by Ivy Rush
But then my eyes land on my bed, which is now stripped of its sheets. The sheets that Amabel let me borrow last night.
Okay, don’t panic, I think, even as my stomach drops. Maybe she needed them for her own bed. But the door of Amabel’s closet is open slightly, and I can spot the pink-and-blue Lauren Ashley sheets shoved into the corner, crumpled into a ball.
No, Amabel ending me a message.
Whatever little bit of friendship or politeness we had is over. But why?
There’s a knock on the main door of our suite, and the noise is so startling that I jump.
Raider.
It has to be.
But it’s not Raider.
It’s Tyler. I should have known. Somehow Raider has figured out a way to get into my suite, even though there’s a keypad with a code that’s supposed to be hack proof.
“Hey,” Tyler says, giving me a friendly smile, showing off his perfect white teeth, the same perfect white teeth that everyone here seemingly has, a nod to the access to great orthodontia that money can buy.
“Hi,” I say. “Listen, I’m really sorry about what happened in class today.”
“Oh, whatever,” he says, waving his hand like it’s no big deal. “It’s not your fault. Raider’s an asshole.”
“Yeah.”
We lapse into an awkward silence, and then finally Tyler says, “I hope you don’t mind that I looked your room number up in the student directory. I just, um, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, but the look on his face makes it seem as if he’s talking about more than what happened in our classroom this morning. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You didn’t see it?” he asks, looking worried.
“See what?”
Tyler sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone and pulls up Instagram. He tilts the screen toward me. On it is a picture of me, one that was obviously taken yesterday when I was wearing my way too small uniform.
It’s hashtagged with all kinds of horrible things.
Next to it is a second picture of me, this one from the party last night, when I was wearing Amabel’s strappy black dress. I’m leaning back against the wall, my eyes half closed. The strap of my dress has slipped down just a little bit, and I look like maybe I’m drunk, even though I hadn’t even had a sip of alcohol.
“Who did this?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“I don’t know,” Tyler says, but the way he says it makes it clear that he does know.
My hand is shaking as I give him his phone back.
“Hey,” Tyler says, his tone light. “You want to get out of here?”
He takes me to the frozen yogurt place where he works, YoYo’s. At least, I thought it was where he works.
It turns out he owns it.
“Wait, so you own this entire place?” I say as we sit at the tables, eating fro-yo. It’s one of those make your own places, and I chose a twist of chocolate and peanut butter, topped with peanut butter sauce, hot fudge, chocolate chips and whipped cream. It’s delicious and even though it’s the dead of winter, the place is pretty busy.
“Yeah,” Tyler says, looking sheepish. “I’m a franchisee. My parents thought it would look good to colleges, so they invested in me when I turned eighteen last year.”
“Oh.” I twirl my spoon around in my pink plastic cup of yogurt, wondering what it would be like to get a frozen yogurt shop gifted to you as present instead of what I got from my dad for my eighteenth birthday, which was nothing. Although Brynn took me out to dinner at The Cheesecake Factory using a gift card she’d gotten from one of her friends for her own birthday a couple of months earlier. We actually had a great night, ordering virgin cocktails and gorging ourselves on fried food and cheesecake.
“Sorry,” Tyler says. “I bet that sound really pretentious, huh? That I got a frozen yogurt place for my birthday?”
“No!” I say. “Well, maybe a little.” I glance around at the green and pink décor, the colorful plastic tables, the art on the walls that shows drawings of frozen yogurt that have been made to look human with smiling faces and waving arms.
“It totally does,” he says. “Trust me, I know.”
“So,” I say, spooning up another mouthful of yogurt and trying to ignore the stares of the workers who are scurrying around behind the counter, ringing up customers and wiping down counters. “If you have all this..” I wave my hands around. “What did you do to end up at Tanglewood?”
Tyler sits up straight, leaving his spoon in his frozen yogurt and wiping his hands on his pants. “Do you mind if maybe I tell you in a week or so? After you’ve made up your mind about me already?”
“It’s only going to take me a week to make up my mind about you?”
“If I play my cards right.” He grins, his blue eyes sparkling, and I realize how cute he is, if you like that type. Blond hair, blue eyes, All-American good looks… the total opposite of Raider’s tall, dark and handsome.
“Well, I don’t know,” I say, trying not let myself think about why I would automatically compare him to Raider. “It’s not really fair. I mean, you know what I did.” Everyone knows what I did. Thanks to Raider being Senator Townsend’s son, it was all over the papers.
“Not all of it.”
“Well, then, what do you know?” I ask curiously, mostly because, despite myself. I want to know what everyone at school thinks about me.
He leaves his spoon in his own cup of yogurt, then ticks a list off on his fingers. “That you and Raider found a body in the woods. That it was one of your teachers from high school. That no one knows how he died. That you guys worked out a deal with the prosecutor to complete a semester here so that no charges would be filed.”
“That’s about it.” I try to keep my tone light, hoping he doesn’t ask me anything else, if we killed Mr. Rankin, why were in the woods that night in the first place if we didn’t.
But before Tyler can say anything else, Raider Townsend picks that moment to walk through the door of YoYo’s.
