The COMPLETE Coventon Campus Series: Books I, II, & III

by Wright, Kenya

  I shut my phone off and slid it in my pocket book. “Don't read my texts anymore, weirdo.”

  He stared at where I put the little device. “You think you'll be talking to Mary's Little Lamb this whole trip?”

  “Stop it. His name is Lamm. L-A-M-M. Not lamb. Stop with the childishness.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “If Lamm calls, I will answer.”

  He smirked. “I hope nothing happens to your phone.”

  “Me either.” I directed my attention to the seat in front of me. “Because if something does happen to my phone, there will be some blood-curdling repercussions to you. I don't even care if I accidentally mess up my phone myself. I'm going to torture you just because you said something like that. Chains. Knives. Toilet plungers.”

  “Toilet plungers?”

  “Yes.”

  We sat there silent for a minute.

  What am I even talking about?

  Jay laughed. “Did you smoke before you got on?”

  “Shut up.” I tried to hold in my giggle and failed.

  “Torture and toilet plungers? I don't even know if we should further discuss it. I'm just going to pretend like you didn't say that while I make sure your phone is safe this whole trip.” He chuckled some more. “God, Evie. There's no one like you.”

  “Yeah. I'm a one of a kind bad joker.”

  “No. You're one of a kind everything.”

  That odd quiet settled around us again.

  Another minute passed, and the stewardess got in front of the plane to do her spiel—buckling seats, what to do in an emergency, and how we really needed to turn off our devices.

  I mocked the stewardess’s spiel in Jay’s ear. “And please remember, passengers. Now that we are several miles above earth, and you are starving and thirsty, feel free to buy our candy bars for twenty dollars.”

  Jay raised his voice to a high tone. “And don’t forget all of the emergency information that I quickly recited. We know you won’t remember it, and that it won’t truly help you when we do come close to crashing because all you’ll be doing is screaming and pissing on yourself.”

  Done with the speech, I pulled out one of my paperbacks I'd been trying to finish.

  “What is that?” Jay eyed the cover.

  “Nothing.”

  “What is it?”

  I hid the cover. “Math stuff. Algorithms and stuff.”

  “Oh.” He chuckled. “For a minute, I thought the cover said, Horny Vampire Priests from Outer Space.”

  “Nope. That’s just ridiculous.”

  “Okay. I must be confused.” He snatched the book from me and displayed the cover. “I guess the problem was the title that made me think of that, and then it was this whole image of the huge fanged priest holding that big cross right in front of his groin.”

  I grabbed it back from him. “Leave me alone.”

  “Was that blood dripping from the priest’s lips?”

  I flipped the page. “You’re confused.”

  “Why are you reading that?”

  “It’s therapeutic.”

  My best friend and unofficial therapist, Melanie, claimed I worried too much. Since coming back from Miami, I questioned a lot of my decisions in the past month—all the drug use and partying, making out with everyone and the crazy threesome love with Jay and Cynthia. What was I doing to my life? How did I get on that crazy path?

  I'd been walking down a normal trail where average people traveled and then in one moment with one kiss from Jay, I’d embarked on a drug-induced adventure. I was just hoping I'd finally got off before the last stop. The downfall.

  No more Evie, Jay, and Cynthia love affair. No more missing school to hang in houses with pedophiles and dead stuffed cats. No more Heisman Whore. Or Jay is my life. And questions of whether I was good enough. No more.

  The first month we returned from Miami. I pushed myself harder in school and didn't rest unless absolutely necessary. The next month, clumps of my hair fell into the sink when I brushed it. A rash spread on my back and neck. Nightmares plagued my dreams. Everything was always on fire, and I remained in the center of it all, suffocating and slowly dying. That was when my bestie Melanie stepped in.

  “You need a break, Evelyn. You’ve got the GPA from 3.8 to 3.9.” Melanie lounged on her bed, a few braids swinging in front of her face. “When are you going to give it a rest? It’s practically a 4.0?”

  “But it’s not a 4.0.”

  “If you round the motherfucker up, it is.”

  I did an impression of her church-going mother. “Language, sweetie.”

  “Well, I need to take some GPA points from you, so my mother won’t kill me.” Her computer was on right in front of her. “But as far as you’re concerned, this is where a lot of the anxiety is coming from. You over work yourself.”

  “I'm in college. I'm getting a break. Trust me. I've seen how my mom and aunts work during a week. All day long my mother used to be on the phone and typing. And that's when there weren’t any cellphones. She was always racing around the house.”

  “Your mom had just lost your father. Perhaps, she put all of her efforts into her work or maybe it really was that much responsibility.” She'd been watching some stupid video on YouTube.

  Apparently, people were doing a bed flip challenge on the Internet. Idiots all over the world recorded themselves flipping back and forth on their beds. The most popular ones showed the amateur gymnast slamming their arms into head-posts and walls.

  Melanie shut her computer off. “So what? Your mom worked hard when you were a kid. You don't have to break your neck in college like some freakazoid. None of that has anything to do with you.”

  “I'm just trying to say that I don't work that hard.”

  “You get straight As and then freaking punish yourself when you get one B on a stupid exam.”

  “I shouldn't have missed that problem. I mean, look. I don't hate myself. I'm just saying. I could've done better.”

  “Evelyn, stop! You are having an emotional and mental breakdown. These past months have been a lot for you.” She tapped the end of her pencil on her bed. “You've involved yourself in a relationship that was detrimental to your mental stability.”

  God, why did I even confess that to her? She'll never let it go.

  “It wasn't that bad,” I countered.

  “I'm not judging, but you have to admit that you were stressed out daily. You, yourself confessed that your confidence lowered.”

  I bit my lip.

  “Then you've taken on double the workload for tutoring as well as acing every course on a challenging academic schedule. You won't go out on the weekends. If you're not studying or tutoring, you're reading books on graduate schools and career success. What are you trying to prove?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What are you worried about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Look. If you spend too much time worrying about the past, you'll be depressed. If you sit there and worry about the future, you’ll get anxious.”

  “Sometimes I'm a bit nervous about what's going to happen after college. Jay is set. Pipe has money. He’s been set for life before he was even born. My mom barely has the money to help me with tuition now. Graduate school may not be an option. I could do student loans, but that scares me. If I work hard, I could probably get a scholarship—”

  “Stop it. You're anxious. Just do your work, turn it in, fill out applications, send them off, and take a freaking break. It will all work out, only if you believe in yourself.”

  “Okay.”

  “That's not it, Evie.”

  “Fine. What else great Self-help Guru?”

  “Really take a damn break. Get some sex. Stop stressing over grades and forgive yourself.”

  “That's a long list.”

  “It is, but you can do it. Take a break by reading a book that isn't freaking tied to excelling in life. Read sci-fi or a trashy romance for god's sake. Live a l
ittle. Escape.”

  I held my hands up. “Fine. Fine.”

  “Get some sex.”

  “Look. That's impossible. I can't prove it, but I'm sure Jay has scared every guy on this campus away from me. If not him, then his team members. Not one guy in this school will even look at me for longer than a few seconds.”

  Instead of frowning, Melanie tossed me a silly grin. “I know. I've heard something about Jay spreading word to leave you alone.”

  “Why are you smiling like that?”

  “Cause Jay’s kind of cute when he does that.”

  “It’s not cute. It’s a problem. I forget you like to date Mental Projects.”

  “Yes, I do love a man with issues.” She sighed. “But, back to you. Just get on one of those dating apps. Meet a guy. See what happens.”

  “Sure. That's so easy.”

  On the plane, Jay nudged me back into reality. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  The plane got ready to take off. I’d been sitting in my seat for a while off in my thoughts and just staring at the page of horny vampire priests.

