THE SECOND THE door to that dark classroom closed behind him, I collapsed to the ground in a shaky ball. I stayed there until I could breathe normally and get my legs to support my weight again. The professor of my class that day was less than amused by my tardiness, but I couldn’t very well explain to him what had happened. Not when I was struggling to understand it myself.
It’s taken me the last three days to finally wrap my head around it, and even then, it still feels like a bad dream.
I knew my reunion with Rafferty wasn’t going to be a pleasant one, but I foolishly tricked myself into believing there was a chance it wouldn’t be that bad. That every horrible situation I’ve made up in my head was simply a worst-case scenario. I knew Rafferty wouldn’t ever move on from what happened, but I couldn’t help but hope that while I was away on the East Coast trying to heal, Rafferty had been here doing the same.
All it took was one look in his cold eyes to know he hasn’t healed at all. The same pain and anger that was on his face the night everything happened remains there now. It’s a sight that is as heartbreaking as it is terrifying.
The scenarios I’d concocted didn’t come close to how our reunion actually played out. I’ve seen Rafferty inflict physical pain on others many times. I naively believed I was never going to be one of his victims. That I may be the recipient of his wrath and anger, but never his bruising touch.
It was a harsh lesson to learn that not only am I his enemy, but I’m also going to be one of his victims.
I’m the person that struck the match and burned everything down around him. The rules we used to play by no longer exist. Rafferty has had five years to come up with a new rule book, and my tender temple and aching shoulder are proof there aren’t any lines he won’t cross.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified of what my future looks like. I’ve had all this time to prepare myself for it, but I know without a doubt that I’m not ready.
For the first two days after our encounter, I let the fear and anxiety control me. I woke up from my fitful sleep covered in sweat, the terror still working through my veins like a virus. My stomach was in constant knots, and I felt like I was going to throw up. The jumpiness Zadie had noticed before had multiplied tenfold, and I truly did act like a monster was going to come around the corner at any given time.
This morning, I woke up in a similar state, but the exhaustion has brought on another emotion. Irritability. And right now, I’m letting that take over, and I’m savoring the fact it’s briefly numbing my fear and unease.
Everyone in the campus dining hall is talking too loud, and every two minutes, it seems like someone is bumping into me or my chair. The Styrofoam cup that holds my coffee is covered in crescent-moon dents from me digging my fingernails into it. I’m lucky I haven’t poked a hole in the damn thing at this point.
Shifting in my seat made of hard plastic, I pull the well-worn Yankees baseball hat farther down my forehead. I’m wearing it for two reasons. One, I was too tired to wash my hair this morning, and two, I’m hoping it’s helping hide the dark circles my concealer is failing to fully disguise.
“Did you decide if you’re coming to the party tonight?” Lark’s soft voice pulls me from the dark fog swirling in my head. Completely out of it, I hadn’t realized she’d sat down across from me with her signature green juice in her hand.
Lark Holloway is the only college student I know who shows up to class looking like she walked off the runway or off an Instagram model’s feed. While most of us look like we barely crawled out of bed in time for class, she looks pristine. There isn’t a blonde hair out of place or a single fleck of lint on her black lace-trimmed camisole or white flowy pants. The four-inch heels that constantly sit on her feet are what really get me, though. Olympic Sound isn’t a huge university, but I wouldn’t be caught dead walking across campus in heels.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I offer, Rafferty’s parting threat playing in my head. You’re not here to make friends or enjoy your time. “Actually, I’m fairly certain it’s a terrible idea. I know Zadie really wants me there. She’s been like a broken record talking about it.”
While I’ve been reliving the worst period of my life, my roommate has been planning her outfit for this party and relentlessly pestering me about going with her.
“This party has kind of become a tradition for her. Well, for all of us I guess since we’ve gone to it every year.” While Zadie talks loudly and dramatically waves her hands about, Lark is soft-spoken. Everything about her is calm and gentle, and I find that her energy puts me at ease. Which is something I need right now. “It’s the campus’s unofficial back-to-school party, and since the guys that host it are graduating this year, Zadie wants everyone there.” A small smile pulls at her lips as she takes a sip of her juice. “You may have noticed she takes these things a little too seriously.”
The sound that comes from me is a mix of a laugh and a scoff. “Oh, really? No, I hadn’t put that together until now. I just thought she liked to occasionally show me every article of clothing in her closet,” I joke, glancing at the entrance. “Where is she anyway? She said she was going to meet us here before her next class.”
Lark’s manicured hand gestures to the back of the room toward the hallway that leads to private study rooms. “She’s over there talking to Rome and Rafferty.”
My chest hurts as the heart that used to belong to him constricts. I choke out his name before I can stop myself. “Rafferty?”
Turning my head, my eyes zero in on Zadie and the pair of tall figures she talks to. The one I don’t recognize, Rome, nods along to whatever she’s saying but his focus is really on the phone in his hand. Rafferty at least looks at her while she speaks, but the bland look on his face is one I recognize. It’s one he’s always worn, and I know it means he couldn’t give a single shit about what my roommate is telling him.
When things shifted between us in high school, he stopped looking at me like that. It made me feel special that he cared about what I had to say. He used to make me feel a lot of things. Now all he makes me feel is scared and anxious. And so fucking guilty.
I hate it but know I must bear it. Choices were made, and Rafferty’s wrath was always going to be the price for them.
“Zadie knows Rafferty?”
It’s none of your business, Posie. