Page 20

Chapter 19

Deirdre

“Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see.” Edgar Allan Poe

I wake up to a pounding headache and the overwhelming urge to never drink again. The sunlight filtering through the blinds feels like a personal attack, and when I groan and roll over, my phone buzzes against the mattress.

I squint at the screen.

Professor McKnight: Good morning, Miss Ravencroft.

I stare at the message, my stomach twisting not with butterflies, but with irritation.

Now he decides to text me?

Where was this energy last night when I was waiting for him to respond? When I was overthinking and restless and wondering if I’d made a mistake or if he regretted Friday night?

I inhale deeply, rubbing my temple before my fingers move across the screen.

Show restraint. Don’t be a brat. Don’t be petty.

Deirdre: Oh, so now you’re alive?

Oops.

I don’t give myself a chance to take it back. I send it and toss my phone onto the bed, rolling onto my back with a groan.

From the other side of the room, Claire shifts under her blankets, groaning as well. “Tell me I didn’t embarrass myself last night.”

I smirk despite my mood. “Define ‘embarrass.’”

She pulls the comforter over her head. “I hate everything.”

“I’m joking. You were surprisingly well behaved.”

I drag myself into a sitting position, immediately regretting it when the room tilts. “But we need greasy food and coffee. And we still have to go to the library before Monday.”

Claire lets out a dramatic, pained noise. “Why do we have responsibilities?”

“Because we decided to get degrees instead of being sugar babies.” I swing my legs off the bed and stand, my stomach turning as I do. Stretching my arms above my head, I yawn. “Come on, I need food before I die.”

Claire finally peeks out from under the covers, her makeup from last night smudged under her eyes. “Fine. But if I throw up in the library, it’s your fault.”

I roll my eyes and grab my phone again, glancing down at the screen. Kieran hasn’t responded yet.

My stomach clenches with anxiety, but I ignore it.

I have bigger things to worry about, like surviving this hangover.

Claire and I shuffle into the campus Starbucks like zombies. We are both wearing sunglasses in hopes of shielding our bloodshot eyes from the offensively bright lighting of the outside world. The air is thick with the smell of coffee and toasted bagels, and it’s the only thing keeping me from collapsing right here on the tile floor.

Claire groans as she leans against the counter. “I’m gonna need an IV drip of caffeine to survive today.”

The barista smiles, “Rough night?”

I rub my temple. “Something like that. I’m going to need an extra shot of espresso in my macchiato. Actually, make it two extra shots.”

After ordering, we grab a table near the window while we wait. The barista calls our names and sets the coffees down on the counter. Claire slowly shuffles over to grab them.

When she returns, I wrap my hands around my cup as soon as it’s in front of me, taking a long, desperate sip of the scalding liquid. Claire does the same, groaning in relief.

“Okay,” she sighs. “Maybe I won’t die.”

“Jury’s still out for me,” I mutter, pulling out my phone. I have one new message and a missed call.

Professor McKnight: Excuse me?

My stomach flips at his response to my snarky text from earlier, but it’s not from my nerves this time, it’s coming from a place of need. I want him to punish me.

I don’t respond immediately, lifting my coffee to my lips again.

A few seconds later, my screen lights up.

Professor McKnight: Where are you, Miss Ravencroft?

The way those words send a shiver down my spine is unfair. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

I bite my lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard before I finally type out a response.

Deirdre: Recovering from my abandonment at the campus Starbucks. But don’t worry, I’ll survive somehow.

I hit send and smirk to myself, satisfied with my bratty little dig.

Claire raises an eyebrow at me over her cup. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” I say, too quickly.

Her eyes narrow, but before she can press me, I stand up, grabbing my bag. “Come on. Library time.”

She groans but follows. “You’re such a killjoy.”

I barely hear her, too focused on my phone, waiting for Kieran’s response.

It never comes.

The walk from Starbucks to the library is crisp and cool, the early hint of autumn threading through the air. I hug my cup of coffee between my hands, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as the breeze dances against my bare legs. The black tennis skirt I threw on this morning suddenly doesn’t feel like the best choice, but I don’t mind too much. The cool air is refreshing, a stark contrast to the lazy heat I grew up with on the West Coast.

“Almost time to bring out the leggings and boots every day now,” Claire muses, tugging her oversized sweater down over her hands.

I smirk, taking another sip of my coffee. “Oooh, more black sweaters for me.”

“As if you need any more.”

“Our closet is tiny, so I wear the same things over and over. Or I steal your clothes. Contrary to what you think, I’m grossly unprepared for the cold season in New Haven.”

