Shame (Ruin 3)

I felt dirty, shameful, almost like he knew all my secrets, knew my past, even though I knew it was impossible.

With tears clouding my vision, I rushed past him and into the ballroom. The more I thought about the rejection, his horror-stricken face, the faster I walked, until I was full-on running. Wes and Gabe were on the far side of the room, glancing around, probably for me. I ducked through the nearest door I could find and caught my breath in the hallway.

“Well, well,” a deep voice said from behind me. “Has the slut finally discovered her prince?”

I turned around so fast my heel broke.

A leather-gloved hand covered my mouth. The man’s face was concealed with a full black mask, only there was no place for his lips, and where eyes should be, he had them covered in black material. His suit was black as well.

I tried to scream, but the leather glove muffled things.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said, his voice grainy as if the mask was keeping it from coming fully through. “And I’m going to make you pay for what you did. You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

I fought against him and screamed again. My legs kicked, but he just laughed. My entire body seized with fear. The laugh was mocking, psychotic. I scrambled against him, at the same time fighting for air as the leather bit into my mouth and pushed against my nose.

The door to the ballroom burst open. “Lisa?” Professor Blake caught sight of me then started running in our direction.

“This isn’t over.” The man pushed me onto the ground. Air rushed out of my lungs at the impact. I coughed, my lungs burning from the combination of terror and not being able to breathe very well. The guy was already down the stairs and out of sight by the time I looked along the hall.

Professor Blake reached me and pulled me into his arms. I started sobbing hysterically against his chest, unable to control myself. In all the time I’d received those letters, I never thought that would happen. Who would do that? Who even KNEW?

“Shh,” he whispered into my hair. “It’s alright.” With his arms still around me, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and barked orders into it. “He just left the ballroom floor, took the west stairs. Find the bastard.”

I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent. I knew it wouldn’t last long. After all, I was crying in the arms of a guy who didn’t really like me that much. To top that all off with the fact that he was my professor? Yeah, talk about pointless. But still, his smell was comforting, his embrace familiar, strong.

“Do you think you can stand?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Yeah,” my voice rasped. “I broke my heel though.”

With a nod, he helped me to my feet then lifted me off the floor and into his arms like I weighed a feather, which, with my height, I knew wasn’t exactly true. He leaned against the door and pulled it open then returned his hand to my legs as he carried me into the ballroom.

“Tristan?” Gabe yelled over the music. “What happened?” Gabe charged toward us. A look of pure rage crossed his features as he took in my face and then Professor Blake’s — Tristan’s. The name was nice, better than Professor Blake, less forbidden.

“She was attacked,” Tristan answered.

At the same time, I started to say, “Professor Blake—“

“You son of a bitch!” Gabe lunged for him, but Wes intervened just in time, his arms wrapping around Gabe as he pushed him to the side and approached.

“Stop!” I half-sobbed. “I was attacked by someone else, not Professor Blake.”

“Tristan.” His eyes flashed, daring me to argue. “It’s Tristan.”

I gave a weak nod and shivered, too upset to fight.

“What happened?” Wes asked gently, looking at me then at Tristan.

“A guy…” My voice shook as I hugged myself.

Tristan pulled me closer to him.

“He, um, he had a mask on, but it covered his mouth so I couldn’t make out his voice very well, or his eyes. He said he was going to take care of me, just threatened me.”

Pallor crept into Gabe’s face. He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line as he pushed past Wes. His expression softened, and he cradled my face against his palms. “Lisa, is it—?”

“Fine,” I lied. “It’s totally fine. Nothing I haven’t handled before, Gabe. You know that.”

He didn’t buy it. His hands gripped tighter. “You know it’s never been like this,” he ground out. “No crazy fan has ever made actual physical contact.”