Page 6

I scrub my skin raw, trying to erase Garret’s last words. A warning. A threat.

A reminder to stay away. The words replay in my mind like a catchy hook from a song.

I never showed up at his party. He wanted to scare me off. It worked.

After cleaning the library book as best I can, I sit cross-legged on my bed.

The dorm room is silent. I glance at my phone. 2:00 a.m.

I flip through the book. Sonnets. Plays. I try to read, but as always?—

I struggle.

The words blur together. I attempt to read aloud. But I sound horrible.

It reminds me of that day in high school. The teacher called on me to read.

I tried. I stumbled. She made a face and told me to stop. That was the day I realized I couldn’t read at the same level as the others. I couldn’t multiply or spell.

I was useless.

John wanted it that way. Dependent on him. A girl with no future. He ensured I would never escape.

I flip the page and try again. Tears pool in my eyes. The words won’t stick. I can’t read a full sentence without stumbling.

I slam the book shut. A sob rattles from my chest.

Knock. Knock.

I freeze. A slip of paper slides beneath my door.

I wipe my face. Heart pounding. I don’t move to open the door. What if it’s some creep?

I unfold the paper. The ink is delicate. The handwriting elegant. It looks like a poem.

I had stayed in my room all weekend, only going to the vending machine for snacks. John gave me twenty dollars a week on a loadable card, claiming it was for tampons and toiletries. It was minimal, but there was nothing I could do. Some people think that if you’re adopted by a wealthy family, you’re provided for, but not in my case.

John didn’t call me the whole weekend, and I was relieved. I hardly slept staring at my phone waiting for the unwanted text to pop up. Trepidation and fear running rapid in my mind.

Maybe he realized he went too far last time and that I needed time to recuperate. I received a text about an upcoming appointment at the campus health center this morning scheduled for 4:00 p.m.—two hours after my scheduled tutoring session with the mysterious person named A. I wouldn’t put it past John being behind it and there was no way I could ignore it.

I tried all weekend to improve my reading skills. My phone doesn’t have internet access, and I was afraid to walk into the library after the incident with Garret. I had never stolen anything before, and I was petrified. I didn’t know what to do, but I needed a tutor for math. Hopefully, no one noticed it was missing.

I walk in ten minutes before my scheduled appointment, relieved that there’s a guy at the front desk and that the redhead from last time is nowhere to be found. I tell him I have an appointment with Mr. A.

“He’s waiting in the back,” he says without looking up from whatever he’s reading.

I walk to the designated tutoring table and freeze. An overwhelming urge to run away suddenly washes over me. Garret is sitting at the table where my tutor is supposed to be.

There must be a mistake.

His chiseled jaw and perfect lips move when notices me and asks nonchalant, “Waiting for someone?” His white designer sweater is snug around his arms as he leans back in the wooden chair. His dark hair almost obscures his eyes.

“You’re not my tutor,” I reply, hoping he isn’t because I would be screwed. There’s no way I can have him as my tutor.

“No, I’m not.” A sense of relief washes over me, steadying the rapid beat of my heart. He points to the chair across from him. “Have a seat, Rose. This will only take a second.”

I sit, clutching my bag to my chest as if it will protect me from him. He stares at it with a blank expression. A blush stains my cheeks. The thread at the corners is unraveling, and there are scuff marks and stains on the front even though it’s black. I’m sure Garret has never known what it’s like to use a bag from a donation box.

He looks up, and I quickly avert my gaze, staring out at the glass windows that overlook the hallway, hoping to catch my tutor to rescue me. As if that would save me from Garret.

Having hung out with Melody a couple of times, I know he’s part of the Order and the Consortium. I know they have the power to eliminate whomever they want. They’re killers with money and power, and Garret—he’s unhinged. I can see it in his eyes—how he struggles with the darkness inside him.

He reaches for the chair beside and lifts a plastic bag placing it on the table. It’s from the café on campus. I didn’t know you could bring food into the library, but then again, this is Garret.

“You’re no use to us if you don’t eat.”

The delicious smell wafting from the bag makes my stomach growl, but I push it down, letting his words sink in. “What I eat and when is none of your business.”

He leans forward. “That’s where you’re wrong. As long as you’re on campus, you are my business. I think I’ve made it very clear to you.”

“I didn’t ask to be here, and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me the hell alone.” I glance at the bag reluctantly. “Take your damn handout with you.” I’m seething now, but this is my chance to make my point and push him away. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Funny, I didn’t see you running for the hills on Friday. You waited until I was finished.” He stands and leans over the table, making me feel small as he towers over me. “Eat the fucking food, Rose. Don’t make me feed it to you.”

Suddenly, I’m lightheaded, and I can’t breathe. I can feel my mouth getting thick, as if my tongue is swelling, and soon I won’t be able to swallow. Flashes of white and silver. My mouth being stuffed with force. The taste of something runny and cinnamon. My mouth burning. I lean back in my chair violently, my eyes wide.

“What the fuck… Rose.” Garret is staring at me, confused.

My skin feels tight.

There’s another voice I recognize coming from behind me.

“Rose, what’s wrong?”

Azriel.

I shake my head violently, but all I see are flashes of a spoon being force-fed. “Please…” I whisper. I have to calm down and stop this feeling, or they’ll know, and then he’ll make me pay.

Azriel comes into view, glaring at Garret. “What are you doing, Garret?”

“I should ask the same,” he replies icily.

“I’m her tutor.”