The sight of him, along with Tyler’s questions, immediately bring me back to that night.
The warm summer night.
The blood everywhere, so thick on the ground it seemed to rise up and permeate the air, making my mouth taste of copper.
The screams.
God, the screams.
Raider walks over to a table in the corner, brushing roughly against me as he passes.
He sits down so that he’s facing me, spreading his legs wide, his large fame filling the space.
“Ignore him,” Tyler says, rolling his eyes.
I wish I could. It’s different for Tyler, with his family money and his yogurt shops.
“Why does he hate you so much?” I ask.
Tyler shrugs. “My father is thinking about running against Senator Townsend in the primary.”
Oh. Wow. The Townsend family is a dynasty. Anyone to go against them must either have serious balls. Or be seriously stupid.
“So, we need someone to work the cash register a few times a week, mostly afternoons,” Tyler says, changing the subject. “You interested?”
“Yes.” I nod. “I am.” I’m broke and having a job would not only help my bank account, it would help make sure that the DA doesn’t bring charges against me. If I can prove that I’m being a good member of society -- and including getting a job -- it can only help.
“Great,” Tyler says. “When can you start?”
“Right away.”
I’m trying my best to keep from looking at Raider. But when he catches my eye, he smiles and pulls out his phone, then makes a big show of taking a picture of me.
So that’s it.
If it wasn’t clear before, it’s clear now.
He’s the one behind the Instagram account, and now only that, he’s throwing that fact in my face.
I think about asking Tyler to ask Raider to leave – after all, isn’t it Tyler’s restaurant?—but I know that would
just make things worse.
“The training shouldn’t take long,” Tyler’s saying. “I’m sure you won’t have a problem catching on. Have you ever worked a cash register before?”
“No,” I admit, “but I’m a pretty fast learner, and I’m great with –”
“Fancy seeing you here.” Raider appears at our table, apparently done with being ignored. He’s changed out of his uniform and into a pair of expensive-looking dark jeans and a soft-looking navy sweater. On his feet are gleaming new Nikes, so white they have to be fresh out of the box. He doesn’t wear a jacket, even though it’s freezing outside.
“Is it?” I say snidely, wanting to let him know that I know he’s been following me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Raider asks easily, taking the spoon out of my hand and dipping it into my frozen yogurt and taking a bite.
“Nothing,” I say, shrugging. “Just that you don’t seem like the frozen yogurt type.”
“What type do I seem?”
“The type to start an instagram account and post inappropriate pictures of me,” I say sweetly. “The type to maybe tell my roommate to stay away from me.”
“Your roommate?” Raider frowns.
“Don’t play innocent,” I say, trying to keep my fury at him contained.
“Asshole,” Tyler mutters.
Raider sighs. “This again?” He drops my spoon back into my yogurt and turns his attention to Tyler, reaching down and pulling him out of his chair by his collar. Raider throws him up against the far wall.
“What did you call me?” Raider demands.
I’m out of my seat, grabbing at Raider’s arms, trying to get him to stop. “Raider,” I say. “Stop.”
“What did you call me?” Raider demands, his voice more forceful, his hands around Tyler’s neck now.
Tyler claws at Raider’s hands ineffectually, trying to remove them.
Tyler’s face is turning red now, and panic starts to rise in my throat, heavy and insistent.
“What did you call me?” Raider repeats, slamming Tyler back up against the wall.
“Raider, stop!” I say. “Please!” My arms are wrapped around his bicep, trying to pull him away, but it feels as if he’s made of steel.
Behind us, I can hear one of the employees calling 911, giving the address of YoYo’s. None of them move to help Tyler, even though it wouldn’t matter – Raider is too big, too strong.
“Raider, please,” I say again, trying desperately to figure out what it is I can say to get him to stop. Because if there’s one thing I know about Raider, it’s that sometimes he doesn’t stop. I know that better than anyone, know what he’s capable of.
I close my eyes for a second, trying to steady myself, and I’m back in the woods once again, the coppery taste of blood on my tongue, my whole body shaking, Mr. Rankin’s body on the ground, his eyes wide, so wide that at first I thought he must have to be alive, but then I realized he wasn’t, that dead people could have their eyes open too.
I open my own eyes now, grabbing Raider’s arm.
“Raider,” I say, my voice low. “Raider, let him go.”
Tyler’s neck is still read, but the skin on his face is starting to go blue.
“Raider,” I say. “Please, I’ll leave with you. I’ll go wherever you want, I’ll…I’ll do whatever you want.”
That’s enough to do it.
Raider lets him go, and Tyler falls to the floor, gasping for breath. Immediately, the employees of the store rush to Tyler’s aid, bringing him water and asking him if he’s okay.
Raiders turns to me. “Let’s go.”
I have no choice but to follow him out of the store.
He turns around and grabs my wrist, pulling me toward his car, which is parked on the other side of the building.
“Why the hell did you do that?” I demand. “Is this because his father is primarying yours?”
“You think I give a shit about that?” Raider growls as he quickens his pace. his strides so long that it takes two of my steps to match one of his. He pulls me along, and I struggle to keep from tripping.
“Then why the hell did you do that?”