  “Nervous about being in the air?” Jay asked.

  “No. I’m cool.” I leaned my head against the window. Everything rushed past me as the plane began to take off. I gripped the end of my armchair hard and gritted my teeth. “Yeah. I'm fine.”

  What if we crash and fall? No. But what if? No. Don’t think about it. This is normal. Flying is normal. People fly every day and don’t crash. Wait. Maybe I should have checked the statistics out. No. Not a good idea.

  We took off. Odd sensations raced up my legs like itty bitty little creatures surging through my nerves to escape some major danger. The plane sped up. The engine roared loud. The plane lifted. Pressure shoved against my eardrums. Outside the window, red lights flashed by. We climbed higher into the black of night. Below us, the airport appeared like one of those mini-decorative pieces for a kid's model train set—just tiny white boxes surrounded by blinking lights.

  Coventon College appeared off in the distance—more colorful boxes encased by trees and gray paths cut into them. Somewhere off in that area, Cynthia cried with a broken heart for some strange love she'd conceived in her head.

  How odd it was to look at the earth from a plane's window view. The world was so big, and, even more, billions of tiny people walked all over it, doing whatever they did in their area. So much happened in life. People died. Others lived. Mothers birthed. Brothers killed. Evil and good dueled against each other daily.

  Fine, Melanie. I'll take a freaking break.

  From up in the sky, it all seemed small. Every worry I had about anything decreased to something I could pinch between my fingers.

  It's all going to work out, and if it doesn't. I'll beat someone’s behind.

  Graying clouds blanked out the rest of my view and then shifted into full darkness as the plane continued toward Miami. The cabin's lights shut off. I considered if I should continue reading my book or try to go to sleep. Jay had been quiet the whole time. Every now and then, he gestured for the stewardess and mumbled something to her. She giggled during every exchange.

  She probably recognizes him but isn't sure who he is. Or maybe she just sees how hot he his. Either way, he's not my man.

  Just as I finished the thought, she strolled over with her tray. As soon as I looked at what was on it, my stomach growled.

  “Here you go, sir. Two glasses of champagne and a bowl of chocolate strawberries.” She handed me a glass and then him.

  I whispered to Jay, “Since when do airlines provide chocolate strawberries?”

  “Welcome to first class.” He set my tray down in front of me and placed the bowl on top of it. “Enjoy, Evie. I know how much you love chocolate.”

  “You're eating them with me, right?”

  “Or course.”

  The stewardess walked off.

  “Umm...how did you convince her we were twenty-one?” I asked.

  “I didn't. She knows I'm not. She asked for my autograph.”

  “Wow. Welcome to the celebrity life.” I sipped some champagne. Lovely bubbles rolled along my tongue and down my throat, numbing everything in its path. “Mmm, this is good. I should drink champagne more often when I can actually legally buy it.”

  “One day, when you’re back to being mine, I'll make sure you have barrels of the stuff.”

  I paused from eating.

  “Stop looking like that.” He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

  “When I’m back to being yours?”

  His face tinted a little. “I didn’t say that out loud. Did I?”

  “You did.”

  “Hmmm. What I’m mainly trying to say is that,” he sipped his champagne, “whether we're together or not, I'm going to spoil you, so relax.”

  “I don't need to be spoiled.”

  “You do.”

  “What I need is you and Cynthia to get over it.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “I don’t think you are.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I haven’t even tried to get over you.”

  “Let’s just change the topic.” I grabbed one of the chocolate-dipped strawberries and bit into the lush treat. “God, this is so good. Oh man, I need to see if I can play football. I'm loving the perks.”

  “I know I fucked up.” He still hadn't tried the strawberries. “I'm going to make it right between us. If I can't fix your heart then, at least, I'll heal our friendship.”

  I munched the strawberries.

  “To us, Evie.” He raised his glass in the air. “Whatever we end up being, let's just toast to us.”

  Damn. This is really going to be a long trip.