“I’m fine,” I say to no one, but try to sound convincing.

They both swing their gazes to me.

Azriel is the first to speak pulling a chair. “I think it’s best we get started.”

I’m still at a loss for words. He’s A. But how or why? What are the odds? He’s a hybrid student. I just never thought of Azriel as being a tutor or having the time to be one with his job.

Garret moves with no intention of taking the food. Instead, he gets in Azriel’s face, and they stare at each other, communicating something with their eyes that I can’t make out. “Make sure she eats,” he drawls disturbingly and walks out.

I stare straight ahead, trying to figure out what just happened. Azriel sits in Garret’s chair as if nothing happened. As if this is normal.

“So, you need help with math,” he states as he pulls out a notebook, pencil, and calculator.

I open my bag slowly and pull out the book and the notebook with the problems I’m having issues solving.

He pauses, watches me for a few seconds, and then asks what I was expecting him to ask, “What happened the other day?”

I haven’t seen or heard from him since John took me, and I didn’t expect him to. He made it clear where his loyalty lies. I’m not his problem, and I’m not his friend. I get it.

“Nothing. You gave me a ride,” I reply, as if it’s perfectly normal.

“I came to your dorm to see if you were alright the next morning, but you didn’t answer,” he says it almost accusingly, as if I did something wrong or let him down.

“I was probably sleeping,” I lie, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me and lets it slide.

Who cares at this point if I don’t tell him the truth? It’s not like he doesn’t think I’m a liar, like everyone else. I don’t feel guilty anymore.

“I was worried and…”

“Why?” I interrupt.

He pauses as if there’s something he wants to say but can’t.

“I just am. I can’t explain why, but I’m here now, and you need help.” He picks up his pencil and takes my assignment.

Time passes quickly as he explains the steps, helping me make sense of the material. I love how easygoing and patient he is when I ask questions. I’m embarrassed to tell him that I struggle with reading the problems.

“There are videos to help you if you get stuck.” I look up from the example he wrote down, trying to think of an excuse but coming up empty. “Online.”

“I don’t have internet on my phone,” I finally admit.

Why lie about it when he's helping me not to fail? I probably should be in remedial classes, but those classes aren’t offered.

“Oh,” he says, surprised. “There’s Wi-Fi. Can’t you connect your phone to it?”

“I don’t know the password, and I’m not sure my phone is capable.”

John gave me a phone when I started school, but it's limited in what it can do. It’s the type you see at Walgreens—plain, with a simple screen. It’s not the fancy kind I’ve seen the kids on campus have. I don’t even have apps or the capability to listen to music.

“I’ll take a look if you don’t mind,” he says gently. My stomach churns at the thought of him seeing the text messages on my phone. “I mean, if you want.”

It feels as though he can read my mind. I want to see if he can help figure it out. I would love to watch videos. Listen to music online but I can't risk it.

“That’s okay,” I deflect. “I’ll figure it out.”

“The password is KCAMPUS.”

I write it down and then slide the book and notebook into my bag. A piece of paper slips out, and he catches it before it falls. I'm about to reach for it but my stomach drops when he reads it. I’m still wondering who would have slipped it under my door.

“Did you write this?”

I almost want to laugh. I can barely spell at a college level. “No.”

He watches me for a few seconds, waiting for me to say more, but I won’t tell him that someone slipped it under my door, and I won’t admit that I don’t understand the meaning behind what it says.

He doesn’t push, and it’s like a weight has lifted from my chest. “Do you mind if I read it aloud?”

I turn around and scan the library to see if anyone is around, but I find it empty. I really want to know what it means, so I face him and nod.

“It’s a sonnet.” He clears his throat and begins.

Beneath the moon’s cold light, your shadow sleeps,

A ghost spinning the thread of fate.

If you whispered words through purged lips, you chain my eager hands,

And reawaken my cold heart.

Your touch, a thorn that bleeds both sadness and beauty.

A curse I’d endure until the world ends.

Each stolen breath ignites my soul, begging for a poison-laden kiss.

The scent of your skin feeds the darkness within me.

A haven carved from fire and sin.

Though every word you speak is laced with lies,

I’d burn for you and take the blame.

For love that lingers close to ruin’s edge,

Is love immortal, bound by the blood that's bled.

The way he reads is perfect. What he read was dark and passionate. Each word knocked on my heart, wanting to get in, but who would write something like that?

Azriel furrows his brow and hands me the lined notebook paper. “Who wrote that?”

I shake my head, looking at the delicately written words. The handwriting is perfect. “I don’t know. Is it from a book or something? Maybe someone copied it from a famous writer.”

“I don’t think so, Rose. I’ve never heard or read anything like that. Whoever wrote it is…”

I slip the paper delicately into my bag, careful not to ruin it. “Is what?” I press. “What does it mean?”

My stomach twists in anticipation and trepidation. I don’t have a boyfriend. There is no one I can think of that would write something like that but I want to know what it means.

“Well, whoever wrote it is dangerously obsessed.”

"I found it and thought it was interesting."

The look in his eyes tells me he is not so sure. "What's with you and Garret?"

I shrug glancing at the bag of food. "I have no idea. "Why?"

"Because he’s dangerous," he warns. "I don’t want that for you, Rose. I know there is something behind all this and I don’t expect you to trust me.”

There’s no way he knows the truth. “Why do you say that?”

“There always is and remember”—he glances at the bag of food one more time—“there is always someone watching. As for Garret, stay away from him.”