“Maybe Octavia here will realize who she’s fucking now—someone who’s not much better than his best friendormy father. Evil comes in different shades, Severen. You don’t need to kill someone to make them feel dead inside.”
The table is deathly silent as I quickly stand, grab my book bag from the floor beside my feet, and swing it over my shoulder.
I meet Dread’s eyes. The muscle in his jaw pulses while he glares at me with a look no different than the Colorado mountains, hard and frozen.
“And I’mnotyour fucking girlfriend.”
Then, I turn and stomp out of the cafeteria, and, for once, Dread doesn’t follow me.
CHAPTER 18
REVERIE
There’s something deeply unsettling about walking across campus to get to and from class while people stare and whisper as I pass.
After storming out of the cafeteria three days ago, I called Sable and asked to crash at her place for the weekend. I wanted—no,needed—to get away from Dread, and I didn’t want to go to my new dorm where he could easily find me.
He texted me that night a few times to ask where I went, and I only responded after he threatened to call Barry if I didn’t answer. I told him I was fine and to leave me the fuck alone, and he’s been quiet ever since.
Which made the last three days at Sable’s oddly peaceful. All we did was go to work, stuff ourselves full of rice with beans,tostones,andarroz con dulce, and watch trash TV while venting about how much we hate men. She’s been very vague about what happened with Rogue the night Dread kidnapped me, aside from how much she loathes his existence. I tried to do the same. However, after some stern glaring, I eventuallyadmitted Dread fucked me, to which her face promptly paled like she’d seen a ghost.
It was an odd reaction, but one she distracted me from by asking about what happened.
I keep hoping it was all a disturbing dream, but the soreness between my legs is slow to fade.
This morning, I was tempted to hide at Sable’s for another day, but I can’t avoid him forever. I kind of need to go to class in order to graduate, so I forced myself to return to campus today, and now, I deeply,deeplyfucking regret it.
On my way to ancient history, I noticed several people staring and muttering to one another. My hackles immediately rose, and they haven’t come down yet, even as I sit in class, listening to the prof’s lecture. Dread didn't even come today—I assume for some reason related to swimming—yet glances are still being tossed my way, and my paranoia is bubbling from my pores.
I don’t even need to ask to know it’s some reason related to either Dread or Lionel, because, apparently, my entire life revolves around them.
At HCU, I don’t even think Reverie Adams exists outside of one of them.
I glance at the girl beside me, noting she’s texting, her thumbs flying over the screen rapidly. From the corner of my eye, I peek at her messages. It takes a second of subtly shifting in my chair to get a better view, but once I do, I'm convinced I'm hallucinating.
My heart skips a beat and then immediately plummets the second I read the first sentence.
I can’t believe he posted that picture of them. Since when did he stop hating her? After everything her father supposedly did?
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
It doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to deduce who she’s talking about, considering how everyone is looking at me like I have toilet paper sticking out of my pants. And that was definitely something I already checked for.
So what thefuckdid the asshole do?
Pulse racing, I slip my phone out of my pocket, open social media, and search for Dread’s name.
I never post anything, especially not my face, but I made accounts solely to keep up with current events.
Dread’s profile loads, and I immediately want to vomit.
His last post is from two days ago. It’s a picture of him and me lying in his bed. I’m on my side, eyes closed, hands holding the comforter against my chest. He’s behind me, shirtless and propped on his elbow, his head bent down, black tendrils falling over his forehead and long, thick eyelashes splayed across his cheeks. All the while, he—the fuckingasshole—bites my shoulder.
Mybareshoulder.
My mouth drops, tremors slowly building in my extremities while I comprehend what the fuck I’m staring at.
