Page 80 of Ruthless Chaos

It’s a shameful vice, but I have no choice.

Presently, I’m on my way back from my Psychology of Individual Differences class, walking the same path I take every day—the one that takes me past Kingmaker House.

I think of Alexander. I do every time I take this route.

Sometimes I imagine him watching me from a window, and I can almost feel his gaze sweeping over my body.

That fantasy is a guilty pleasure of mine.

Today, there’s more activity on the lawns of Kingmaker House than usual.

Aside from the gardeners hard at work, there is also a throng of people putting up decorations and unloading supplies from containers.

From the look of things they’re preparing for an event.

I look at the bulletin board on the SFU app, and sure enough, there’s a notice for a party tonight with Kingmaker House as the location. The thought of it makes my stomach twist, as attending would basically ensure I’ll see Alexander.

Imightwant to see him.

Just to see if he still looks the same, though.

I’m unsure of how I feel about him.

Alexander is like a thunderstorm. It’s thrilling at first, to be caught in the middle of something so fearsome and dangerous.It’s just some rain.Then there’s a vicious bolt of lightning. You realize it has the power to kill you, and you wonder how you even enjoyed the rain at all.

I still remember what he said that night on the roof of the hotel.

If he’s a monster and I’m so attracted to him, what does that make me?

He sets my whole body on fire with a look.

I know he’s dangerous and deadly—the apex predator at the top of Saint Frederic’s screwed up food chain. Yet, he makes me feel things.

New, scary things.

I like it when he hurts me because I know it’s a promise of pleasure.

I’m yearning for something I don’t even understand.

My stomach growls, reminding me that before these thoughts filled my head, I was trying to set up lunch with Tara at my favorite restaurant here on campus, The Ivy.

She hasn’t responded to the texts I’ve sent her all morning, so I call her.

She doesn’t pick up.

I text Nya to find out if she’s seen her, she responds in milliseconds.

No. She didn’t come to class this morning.

Since I’ll have to walk past Hemlock House to get to the restaurant anyway, I decide to stop by our room to see if she’s there. It’s not unlike Tara to skip a class or two, but it’s odd that she isn’t replying to my messages.

Shealwayshas her phone.

I climb the stairs to our floor quickly, slowing my pace when I enter the hallway.

I squeeze by a handful of girls congregating near the door to one of the rooms. One of them sneers at me, but the rest don’t spare a glance. Since Tara’s “makeover”, I don’t get as many withering glares.

It sucks that I had to change myself to “fit in,” but I do what I must to survive.