I tap the VibeFeed icon, but before I can open my DMs, someone turns the handle on my room door. I shove the phone, the credit card, and Bastian’s note under the mattress just as the door opens.
Melissa gives me a double take, then a tiny, secretive smile. “Don’t bother trying to hide it.”
“What?” I squeak, quickly scouring around me. I groan when I spot the ripped-open package still lying on the floor where I dropped it.
She snatches it off the floor and peers inside, muttering, “Gotcha.”
Shit. Is there another note in there I missed? Something else? My heart clangs inside my chest as I step up to her, watching in wide-eyed horror as she reaches inside the box.
“Holding out on me, huh?” Shetsks, eyes narrowed as she draws out a bright orange packet.
It says a lot that she assumes I had a box of peanut butter cups delivered to me when the vending machine in the campus cafeteria is a short walk away. Fuck knows if she even wonders why there are only two in the box. Maybe she thinks I already ate the rest.
I will my heart rate to drop to normal as she studies me for a long moment.
“Know what goes great with these?” She waves the packet in my face.
Gaslighting and rape?
She slaps my shoulder. “Glass of milk and some weed, duh.”
Chapter 45
Bastian
Steam plumes around me as I step out of the shower, those white clouds swirling frantically as I grab a towel and start drying my hair. I wrap the towel around my waist and lean closer to the fogged-up mirror, using my arm to swipe away the condensation so I can see my reflection.
I stare at myself critically for a long moment, noting every imperfection, every sign of approaching middle age.
Didn’t shave today, and it makes me look older than usual. Rougher. I scrape my fingernails over my jaw, pausing when something catches my eye.
I turn my hand over, fingers curled against my palm, and stare unimpressed at my dirty cuticles.
Christ.
I step back into the shower and grab the nail brush.
“Getting sloppy, Bash,” I mutter under my breath, attacking my fingers with the nail brush. In seconds, I’ve worked up a pink foam. I rinse under the faucet and do another inspection, making sure every cuticle is pristine.
Then I head into the kitchen to fetch a bottle and a pair of rubber gloves from my storage closet.
I bring it back into the shower, cupping one hand over my mouth as I splash it over the shower floor. Then I strip off the towel I’m wearing, splash some of the liquid on it too, and mop the bathroom tiles and the section of hardwood floor by the front door.
My carpets are still streaked with neon body paint from the night of the Rain Dance. That will have to wait until I get the carpets steam-cleaned next week.
The stench follows me like a fucking poltergeist as I go to put everything back in its place. Even spraying a double dose of Tom Ford over myself before I change into sweats doesn’t help.
I grab my phone off charge, checking for notifications out of habit. When one of the popups registers in my brain, I give my screen a double take.
ALERT: Delivery completed
I huff out a pleased chuckle and go to open the glass doors leading to the patio to air out the place. As soon as my eyes lock onto the spiderweb of cracks, I hold back.
I drag my hands through my damp hair as I try to stare past the cracks in the glass.
The rain hasn’t let up since Saturday, and from the state of the dark gray sky, it won’t be offering reprieve soon.
I stand there a while longer, suffocating in the stink of luxury and sin I’ve surrounded myself with.
