What a fucking dick.
He’s said the same thing a hundred times over, yet here he is,stillnot reporting his behavior to the dean.
Only Dread receives a goddamnwarningfor a sexual harassment accusation—likely because he alone brings in hundreds of thousands of dollars in funding, so he’s treated like the king of Hollow Canyon University. Being the captain of the college swim team and a now two-time Olympic gold medalist will have that effect, I guess. He became one of the most prolific swimmers during his first Olympic Games at seventeen, and, after competing at the Games last year and still maintaining his record for the most gold medals at his age, he's almost untouchable at this school now.
“I’m sorry. Are you referring to Ms. D’Amour?” Dread asks, feigningconfusion.
I roll my eyes as the professor glances at me, appearing uncomfortable. The moment I turned eighteen, I changed my full name from Charlotte D’Amour to Reverie Adams—partially to make it harder for my father to find me should he ever come looking and partially because I wanted nothing to do with the D’Amour last name, a stain I was desperate to bleach.
But just like I refuse to completely drop Dread’s real first name, he refuses to let go of my last.
“I-I believe Ms. Adams is correct,” Downry says awkwardly.
“Ah, I apologize. I still get confused sometimes,” Dread drawls, humor coloring his tone. “I caught Reverie researching how to dispose of a body after chopping them into pieces. I figured her father would’ve taught her that, but you know… not everyone is a fast learner.”
I grind my molars, refusing to look at him, though I can picture him leaning casually back in his seat, legs spread wide, an arm slung around the back of the chair beside him as he smirks devilishly.
Several snickers arise while my cheeks heat. Though the slightest tremor travels through my hands, I refrain from clenching them into tight fists and allowing Dread to see the effect he has on me. Instead, I purse my lips and narrow my eyes at the quiz still on my screen.
Vitriol gathers on my tongue, but, as tempted as I am to spew it at him, I won’t give him the satisfaction. Hewantsme to flip out on him, which would only condemn me, proving to everyone I’m just like my father.
Crazed and violent.
I paste on a fake smile and meet our teacher’s flat stare. “I apologize for Kellan’s confusion, Professor. We all know he can’t read very well and gets confused. All the chlorine has eroded his brain.”
Dread responds with another deep chuckle. The sound slithers through my pores and grates across my nerves. Every. Fucking. One of them.
I hate that sound. It always precedes another one of his cruel remarks.
“Murderers are charming. Don’t let that pretty smile fool you,” he retorts, his voice reminiscent of the devil himself. “She learned it from her daddy. I’m sure he’s taught her all kinds of skills.”
My control snaps. Snarling, I whip my head to the side, just enough for his profile to loom in my peripheral.
I was right.
His sickeningly tall body overflows in the small chair, the brittle plastic likely straining beneath his weight as he leans back, appearing every bit like the asshole he is.
Long, coal black tresses fall over his eyes, messy and parted in the middle, though he keeps the rest of his hair cropped shorter—just enough to grip. I only know because I’ve seen women do exactly that many times while his tongue is shoved down their throats.
For Halloween last year, he dressed as Billy fromScreamand went around licking fake blood off his fingers. A wicked smirk curled his lips as women practically got on their knees, begging him to fuck them. The slit cutting through his right brow and the small silver hoops in his ears and nose only made them more feral.
All I wanted to do was break his fucking face.
The irony of him cosplaying a serial killer wasn’t lost on me, either.
Dread stares down at me with that same smirk, waiting for my reaction. It takes monumental effort to face forward again without snapping back. I can hardly stand to look at him. Not only does he represent almost every reason my life is miserable, but staring at Dreadful Sharpe is no less dangerous than staring into the sun. At least, that's what any person unfortunate enough to be attracted to the male species claims. According to them, one glance from his pale, piercing blue eyes will burn through you, only to leave you desperate for their return. Without them, you’re so fucking cold.
But he’s always had the opposite effect on me, considering he’s been hell-bent on destroying me since the moment he stepped foot on this campus.
No, his stare is a dead star, chilling me to my core. It's only when he looks away that I feel warm again.
I would doanythingto be invisible to him.
Professor Downry sighs, his exasperation heightening. “I would appreciate it if you could keep to yourselves and get back to the quiz. Must I remind you it’s five percent of your grade? I’d hate for you two to fail and have to retake the class.”
The dryness lining his words proves he truly would hate that, and I couldn’t think of anything worse than enduring another class with Dread.
Biting my tongue, I can only manage a nod.
