Thi:That’s my girl.
Chapter Four
I wake up hard. Like,rock-hard.
Sheets tented, breath heavy, a layer of sweat clinging to my chest despite the cool hum of my fan. My fingers twitch beside me, the memory of her skin still seared into them. Except it’s not real. It’s another damn dream. Another cruel reminder of what I want but can’t have.
In the dream, she’d pulled my hoodie off with shaking fingers, and asked me to touch her like Imeantit. Like I wasn’t only her friend. Like I wasn’t the one she calls when she can’t sleep, or when she needs a distraction from the world that’s closing in on her. It was just Meg on her knees. Meg in my lap.Meg looking at me with unhindered desire, her skin glowing and flushed whilst I told her she’smine.
I groan, dragging a hand over my face to scrub her out of my skull, but it’s no use. She's in there deep. Embedded in my mind, taking over my usually cautious nature.
Sitting up, bones cracking, I reach for my laptop without even thinking. It’s muscle-memory at this point. A growing obsession I can’t deny. Morning wood will have to wait. I’ve got bigger problems to deal with.
My screen flares to life, and I slide into my custom server. I’ve had a heat-sensor built into the keypad which biometrically scans my fingertips, bypassing the need for multiple passwords to cover my tracks. No one can get into my server except yours truly, and if they try, the hard drives start erasing themselves after three failed attempts.
I ignore my inbox and go straight for the feeds. The video loads, jittery at first before sharpening into clarity.Camera: Eastwell Apartments. Corridor 3.Aka, the hallway outside of Meg’s door. There’snothing out of the ordinary. A couple leave for breakfast from the same room, and a girl who’s dressed as if she’s stepped straight out of the nineties smuggles out a tiny dog in an oversized handbag.
No sign of Meg yet, so I filter through the footage of the previous night just in case. I didn’t expect to find anything, but the head of brunette tousled hair leaving her room at one in the morning causes my heart to flip. I slow the feed, zooming in to watch her adorably disgruntled face. Dark circles line her eyes, her hands balled into fists as she stops to bang on the next door along the hall.
I smirk to myself. I’m guessing the music finally got to her. She shouts some silent obscenities through the door and middle-fingers the peep hole before turning to storm back to her room. The feed, which happens to still be enlarged, gets a perfect viewof her ass. Hot damn. Meg’s butt cups the hem of the cutest satin shorts, a leaf print covering the pajama set. I’m not ashamed to admit I rewound that footage six times, watching her ass flex with each step of her mini rage until her door slams closed between us.
I bite down on my fist, committing that image to memory for tonight’s dreams to bring to life. Fuck, I need a distraction. I tap over to theMoving Company Tracker, checking in on the two guys I’ve been tracking from the moment they picked up the call. They used a third-party subcontractor with sloppy encryptions for their website, which makes them easy to trail and less likely to be raping serial killers. One can never be too careful though.
I watch their van crawl across the map on the way to Meg’s new campus dorm, her computer and new belongings in tow. I made sure her name was listed under an alias in the delivery manifest. Just in case. Paranoia? Maybe. But until the ex-con who kidnapped and tortured her is captured, and probably for a long time after that, I’ve tasked myself with keeping her safe. No matter the cost, I’m going to prove to her that someone has her back. Someone is watching out for her.
On that note, I rearrange my dick beneath the cover so my laptop isn’t resting on it awkwardly. I toggle over to Meg’s phone signal next.
MEG'S DEVICE ONLINE.Location: Waversea Campus – East Quad.
I zoom in. She’s on the move, but within seconds of watching, I can tell exactly where she’s going. There’s a coffee house at the other end of the pathway she’s taking. The overview of thebuilding appears much smaller than the main cafeteria, which I may or may not have inspected in the school’s prospectus.
In fact, I’ve read the brochure, website and reviews for Hollowbrook Academy three times over. I needed to soothe my mind before Meg returned, ensuring it was still the best fit for her. As she keeps telling me, she’s not the same girl she used to be. I have wondered if she reminds me of this fact in a reverse way of saying she wouldn’t have liked me if I’d met her before, but I’m not one for getting caught up in the past. All that matters is the here and now.
I lean back against the headboard, still naked beneath the sheets, ignoring the ache between my legs. She hasn’t messaged me good morning yet and she won’t until she’s caffeinated.
For now, I let my eyes flutter closed and imagine what it’d be like to walk across campus with her. We joked that I could apply, but that ship has sailed for me. I’m a high school drop out with a sprinkle of dyslexia and a dash of ADHD. I can’t put pen to paper, but I can type faster than a chode can nut, and coding is my hyperfocus. It’s all that stops my brain from running in sixteen different directions. Although, as of late, maybe coding isn’t all I’m fixated on.
Moving onto the next agenda for today. I open a second window, my fingers flying across the keys as I pull up Everest’s student record. The front-end system is a joke. I’m inside in under ten seconds, and pulling up his student profile with a beaming photo to accompany it. He definitely has a punchable face. I can see why Meg hates it so much.
“Hmm, let’s see here,” I mumble to myself. “Everest Calloway. Born with a name that screams trust fund and fake humility. Sandy blond hair. Lacrosse team captain,currently.” I scoff. “Oooh, academic probation twice, but both are scrubbed from the official records. Naughty, naughty. Daddy must have donatedjustenough to keep the reporters at bay.”
I keep digging deeper. Buried inside a private staff drive is a sealed incident report from last year. Redacted to hell, but not for me. I isolate the black bars, invert them, and overlay a background data mask.
Keywords: altercation, injury, on-campus party.
I stare at the screen, eyes narrowing. There’s no name on the victim. No charges. No follow-up. Just a signed note from a Dean stating that the matter has been resolved. I chew on the inside of my cheek, rage beginning to curl around my spine like smoke. Meg might have been lucky yesterday, but what if this Everest is the kind of asshole who waits to get his revenge? My knuckles tighten, aching to drive my fist through the screen at his stupid smiling picture.
I pick up my phone, tempted to relay this new information. At that very moment, a text comes through, instantly dousing my unease.
Meg:Morning. I would say good morning, but nothing is good about an hour of sleep and the barista making a shit cup of coffee. I hope you’re having a better one than me.
Thi:At least you get to kick some ass on the pitch later. Knee him in the balls for me.
Meg:Bitch move. I love it. Yesterday’s stunt has gone semi-viral around here. Maybe that’s why the barista couldn’t steady his hand long enough to froth my latte.
Viral? I inhale sharply. There’s something online that I missed. Typing out a quick lie about needing to shower, I log out of the student admin panel and barely hang around long enough to cover my tracks before opening a new search. Within seconds,#MegVsEverestis filling my screen with videos from various angles. They’re wobbly and out of focus, but someone helpful has cut and clipped together the best parts for a panoramic video of the whole thing. Thank you @InkedInsomniac23.
The footage starts with a shaky, vertical angle from the bleachers, showing Meg storming across the pitch, all fury and fire, her hair whipping behind her like a war banner. Heated words are exchanged, Meg’s face more closed off than I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something.
