“I don’t need you to worry about me,professor. Why don’t you worry about your own delusions and stay away from me!”
He stepped closer again and I shrank into the door at my back. “Any other time I’d love to rile you up and tame that bratty little attitude of yours, but at this juncture, you’ve stretched yourself thin and you’ve had no aftercare.” My breath betrayed me, catching when he lifted a hand to brush a loose blonde strand behind my ear. “When’s the last time you had a real, nutritional meal—and, no, a bowl of buttered noodles doesn’t count.”
I stomped my foot. Not because he was wrong, but because it frustrated me that he was right. I didn’t want him to be right about anything.
“You’re an arrogant, bossy madman!”
“And you’re a stubborn brat.”
“Oh, leave me alone!” It suddenly became important for me to grab my things and make an escape. I grabbed my satchel, fumbling to keep everything in my arms as my breath sawed out of me.
“Ophelia, wait—”
I slammed the door behind me, leaving my professor in his office alone.
The hallway pressed in around me, constricting like a swallowing throat. This damned school truly would consume me if I didn’t get out of there.
I rushed down the corridors, hugging my bag to my chest and failing to reconcile all the bizarre things happening to and around me.
I’d failed to anticipate… any of it. How could I?
And now everything felt so wrong.
22
My thighs stuck together after I removed all my clothes. The drying stickiness made me wince as I slipped under the shower spray. Steam billowed around me, scalding water pelted my body and reddened my skin, but a persistent chill lingered in my bones. Unmoving and stunned, my mind flashed through the events of the day. My movements were restrained and stilted as I washed my hair and scrubbed the tenderness between my legs.
An unwanted despair took hold of me. I wanted to ignore it, to chalk it up to exhaustion and disbelief, but those swelling emotions refused to be overlooked. Even as I scrubbed my skin raw, I felt like a sparking live-wire on the cusp of starting a house fire. Every little twitch and memory dancing behind my eyes brought me closer to the verge of tears, and I fought to contain the sense of vicious turmoil growing and growing into something malevolent.
The chaos of my thoughts worried me. I’d always had issues with racing thoughts and a restless mind, but it had turned detrimental. Ideas and thoughts snapped and fluttered around in the cage of my skull, all zipping out of reach or slipping through my fingers like loose paper scattered in a hurricane. Eyes closed and forehead resting on the tile, I wondered why I wasn’t crumbling into complete hysterics.
Demons?
I snorted.
Did he seriously expect me to believe that?
My eyes opened, and I sighed.
Oh, who am I kidding?
Something had chased me. Strange things were happening. Dreams and monsters. Odd books and an even stranger professor. I had become a prey animal in a den of predators.
God, what had my life become?
Wrapped in my fluffiest robe, I double-checked all the locks and ensured all the curtains were closed. As satisfied as I could be with my safety, I locked my bedroom door as an extra measure then flicked on the lamp. Too restless to climb into bed and not interested in drowning in my thoughts, I turned my focus to my laptop and opened a search tab.
“Stolas.” I repeated the word as I waited for the screen to load.
A dozen images popped to life. I swallowed hard.
Fucking goddamn bird monsters.
A demon that took on the appearance of an owl. Some depictions on the screen were nearly identical to the sketches in my grandpa’s notebook. That was indeed the creature making appearances in my life. And that revelation only opened a pipeline of more questions.
Why did my grandpa have a secret notebook about demons? Were they haunting me? What did Professor Quinn know about them?
And why did I keep fucking him?
