I returned to her room the next night…
She slept soundly in her bed, while my head still pounded. But when I searched through her phone, I found nothing. She didn’t call or text Jack. She rang her brother the next day, as she has been since she got here. That piece of shit can’t be bothered to reply to his grieving sister, yet manages to send me a punch through his lapdogs.
He is at the top of my list now. Daniel Etheridge better hope I don’t see his face anytime soon. For his sake. And hers.
Two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have cared if she’d died in that accident. I would’ve raised a glass to the end of the Etheridge line. Might’ve bought the whole of Fort a round in celebration.
But she belongs to me now.
Mine from the first touch—irreversibly, irrevocably,mine. Even if she never asked to be.
And I’m not letting her go.
15
EVA
It has beentwelve days since Mason Grant had his masked friends take me at The Vault. I have been losing to him ever since.
How he can simply walk into my flat every night and leave hours later, completely undetected, is a mystery I cannot solve.
Jack has access to all the Charlton House cameras. It’s under constant surveillance by him, the guards, or the Kingsden security. Yet, no one catches him. I guess locks just fling open, and cameras look in the other direction for Grants in Fort.
His visits are growing bolder with every passing night, too. It’s not just my tied hands anymore, I wake up to something new every day— a browser page open on my laptop showing ‘the side effects of long-term use of propranolol, a beta blocker,’ his Instagram profile on my phone screen with his every photo liked and the worst of all, his name in my contacts, which he changes every night to something outrageous likeKingorOwner.I have to change it back every morning to the more accurate description of him—Stalker.
And then there are the random texts –
Stalker
Going to be late tonight. Ease up on the pills.
Stalker
Powell isn’t a walking stick. Keep your hands off him.
Stalker
FYI. The cereal bars on your desk have expired.
We are in a Cold War.
No weapons.
No strength.
No glares.
And still… I’m losing. Badly.
He is slowly infiltrating my mind, seeping beneath my skin, leaving another mark with every visit, and I can’t stop him. I’m getting used to waking up to his scent, with the taste of him on my tongue, thinking and throbbing for him hours later.How does that even work?
It’s no good trying to detox from him all day, only to be back in his presence later.
I almost confided in Jack one day. It was on the tip of my tongue, but my painless forearm stopped me. Even though I hate his guts and loathe the fact that he gets to invade my privacy, witnessing who knows what, I can’t deny he has stopped the vicious cycle I had hopelessly surrendered to. I don’t know if it’s just his presence or my tied hands, but there are no wounds on my arms, and my roommates never heard me scream again.
But it’s only a matter of time before one of them sees him sneak in.
Caden already suspects, but hasn’t brought it up again, nor did I bring up his new Fort friends to give him an opening. We usually head back to his flat after class every day since it’scloser, and that way I’m not getting picked up by black suits in front of the whole campus. It’s also easier to throw myself into coursework with Caden. The only distraction that works. Sometimes. I’m fighting for every inch of normalcy at this point, but I’m ready to die on that hill.