“I don’t like you hanging around with that douchebag.”
“You don’t… ” I trail off and stop, wrenching my wrist away and crossing my arms over my chest. “You do realize that this morning you loaded pictures of me to an instagram account and hashtagged all of the posts with things like slut and whore, right? That you literally just took a picture of me in that store, probably to post to said instagram account?’”
We’re at his car now, which explains why he let me pull my wrist away. His car is sleek and black and looks brand new. He opens the passenger side door, like he wants me to get in.
“No.” I shake my head.
“Cass,” he says, looking at the sky like he’s trying to find the strength to deal with me. “Trust me, you do not want to try my patience right now.”
“I’m not getting into your car.”
“Jesus, Cass.” He slams the door shut and grabs my arms, swings me around until my back is up against his car. “Why do you always have to make this harder than it should be?”
“Tell me,” I say, and now my eyes are pricking with tears and I blink them away, angry at myself for having this kind of reaction. “Why don’t you want me hanging out with Tyler, who’s been nothing but nice to me, and yet you can torment me like this?”
“Because,” he says. “Because you’re mine, Cass. I own you.” His mouth is just inches from mine. It’s dark out already, thanks to the short January days, and his strong jaw is illuminated by the street light behind him. “I can do what I want to you, and I tell you who you can hang out with.”
“I hate you,” I say.
The side of his mouth turns up into a smile. “No, you don’t, Cass. That’s the thing. You don’t hate me at all.”
“Yes, I do.” I reach out and try to push him away, but of course it’s ineffectual. He’s way too strong, too big. And I know what he’s capable of doing with that strength.
“Let me go,” I say. “The police are going to be here soon.”
“The police?” he scoffs.
“Yeah. It’s against the law to do what you just did to Tyler. It’s assault, ever heard of it?”
He smirks again, making him look exactly like the cocky, arrogant bastard he is. “You really think that the police are going to give a shit what I did in there?” he says. “They barely cared about what happened to Mr. Rankin.”
I swallow. I know he’s right.
“This time there are witnesses,” I say. “This time people saw what happened. They’ll tell on you. The police will have no choice but to arrest you, to take you in.”
This is making him mad. I can tell by the way his hands are tightening around my shoulders, by the way he takes a step closer to me. His movements are contained, controlled, though, not like they were back in the yogurt shop, when he lost it on Tyler.
“Is that what you think? That the police are going to arrest me? You know, for someone so smart, you’re being very naïve right now, Cass.”
He widens his stance in front of me, then leans down, taking one hand off my shoulder and cupping my chin. “Don’t you understand by now that I do what I want, when I want? And what I always get away with it?”
“You’re crazy,” I say, thrusting my chin into the air, forcing my gaze to meet his.
His dark eyes burn into mine, and his thumb sweeps over my bottom lip, sending fireworks sparking through me. His other hand leaves my shoulder and slips under my coat, around my back, and in one smooth movement, he pulls me against him while crushing his mouth to mine.
My mind screams that this is wrong and tells me to struggle, but my body is already surrendering to his, to the strong way he’s holding me, to the brush of his lips against mine.
And when his tongue pushes into my mouth, I’m helpless to resist.
I’ve never been kissed before, neve
r had someone’s tongue in my mouth, and the sensation is foreign and exciting. He kisses me slowly, erotically, the slight stubble that’s starting to bloom on his cheeks scraping across my skin.
It doesn’t take me long to get the hang of it, and before long, I’m kissing him back. His hands are still under my coat, and they slide up to the side of my breasts, and just stay there, teasing me.
A throb of desire sets up residence between my legs, like an itch that needs to be scratched, and I have the urge to move my body against his, to grind against him and relieve the ache inside of me with the friction of his body.
But he pulls back as soon as I press my body to his, moving his hand from my breast to my neck, where he grabs my hair and tugs hard enough to make me gasp.
“Greedy girl,” he murmurs, and then he pulls back from me completely. “You want to go?” he says, challenging me. “Then go. Go back to Tyler. Go back to him.”
My legs feel shaky and my head is confused. I can still taste him on my lips, can still feel how hard and muscular his chest felt against mine.
But before I can move back toward the yogurt shop, to check on Tyler, my phone rings from deep in my coat pocket.
I fumble around, grateful for the distraction.
“It’s Dr. Markowski,” I say dumbly, wondering why she’s calling me and not emailing me like she said she was going to.
“Answer it,” Raider says immediately, taking the phone out of my hand and answering it for me, setting my phone on speaker.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Cassidy? This is Dr. Markowski calling.”
“Oh,” I say, “Hi.”
“I was just calling to see if you could make an appointment for tomorrow morning at 9:30.”
“Oh, um…I’m not….” I trail off, groping around in my head for an excuse. I really, really don’t want to have a counseling session tomorrow, especially one where I’m going to have to pretend I have no memory of what happened that night in the woods with Raider.
“I already checked your schedule, and it seems as if you don’t have class during that time.”
I sigh. I want to say no, but I also know that part of the deal of being at Tanglewood is agreeing to weekly therapy sessions. If I start trying to dodge them already, it could jeopardize the report I get at the end of the semester.