by Sonya Jesus
Well, I’ll lay that moron to rest for good. I’ve given him enough time to ruin his chances, and the resilient fucker keeps hanging on. Not anymore.
The situation should have never reached this point. She has allowed herself to get carried away with this relationship, and now she’s going to ruin everything I have done for us. She’s going to be the reason I end Connor’s miserable little life. And why? Because of the Freshman’s ability to persuade her into betraying her true self? Or for this ridiculous display of puppy love that celebrates his inability to commit for long periods of time? Or his pathetic confession of love? I had to get out of that room before I snapped his neck in front of her friends and half the soccer team.
She’s contemplating sleeping with Connor, I can see it, and just the thought of her under him burns through any kind of safety trigger I have and unleashes the killer inside me. I’ve been fighting against my instinct, insisting on thinking things through when my instinct to kill is always right. It’s infallible and hasn’t led me astray yet. I need to listen when it surfaces and not bury it deep inside the layers of my mind, hoping it doesn’t come out again. There is no need to keep denying the inevitable anymore, especially since sparing lives is so much harder than eliminating them.
Elimination can be therapeutic actually. Sending someone’s soul to hell for interfering with the Angel my father sent me and threatening my love is invigorating. I’ve imagined Connor’s death in many ways. Some, I’ve even been a little creative with the process.
I particularly enjoy the burning him alive strategy. If it wasn’t so messy and loud, I’d definitely teach Connor exactly where the heat of his passion got him. Ideally, I’d hang him from the ceiling, like one of my boxing bags, at perfect eye level so he can see into my eyes as I torture him with a blowtorch. I’d start by causing the skin on his arms to boil in response to the excruciating painful heat emitted to small areas of his skin. Then… I’d move onto the sensitive areas and burn the skin underneath his armpit, the skin between his toes, his inner thigh, and finally, the tool he would use to desecrate my Queen. If he passed out from the intensity of the pain, I’d wait. It’s not worth the fantasy it if he doesn’t scream as I burn off one area of his skin at a time, getting him back for every single time he touched Amelia and caused my blood to boil. In my kingdom, death will fit the crime.
But, since this is not my kingdom and I have to behave after Bruce’s death, I’d have to be less creative and more inconspicuous. Unfortunately, I may even have to avoid killing him if I don’t have the right setting. None of it matters right now because nothing takes precedence over protecting my Queen, not even eliminating Connor.
I waited for the “Monthaversary” show to end and I am currently following them, careful to keep a distance.
He’s all over her. I swallow the ball of fury that is stuck in my throat, placating myself with the imaginary lingering smell of burnt flesh. They disappear through the dorm doors. I give them one minute before I sprint to the hiding spot underneath his window. Luckily for me, the window is still open, so I take out the camera and put it on the windowsill before opening the application. I fumble with my phone, put my earpieces in and immediately tune in to their conversation. Or lack thereof.
I take a deep breath. I can’t run in there and kill them both. I try to dissuade what my body is begging me to do by telling myself, That’s not Amelia. This is not her fault. The Freshman is influencing her, and as soon as he is out of the picture, my perfect Queen will get back to normal.
The moment I manage to talk myself down, Amelia giggles into my ears, causing the fury pumping in my veins to propel images through my mind. This time I don’t think of burning flesh, it’s more instantaneous and involves me breaking through the door, wrapping my hands around Connor’s neck and squeezing ever so slowly, until I crush his trachea and drain the life out of him right in front of Amelia. That would teach her to defy me.
“Lia,” the hoarseness in Connor’s voice indicative of the elevation in his trousers.
No! I have to stop this. The heated lip lock that follows puts me in motion. I stand with bent knees and rush forward, making a path between the bushes and the wall of the dorm, but not taking my eyes off the screen.
Connor lifts Amelia’s arms, grabbing her shirt and lifting it up and over her head before throwing it to the floor. She runs her hands under his shirt, caressing the skin on the small of his back as she kisses him slowly. He growls into her mouth when she deepens the kiss. Taking his body’s cue, she drops her lips to his neck, pausing briefly to glance at him. Her brief moment of hesitation dissipates when his fingers reach for the hem of her shorts.
I suck in air, forcing breath into my lungs as the treacherous pair exchange some sort of approval.
She picks up where she left off, allowing his fingers to get dangerously close to her center. He tilts his head back, allowing her more access, occasionally grunting in response to the pleasure her lips bring as they slide across his skin. His hands glide to her back and descend towards the area just below her buttocks and upper thigh. He lifts her onto his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist, freeing his hands so they can unhook her polka dot bra. I watch as he kneads his hands into her breasts, pinching her nipple, desecrating the purity of my Queen.
My heart explodes as the moans of her ecstasy invade my ears.
My vision blurs. Visions of breaking every finger that he touches her with swarm into my head. His fictitious agonizing screams sooth my anger and I regain my composure by envisioning his torture again, and this time, wanting to add hers.
She’s had enough freedom. I either kill Connor or take her.
Connor moans in my ears, “That feels so good.”
