Page 65 of Wicked Little Darling

Had he gone into the dean’s office?

Wait a second, how had he known I was Dakota’s roommate?

Fuck, did it matter?

I turned and made my way out of the building, focusing on slowing down my heart and putting one foot in front of the other.

My phone buzzed as soon as I got outside.

Asshole:

Are you in the room?

Can you look on my desk and see if I left my lighter there?

It’s gold

It’s a Zippo

A gold Zippo

I know you’re reading these

Instead of ignoring me, you should come sit by the lake with me. There’s a spot behind the Scheuster building that’s nice. It’s got a willow tree.

I huffed out a laugh, then shook my head. I didn’t know what to say to any of that—and because I wanted so badly to sayyes, I quickly put my phone back in my pocket and kept walking. When I got back to my dorm, Dakota wasn’t there, and theconcern that wound its way up my throat and squeezed was as alarming as his absence.

Was he sitting by the lake right now? Should I go…find him? Sit with him?

I didn’t want him to run into Everett alone again, he was fucking dangerous.

I slammed the door behind me and stared at the messy state of my side of the room.

I could ask myself that question all day and still not be able to stop the onslaught of thoughts revolving around Dakota. Nothing protected me from the surge of curiosity that constantly swelled, spiking to ridiculous degrees. And no matter how much he poked fun at me or tried to rile me up, it was the confusing things he’d say that stuck with me more.

I really like it, kinda looks like a butterfly. Very cute.

Pretty.

I can feel you, Reese.

Why, you gonna kiss me?

Fine. I’d just let it happen then. It was better than letting theotherfeeling take over. That gnawing disquiet that upended an equilibrium I didn’t have but pretended was there. A discomfort that went deeper than my bones. It usually began to creep higher and higher when I was alone.

When I was out in the world, surrounded by people, it was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but the difference was that whenever some kind of interaction or event triggered it, a much larger, more aggressive part of myself rose above it. It must’ve been some kind of protective thing, because if the anxiety were at the helm, I’d collapse into a puddle of useless fear. But with the aggression, I was able to defend myself at least.

Except for when I was alone. There wasn’t any kind of defending myself frommyself.

Then, that rage-filled part stepped back into the shadows and allowed the other one to have free rein. Then, I was left alone with a buzzing, humming disquiet that crawled beneath my skin like ants. A colony of disorder that brought with it the most unsettling restlessness, making my skin feel too tight. The wrong fit. Everythingwrong.

It was the wrongness that got to me. It sliced through all my carefully placed barriers and spread into every crevice it could, bringing with it an awful energy that had once driven me to find something sharp andcut.

And when I did, it was like I’d made an exit for all that unwanted energy, and it poured out of me with each new wound.

But I didn’t do that anymore. Hadn’t done it in four years.

I glanced at the bathroom, then dropped my backpack at the foot of my bed.