It’s true. I’m not used to having actual distinct seasons. How the air turns crisp and electric, how the trees burn with color, shifting from green to fiery oranges, reds, and yellows. Back home, everything just stayed the same. There was no gradual shift in the air, no cozy layering of sweaters and scarves, no golden leaves crunching beneath your feet. Just endless warmth, an unchanging sun.

We might get the rare cold blast every so often but here, the world feels alive.

I glance around the courtyard as we walk, taking in the way the ivy clings to the old brick buildings. How the early morning sun filters through the trees, casting a soft amber glow across the grass. There’s something about fall that makes me feel more at home than I ever did back in California. Like the changing season speaks to me, wrapping me in its embrace.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been changing, too.

A small pang of guilt hits me. I’m changing because of Kieran.

And here you are being a petty brat.

“You’re quiet,” Claire notes, bumping her shoulder against mine. “What’s up?”

I shake my head, offering a small smile. “Just…thinking.”

She hums knowingly, linking her arm through mine. “Well, let’s think and walk faster. The sooner we get this stupid assignment done, the sooner we can nap.”

I laugh, squeezing her arm. “Deal.”

And with that, we step into the library, the scent of old books and paper welcoming us into its quiet warmth.

The third floor of the library is practically deserted. Aside from the librarian at the front desk on the first floor and a couple of students scattered through the dimly lit spaces of the first and second floors, Claire and I find ourselves alone amongst the dusty shelves.

The Gothic Romanticism section is tucked away in a quieter corner. Instead of sitting properly at the large wooden study tables, where we chose to pile our books on, I find myself sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping through my notes on Hawthorne and Poe. As I grab one of the books next to me, I feel a sense of peace settle over me.

Or at least, it tries. My mind races with unease at the awareness that Kieran hasn’t texted me back.

Claire, however, has been almost as useless as me for the past thirty minutes.

She sits across from me, completely ignoring her open laptop in favor of her phone, her thumbs moving rapidly over the screen as she grins at whatever conversation she’s having.

I narrow my eyes at her and snap the book closed to get her attention. “Okay, who are you texting?”

“Gabe.” She doesn’t even look up, her smile widening as she types something else.

I pause, raising a brow. “Gabe, as in my best friend, bartender Gabe?”

She finally looks up, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “The one and only.”

I lean back against the bookshelf, crossing my arms. “Interesting. And why, pray tell, are you texting Gabe?”

She rolls her eyes and tosses her phone onto her laptop. “Because we’re going on a date tonight.”

I blink and turn my body more fully toward her. “Wait…seriously?”

Claire nods, running her fingers through her hair like she’s trying to act casual, but I see the way her lips twitch with excitement. “Yep. The other night with Brandon being a complete douchebag to you, and Tyler being the human embodiment of a yawn was just the push I needed to forget about dumb college guys. And besides,” she gives me a teasing grin, “your relationship with Professor McKnight is actual goals.”

I snort. “Yes, please strive to have a secret romance that could ruin your entire college career.”

She laughs. “Okay, maybe not exactly like that. But you know what I mean.”

I shake my head, sighing as I close my laptop. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on with Kieran right now. He couldn’t even give me a reason as to why he couldn’t show up at Salvation last night, has barely responded to my texts, and now I’m being a bitch to him out of spite.” I hesitate, biting the inside of my cheek. “I don’t know…something about last night just felt off.”

Claire leans forward, resting her chin in her palm. “D, you’re overthinking it. Have you seen the way that man looks at you? He practically pummeled Brandon into the ground for you, in front of everyone . If something was wrong, don’t you think he’d tell you?”

I nod slowly, but the uneasy feeling in my stomach doesn’t go away. Before I can say anything else, Claire suddenly straightens, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

I frown. “What?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she smiles at something, or someone , behind me.

A deep voice follows.

“Miss Thompson. It’s good to see you again.”

My entire body stiffens.

I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

Claire’s eyes practically sparkle with amusement as she starts gathering her things, whispering, “That’s my cue to leave.” Then, louder, just enough for him to hear, she says, “Well, D , I’m going to go get ready for that thing with Gabe.”

She winks, then all but scurries away, leaving me alone with him.

The air in the library shifts immediately. I hear her footsteps fading away, but I can’t bring myself to face him.

When I finally turn, I find Kieran standing behind me, hands in his pockets, his dark eyes locked onto mine. His sharp gaze burns a hole straight through me, but I can’t tell if he’s mad or turned on.

Maybe both?

I swallow hard, my heart picking up speed as silence stretches between us, thick and tense.

Whatever happens next, I already know…I’m in trouble.