His voice snaps me back to reality. I leave the bushes, careful so no one will see me, and head for the doors. I’m not ready to take her yet, and I can’t kill him in front of her. I need something to break up their little hookup; something quick, like reporting them. But report them for what? They’re doing nothing against policy.
Also, it would take time for security to reach here, and by then it would be too late.
What if I knock and interrupt them? No, I answer myself. Engaging the future victim isn’t good.
The answer to my predicament lies plastered on the wall, just to my left. This will do. I grab the side of my jacket, to avoid fingerprints, and pull on the fire alarm lever. Instantly, the fire alarms go off.
I stroll nonchalantly into the night air, putting distance between me, the sirens and the consequential commotion. I reach the middle of the soccer field before people start to flock out of the dorm and congregate on the Walk of Pride. I check on the status of Amelia’s mistake and watch as she fumbles around for her shirt while Connor pulls up his pants.
Was I too late? I rewind the video to make sure he didn’t flaw her. When I see that it was only touching, a sense of calm takes over, and I focus back on what’s happening around me. In the distance, the green siren of campus security vehicles reminds me they do a sweep of the rooms with the fire department, and I left my camera on the window sill.
I take the long way around and cut through the parking lot, picking up my camera and placing my phone and headphones in my back pocket. I go back the same way I came, and head over to Royal Hall to see if I can install the camera in Amelia’s suite.
Harper comes in handy for moments just like these.
“No!” I growl when I spot Amelia and Connor heading towards her dorm. No doubt they wanted to continue what they started just moments ago. I slack on evaluating all the possible outcomes, even the obvious ones when I’m forced to react. I should have hacked Westbrook’s system and done a campus-wide alarm, preventing them from going to any dorm. I need to prepare better, have emergency strategies for things like this.
I hide between two cars. “Now what?” I say, thinking aloud. I quickly flip through my phone, mind whirling, wondering who I could call to run interference. Robins? No, I saw him with Meg at the
Breaker. Jaime? She was there, too. If she wanted to interfere she would have stopped this. Shit. I have to step in and improvise.
On my way towards them, I conjure up images of my father, of the day I found him, and tears spring to my eyes. Bringing the phone to my ear, I pretend to speak with my grieving mother as I cross the parking lot, reaching the entrance to Royal Hall just as they do.
Pretending not to notice them, I say, “Mom, there’s nothing we can do now. I know you miss him… I miss him too.”
Tears run down my cheeks. “No, mother, don’t you dare say things like that! Promise me you won’t do anything rash? PROMISE ME!” I shout, locking eyes with the woman I love. Warm, worried eyes give me their full attention. Connor tightens his grip around her waist, pulling her closer towards him.
Maybe I’ll cut him up into pieces, the killer instinct poisons my thoughts. I look away, lowering my head and pulling inward, feigning embarrassment, before swatting at the fake tears. Mother was right about one thing: taking drama lessons would make me more confident. I whirl my upper body away from them when I hear them whispering to each other. In the midst of their arguing, my presence is neglected.
After a few moments of nodding, I end the conversation. “I got to go, mother. I will be there soon.”
I lift my head up hesitantly just as Amelia tells Connor to give her a second. He shakes his head, his hand possessively poised on her hip. She tilts her head to the side, locking her jaw. She wasn’t budging. Now, that’s my Queen.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, approaching her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s alright,” she replies.
Connor simply rolls his eyes at me in frustration.
Not tonight buddy, not on my watch. And I’m always on watch.
Connor scans me, trying to intimidate me or convey some sort of cock block warning buzzer.
I fight back the urge to laugh. Your hours are numbered, Connor.
Noticing our exchange, Amelia turns toward Connor and comes to my aide. “Stop being a jerk. Can you give me a minute?” She presses her hand to his shoulder, trying to push him back a little. He doesn’t budge. “Connor?”
He mumbles a “fine” and takes a seat on the bench near the door. Amelia can’t see because her back is turned to him, but I’m enjoying the image of the insecure, pouty child act.
She glances back at him over her shoulder before focusing on me with a somber veil in her eyes. “Sorry about him,” she pauses a moment, her gaze bouncing between the door, the parking lot and me.
Was she searching for something?
“I’m really sorry about that Amelia. I shouldn’t bother you with this, I was just on my way to the fire alarm, and my mother called-”
She places her hand on my arm encouragingly. Our touch wipes her clean of the filth she touched before and hopefully purges any impure lingering residues his touch may have left on her beautiful soul. Thank goodness.
“I overheard. I didn’t mean to but…” She fumbles with her words. “Are you doing alright?”
“Honestly?” I ask, removing my glasses and pinching the bridge of my nose. “I have a massive headache, and I feel like I should be on my way home… my mother is still freaking out about Bruce.”
She notices my strategic glances at her boyfriend. “I’m interrupting you guys.”
“No,” she snaps. She turns her head slightly to catch a glimpse of Connor.
Connor’s eyes are cemented on us as he impatiently waits for her, nursing a serious case of blue balls.
Her hand absentmindedly falls off my arm, and I zone in on her face; the corner of her lips are downturned, her eyes pensive. She blinks rapidly before turning around and exhaling deeply. “I think you just saved me from a mistake.”
