“Fine.” He turns to the door. “I’ll have it done by the end of the week.”
“Jackson.”
He looks over his shoulder with his hand on the knob.
“Put some ice on that,” I tell him, nodding at the mark on his jaw that’s already starting to bruise.
He huffs and opens the door. “Like you care.”
The moment he’s gone, I release a sigh.
I care more than he knows. More than Ishould.
Whatever stupid crush I hadon my teacher is sure as fuck gone now. I never expected anything to come from it, but now I truly am relieved nothing did.
He’s such a fucking asshole.
Either he’s wrapped around Professor Grant’s finger or he really is like so many others in this town.
Honestly, I don’t think I’m being unreasonable to feel like this is so fucking unfair, that this whole thing is bullshit.
Because why amIthe only one facing consequences?
And what am I even supposed to be getting from this damn paper? If he thought I’d see myself in the kind of bully and tyrant that Gilgamesh was, he’s even more of a dickhead than I thought. If anything, that’s Pierce. However, not even Enkidu could changehiminto a good person.
It’s late in the evening on Thursday, and I’m only halfway finished with this essay, pretty much just bullshitting my way through it at this point.
I’m about ready for a break when an idea comes to me through the barrage of curses that I’m mentally hurling at my teacher. Pulling up a fresh tab in my browser, I start a new search for Dylan Ross. It’s not the first time, and I know I’m notthe only one in this town to do it.
As usual, the only thing that pops up is his name being talked about in forums with old pictures of him. When I search on social media, none of the profile images match.
It’s petty, I know.
But if I could figure out the mystery of what happened to him, maybe I could have some ammunition against the professor who’s trying to ruin my life.
I’ve never considered blackmail before. I’m justthatpissed off.
After about half an hour of searching deeper, my stomach rumbles. I peer into the kitchen, but I know the only thing I have in there is a container of leftover chow mein in the fridge that’s probably no longer edible. I don’t really keep food around here since I usually just order takeout or go raid the main house for dinner.
I’ve also never really spent time trying to make this place feel like a home. Everything is pretty much the same as when my dad decorated it years ago—or rather hired someone to decorate it. The only thing that’s different is the row of nutcrackers that I made room for on one of the shelves. My mom used to collect them, and most of these are some of my favorites that I stole from the house.
Leaving the guesthouse, I take my laptop with me. I might decide to cook something, so I figure I can continue working while I do. I doubt I’ll run into my dad since he usually works late or keeps to his study upstairs.
To be safe, I’ve been using some makeup I borrowed from Erin on the bruise on my jaw while I’m around the house. I’d prefer not to get kicked out because Pierce decided to start yet another fucking fight.
It’s like he’s all too happy to have a new person to torment.
I should’ve walked away. I shouldn’t let him keep getting under my skin. Buteverything’sbeen getting under my skin lately, and maybe I thought having someone to take it all out on would help.
It hasn’t.
Once inside, I set my computer on the kitchen island and open the fridge. It’s fully stocked since my dad meal preps over the weekends. I don’t feel like putting in too much effort, so I take out some chicken and heat up a skillet. After cutting up and seasoning a single chicken breast that I’m sure my dad won’t miss, I throw it in to cook before going back to my laptop for a few minutes.
I’m adding in some rice and chicken broth to the skillet when I hear footsteps coming from down the hallway.
Just my fucking luck.
I keep my back turned to the entrance of the kitchen while I stir everything. “I was only making enough for me.”
