He snapped his fingers. “I believe you’re correct.” He looked down and examined a piece of paper, and then his lips curled into a smile as he glanced up. “Sophie, is it?”
Swear, the girl sighed out loud as she nodded her head eagerly. I glanced around in disgust and noticed most of the girls having similar screw me now reactions. What’s the big deal? So he was young and attractive? Who cared? How about passing class and making an impact on the world?
“Passion…” He spoke in that same low, fluid voice that had me slightly hypnotized before shaking my head. “…will be discussed after the emotions segment. This class is the simple study of emotions and the brain. Why do we do what we do? Do emotions drive our decisions? Or are they unnecessary in how they affect every single one of the choices we make? This class will help you decipher between logic and emotion, and hopefully once the semester is over, you’ll know your own emotions and your own brain better.” His voice cracked. “At least that’s my desire.”
The way he’d said desire had my head popping up involuntarily. His eyes were on me. I squirmed in my seat and jerked my gaze toward the board behind him.
“I’m not going to keep you the full time this morning…” He cleared his throat. “…because I have an assignment for you.”
“Of course he does,” a guy to my left said under his breath.
I offered him a quick smile.
Dr. Blake handed some papers to a student in the front row. “Pass these back.”
Once the paper hit my desk, I almost groaned.
“Wow, torture on the first day. How’d we get so lucky?” that same guy whispered.
It was like he was reading my mind. I couldn’t make out his face because I didn’t want to stare at him long enough to make him think I was interested. So I kept my eyes trained on my paper.
“A study of the face,” Professor Blake read aloud. “I want you to study your peers. On the paper you’ll see each emotion written out. I want a definition of the nonverbal cues you see. If you have permission from the person you’re studying, take a picture and upload it with your assignment when you’re finished. Gentlemen, this is not an excuse to stalk.”
The guy snickered. “Bummer,” he said under his breath, while my entire body froze.
It wasn’t a joking matter, and I hated that I was the only one in the room who couldn’t laugh at what was supposed to be a joke. My breathing picked up as I gripped the sides of my desk.
“The assignment’s due tonight by midnight. Class dismissed.”
Students shuffled by me, but my butt was firmly planted in my seat.
“Hey…” The guy next to me stood and hovered over my desk. “…you okay?”
Slowly I looked up. He seemed harmless enough. A dark black hoodie hung around his muscled chest. Bright blue eyes peeked out beneath really thick lashes and glossy brown hair.
My eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, yeah, forgot to eat breakfast.”
He smiled. “Been there. By the way, I’m Jack.” He held out his hand.
Not knowing what else to do, I took it and whispered, “Lisa.”
“Cool.” He nodded. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later. Apparently we have homework!” He said the homework part loud enough for Professor Blake to lift up his head and glare.
The minute Jack walked out of the room, the tension picked up, sucking out any sort of comfort I’d felt at his encouragement. Scattering out of my seat, I quickly grabbed my things and headed for the door. I was almost free when I heard a throat clear.
“Lisa, a moment of your time.”
Funny how some sentences can sound so innocent, right? A moment? Is a moment — some time with your professor after being late — totally normal? But that one sentence wasn’t normal. Had I known how abnormal it was, I would have never turned around.
That was my first mistake.
Turning around and meeting his steely gaze.
Taking that first step in his direction, not knowing that in a few short months, I’d be helpless against his pull. Defenseless.
I stopped in front of the table in the front of the class and sighed. “Yes?”
Up close, he was prettier than he’d been from far away. I almost lost my nerve but met his gaze straightforward as if I didn’t realize he was beautiful, as if I wasn’t terrified of that same beauty and the intensity behind it.
“Sit,” he ordered.
I would have plopped on the floor had a chair not been right beside me. He demanded obedience, and, for some reason, I felt like I owed it to him.
I had no idea how true it was.
How I owed him more than obedience. My very soul.
“I expect students to be on time.” He folded his hands in front of his chest and leaned against the desk, his head cocked to the side, his grin friendly yet… distant. “Is that going to be a problem in the future?” His smile dropped briefly as his eyes darted away almost in disgust. “For someone like you?” His gaze returned, heated, then went completely cold.
Stunned, I could only stare in response. Was he serious? Someone like me? What did that even mean? Finding my voice, I answered, “You mean a sophomore like me?”
“No…” His jaw clenched. “…I meant it exactly how it sounded.”
“Well.” I cleared my throat and found a shred of confidence, probably the last bit I had for the day before I broke down and cried. “It sounded like you were implying that I was different than any other student here, and, I can assure you, I’m as normal as they come.”
“I’m sorry to be the only person willing to tell you the truth,” he said slowly. His full lips bared another smile, but it wasn’t kind. It was mocking. You know that feeling you get when someone stares at you, and it’s almost like you have no clothes on at all? But instead of it being out of lust, it’s total disgust? That was the look he was giving me, like I had no business being in school, like I had no business breathing the same air.
I’d never felt more cheap than I did in that moment, and I was fully clothed, a rarity for someone of my old profession. Designers had made me feel beautiful, my friends had made me feel flawless, and this man had stripped every bit of confidence with one mocking grin.
“You’re a bit of a celebrity around here, Lisa.”
I looked down.
<
br /> “So…” His right foot tapped against the ground. “…I know it must be difficult to fit in, but the later you are, the more attention you command. Do you understand what I’m saying? If you truly desired to blend in…” His voice trailed off.
“I’d be on time.” My voice wavered as I blinked back tears. “I swear it won’t happen again. I lifted my head. “I had an issue with my mailbox again, and then the girl wasn’t being very helpful, and I forgot breakfast and—”
He held up his hand. “I don’t need your excuses or justifications. I just need your attendance and focus for the next semester. Think you can handle that?”
I took a step back and nodded.
“Good.” He stood, towering over me. His shoulders relaxed but only slightly. A piece of copper hair fell across his eyebrow, giving him a boyish look, though he exuded nothing but anger and sensuality. I was loath to admit that last part because he was such a jackass. “You may leave now.”
Had Gabe been there, he probably would have been up in the professor’s face. Even Wes wouldn’t have stood for it, and Wes didn’t even like killing spiders. Respect was huge for them, and this guy was using his authority in all the wrong ways, throwing his weight around like I was nothing more than an annoyance.
“Lisa?” Professor Blake’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t you have a class to go to?”
“Right.” I clamped my mouth shut even though I wanted to talk back The last thing I needed was to get in trouble or not pass my classes; they were all I had. If I didn’t focus on school, I’d focus on the stalker or even my past. Both of those were out. I couldn’t go there, refused to even dwell on it. “Thanks, Professor, for your… um, advice.”
He seemed surprised; his face scrunched up a bit before he coughed into his hand and turned away.
Somehow my response had made him uncomfortable. I just didn’t know why.
I checked my watch and groaned as I stepped into the hall. If I didn’t run, I was going to be late. Again.
CHAPTER FOUR
I never had a pet growing up. What I had was Mel. Damn, she was spirited. I enjoyed breaking that spirit; I relished in the evil I’d made her do and laughed when she started falling with me, when I no longer had to pressure her to pick on the weak. My greatest accomplishment was the day she’d come up with the idea to end all ideas. A death dare for all the new recruits in our group of friends. That was the night I told her I loved her — but I didn’t really love her. I loved what she made me feel. I loved that, instead of being afraid of me, she fed the beast. She fed me more than my heroin addiction, more than the coke, more than the girls, the fast cars. She filled me temporarily, but I knew it would come to an end someday. She had a conscience, whereas I did not, so it would end, and I’d have to change tactics with her. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Shame Page 2
