“Not exactly.” I tried to calm my breathing. “There was a slight misunderstanding in class, and Lisa—”
“Slight misunderstanding, my ass,” Gabe said under his breath. “Look, I know you have to draw that teacher-slash-student line, and I respect you for it, but could you be any more of an ass? Seriously.”
“Are you telling me how to do my job or just insulting me?” I asked, dumbstruck that he’d said that to my face.
Gabe crossed his arms. “Both.”
“Listen—” I leaned forward, trying to use my weight to push past him. “—I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“She has me.” Gabe pushed back. “I’ll decide if she’s okay or not, and didn’t you say something about what she does in her personal time not really mattering to you? So, why don’t you go have a heart elsewhere? We’re full-up on assholes here, and I really don’t want to have to see my own face on the six o‘clock news because I kicked your sorry ass.” His eyes narrowed. “Besides, what would Daddy say?”
With that, he slammed the door in my face.
Deserved. Well played and totally deserved.
I pressed my fingers to my temples. It was tempting to hack the freaking database just to get her cell number. I wanted a damn smiley face or something — something that said she was fine, something that—
Inspiration struck. I didn’t need to hack anything. I had all of the students’ contact numbers, as well as their emails, back at my house.
I ran down the hall and drove like a bat out of hell. I’d email her. It would be less personal, and what girl ignores email from a professor? Especially one who was paranoid she was going to fail his class?
CHAPTER TWENTY
I used to count cuts instead of sheep. I made small cuts down my arm, but the pain didn’t make me feel a damn thing. Mel came over a few nights before I was going to put my plan in place. I was the perfect boyfriend. I cooked her dinner; I rented a movie; we talked; we laughed. I wanted her to remember the good times, so when I hurt her I’d be able to pull that string again. That’s the thing about controlling others. During the good times? That’s all they focus on. They focus on good because focusing on bad just makes them feel like less of a person. “See? He really loves me? He really cares!” Bullshit. She was a means to an end… my end. I was going to live forever — or maybe the right word is haunt? —The Journal of Taylor B.
Lisa
“WHO WAS THAT?” I asked on my way out of the bathroom, towel-drying my hair. Gabe had insisted that he hang out at my dorm while waiting for the maintenance guy to come fix my door.
What I thought was him babysitting ended up turning into a circus show as a few security guys showed up and put cameras and an alarm in my room. I’d asked if it was legal.
Gabe’s answer? “Wes Michels.” That was always the answer when it came to being allowed to do anything.
Granted, I was pretty sure that the university wouldn’t even blink since the Michels had basically donated enough funds to keep it running most of the year.
“A real live ass.” Gabe shrugged. “I told it to get lost. Didn’t budge at first, almost pulled out a shotgun, but, low and behold, it finally left before any violence ensued.”
“You talk a really big game for a guy who has trouble hitting a baseball, let alone a person.”
“Ouch.” Gabe grabbed his chest and winced. “That was a deep one. You owe me free foot massages for a week.”
“You have a wife for that.”
“I lost all massage privileges for a week after I forgot to empty the dishwasher.”
I grinned. “Sucks, but, sorry. I’m on her side.”
“Everyone’s on her side,” he grumbled.
“So? Seriously?” I plopped down on the couch. “Who was it?”
“Guess.” Gabe swore and ran his fingers through his golden-blond hair. His many tattoos moved across both arms as he flexed his muscles and put his hands behind his head.
“Publishers Clearinghouse?”
“Close.”
“Wes?”