  “To us.” I tapped his glass with mine and finished the rest of the champagne, ready for another one with the stewardess was willing to overlook our age some more.

  Miami-bound? Here's hoping I have a nice safe and mentally healthy trip.

  Chapter Six

  Pipe

  With a slashed-up face and broken heart, I sat in the shadows of a shitty, studio apartment on the edge of Wynwood Design District.

  How am I going to kill him? How can I get you back, Malcolm? Shouldn’t you feel the pain that I did?

  Wynwood rested in the heart of Downtown Miami. A person knew they were in the Design District as soon as they spotted hundreds of bright-colored murals decorating the walls of every building. It didn't matter if the location represented a business or café, art gallery or convenience store. Art glittered on every brick. Images came alive on each wooden panel and on top of all squares of pavement sidewalk. Sketches adorned doors. Cartoon illustrations hung from light posts. Stickers covered doorknobs. The place was an Alice in Wonderland for any psychedelic drug-induced artist.

  And there I sat, all alone and unable to pick up my phone and talk to anybody.

  Dad thought I was in California with Mrs. Elaine. He had no idea I ever dated Malcolm, a man my own father had invested millions of dollars in. If Dad got wind of the things Malcolm had done to me, it would rock Wall Street as both billionaires went to war against each other.

  I won't have Dad fix my problems and ruin his life’s work over my dumb mistakes.

  Calling Mrs. Elaine wasn't an option. She made too much sense, would have me do things like an adult and deal with situations in a Christian sort of way.

  The Bible should have a warning introduction: if you follow this book, then you'll spend the rest of your life being a boring pushover who respects rules. But then, at least, that's better than being a scarred man.

  Tears blurred my image. I stared at the phone. I'd been crying a lot these days. Fucking wiping tears, gathering up snot, and sniveling like a stupid baby. That was the part that made me disgusted with myself the most.

  Why couldn't I just fucking get over it already? So the man I loved had cut me, sliced me even. Sure, he abandoned me for the second time, in my hotel room, by myself with just a free hand to hold my phone.

&nbs
p; His aura changed from dark yellow to black. I was so drunk, I didn’t notice until he chained me up.

  When would I get over it? Hadn’t enough days passed? Although my face ached, the scars shifted to healing. When would the pain go away on the inside?

  For the tenth time that morning, the moment when Malcolm left me played out in my mind. Rage had ruffled his chestnut waves. His hair had stood crazy above his head. He’d raked his fingers through those strands each time he cut me. A red tint had shaded his usually tanned skin.

  My voice was sandpaper and despair. “Purple.”

  He ignored our safety word and sliced me again.

  “P-purple.”

  Over and over, I struggled to get out of the leather swing he’d tied me into.

  “Purple.”

  Even as I hung from the ceiling, his gaze met mine.

  He was tall. Whenever we stood next to each other, he towered over me. His height had been the first thing that caught my attention the day Dad forced me to intern for him, a good year ago. We'd both changed since then. Shit, our meetings had definitely changed. We'd gone from intern and successful businessman to submissive and sadistic Dom in weeks.

  No. Don't think about the good times. Fuck that. Remember what he did. Never forget that last time.

  Malcolm dropped the knife and wiped tears from his face.

  “Purple,” I whispered to myself.

  Blood ran down my skin. Our gazes met. No love or compassion swam in those murky brown pupils, just death and hate. It could've been my imagination. What else would I have thought lingered there? Love? No. Love didn't incite a man to hurt another the way he brutalized me.

  That knife lay on the floor. Red drops dotted the blade and stained the ivory carpet. My blood. The living room was a mess and inside my head, a storm thundered through my skull.

  I'm going to kill him. Wait. Not just take his life. I'm going to do something that actually kills something inside of him. Why? Because he did that to me. He cut that thing inside of myself that made me. Stop. Don't think about that. It's okay. Think about that night. What he did.