She’s regretting it. A wave of relief crashes over me.
“Oh, um…” I stammer. I place my glasses back on and fidget with them, sliding them up and down until finding the right position. “Are you okay?”
She flashes me a small smile, shaking her head. “You’re the one crying, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?” She bites her lower lip. “How about you come in for a cup of coffee?”
Is this her way of asking me to rescue her?
“I think Harper is at the Breaker. She texted me a little while ago, but you can wait for her with me.”
Fuck me. This is perfect. I don’t want to spend the night with Harper, but since I bailed on her to talk to Jaime, she hasn’t really been keen on letting me stay. “I think she’s tired.”
“You guys are dating, right? I’m sure Harper wouldn’t send you away. She may even be extra sweet to you tonight.” She winks at me, then smashes her lips together, blushing. “I mean not like that… unless you two do that… I mean…” Her rambling is infectiously cute. She has me smiling from ear to ear in no time.
“Are you asking if Harper and I have sex?” I tease her. Her whole face lights up, her eyes go wide, and her mouth gapes open. It’s adorable. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
Her mouth snaps shut, scrunching her nose up and furrowing her brow, mumbling something inaudible then swivels around to check on Connor.
I chuckle. “In case you’re really wondering, no.”
“No?” There’s a puzzled expression etched on her face. “Nope. Harper and I haven’t slept together,” I clarify.
She giggles nervously, the rosiness of her cheeks slightly subsides, but her discomfort with this conversation still prominent.
“Your turn?” Horror corrodes her beautiful face. I quickly try to fix my overstep. “Hey. I’m kidding. I’m sorry. I didn’t think before I…”
“It’s okay.” Her calm façade returns, and she shrugs it off. Her gaze drops to the floor, and her ears perk like she’s listening for something.
I review our surroundings, and other than a pissed off Connor, I see nothing. I reach out to her, brushing my fingers across the back of her hand. “You okay?”
She’s acting strangely. Then again, she’s been strange for weeks now. She inspects my face and the location of my hand, which has latched onto hers. She shakes her head and sighs deeply, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I compel her to continue, not removing my hand from hers.
“How does it make you feel?”
I choke on my saliva. My eyes bulge in genuine reaction. “What exactly are you asking me, Amelia?”
She winces. Mumbling an Oh God right before she plasters on a no-nonsense façade. “I mean, are you pissed that you and Harper aren’t,” she weighs her word choice out meticulously, “sexually intimate?” She realizes the broadness of her statement. I don’t help her clarify since I enjoy this innocent side of her. “Sex!” she clears her throat as if the word makes her uncomfortable. “Does it bother you that you don’t have sex?”
I remove my hand and beam. “Well, there’s a lot of different forms of sex…”
“Oh, my God!” she says, waving her hands in the air, simpering. “Stop messing with me. You know what I mean.” Her voice lowers to almost a whisper, “Does it piss you off?”
“No.” A chortle escapes my lips. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny, but it’s cute how nervous you got asking me that. You know you can ask me anything, right? We go way back.” I try to relax her without leading her to believe I am flirting.
It works. A half smile appears on her lips, and she rolls her head. “I forget that sometimes.”
“Well don’t,” I put my hands in my pockets.
She nods sharply. “So, you’d wait until she’s ready?”
I close some of the distance and lower myself, so I am whispering in her ear, “Connor’s an asshole if he doesn’t wait.” I step back to check her reaction.
She’s grinning. “I needed to hear that.”
“So, about that coffee?”
We both look at Connor. Lucky bastard may not die tonight.
“I’d love a coffee and some Harper cuddles.” Anything that would make tha
t weasel angry makes me happy. Even if it catapults me into an unplanned night with Harper.
“Awesome.” She excuses herself and goes over to the bench.
They argue in hushed voices. Amelia shakes her head, and he waves his hand in the air towards me. She glances over in my direction and answers him with a shoulder shrug. I really wish I could hear what they are saying because it does not look good. She adds distance between them, but he grabs her hand and pushes her down to his lap, eliminating the distance.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I groan internally as Connor brings their lips closer together, almost touching. He pauses, whispers something in her ear and kisses her.
I take out my phone, refusing to watch the lip lock. After a few minutes of playing with my phone, I chance a glimpse at the couple. She’s pouting her lips adorably, the bottom lip sticking out a little more than the upper lip while he stares at her, ponderingly. Whatever she’s asking for, he’s caving into. She stands up and motions for him to do the same.
I redirect my focus to my phone until they meet up with me.
All three of us walk together, Amelia in the middle. We fill the silence with talk about Bruce’s death and my mother. Connor’s conversational skills are impaired by his anger. All he does is grunt every once in a while, successfully managing to annoy Amelia with his disinterest. So of course, I include him more in the conversation to stir the pot. As evidenced by his suspicious glaring, he doesn’t much appreciate my inclusive attempts.
We reach the door to her suite. Amelia doesn’t have her key, so she knocks on the door.
It’s a moment before a sleepy Avery unlocks it. “Lia?” she says, looking at Connor and I. “Where’s your key?”
