Page 13 of From Hell
LAINE
Nine Years Ago.
Victoria Royal School of Medicine, Ethics and Law in Clinical Practice.
The lecture hall is packed, but I find a few seats empty at the front. It’s right in view of Dr. Grant, but I slide into it, anyway. He’s known for picking on students in the front row with difficult questions, but I don’t mind. Taking my time and filtering out the surrounding chatter, I take out my notebook, favorite pen, and tape recorder and then read through last week’s notes.
“Is this seat taken?” a deep voice fills my internal silence.
I’m a bit of a loner at university, so it’s rare to have someone talk to me. Usually, no one does. I don’t drink or go to parties, so why would they? But the response catches in my throat when I look up into silver-gray eyes, taking in his perfect cheekbones and angular jaw. It’s Jaxon Clémont.
“No, it’s free,” I finally manage, looking away so he can’t see the heat flushing my cheeks.
I may be a loner, but I’m not blind. Jaxon is the most popular guy in the entire university, never mind our year, although rumors are he doesn’t date. He just sleeps with girls and treats them like dirt afterward. Though, it doesn’t stop students, even lecturers, from trying.
A redhead with heavy eyeliner and a pouty mouth waves at him from the aisle. She bustles into the first row, knocking my notebook and pen to the floor as she passes, and then gushes all over Jaxon like a leaky pipe. If that’s not enough, I have to endure her giggling throughout the lecture, too.
“You shouldn’t chew the end of your pen,” I hear Jaxon mutter at me when the lights dim and the slideshow starts. “You might accidentally swallow it and one of these idiots might feel pressured to perform a tracheotomy. Although that could be fun to watch.”
I swipe my Parker out of my mouth and turn my attention to him. Annoyance snaps in my chest. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me,” he says, keeping his eyes focused on the lecture.
“You’re twisted,” I say, as dismissive as I can.
He looks at me then, steel gray eyes almost black in the shadow. His stare is so intense it slices through me like a shard of glass. “I’m not the only one.” He glances down at my notepad full of doodles. Most of them are harmless flowers or repeating patterns, but a couple are hearts. Not the cute symbol kind, but realistic ones with blood and severed arteries.
The muscle in my jaw tightens. What do you say to that? “We’re studying medicine. They’re anatomical drawings.” I give a tense laugh.
“Yeah, right.” He scoffs, eyes devoid of emotion. “Remarkable work, but there’s one detail you’ve missed.”
I raise an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “What could that possibly be? I’ve included all the major structures.”
Jaxon leans in, his voice barely above a whisper. “The chordae tendineae.”
A flush of embarrassment floods through me. The chordae tendineae of the atrioventricular valves are incredibly fine tendons, like the strings of a harp, playing a crucial role in heart function. A few minutes later, the lights are back up, and Jaxon’s fuckboy mask is back. He’s laughing with the redhead, flirting, no longer looking my way. Like our interaction didn’t happen. I quickly sketch in the thread like tendons and label them where they should be.
When I glance up, Jaxon is watching, eyes darker than black. How do his eyes change so much?
A commotion draws everyone’s attention to the rear of the lecture theatre as Addison Cochrane and Henry Wickham and their entourage spill inside, whooping loudly, disturbing the class.
They usually stay at the back but Addison spots Jaxon and howls. “Jax, my man.” He saunters down to the front with Henry and a few girls in tow.
Dr. Grant takes the interruption in his stride. “Cochrane et al, hurry up and take a seat. I assume there’s a good reason you’ve missed half the class?”
Henry gives Dr. Grant a sheepish look. “Rugby, Sir.”
Addison grins at him as he takes a seat behind Jaxon, and thus behind me. “Training ran over.” Dr. Grant turns back to his lecture. Henry joins on the seat next to him far side, behind the red head while the girls they brought with them drape themselves over the boys like trashy decor.
Did I imagine it out of the corner of my eye, or did Jaxon stiffen before smirking back at his friends and bumping fists with them all?
Addison leans forward, voice hushed. “Can’t believe you ditched us for this shit, Clémont? Coach was all over us like a fucking rash with you gone.”
Jaxon mutters something back in a low voice. I catch the wordFatherandgradesenough to satisfy his friend, and then their back-and-forth switches to the game Jaxon missed.
“What the fuck, Brainy Lainey,” a drawl hisses in my ear a few minutes later. I don’t have to look over my shoulder to see Addison leaning down, looking at my notebook.
He reaches forward…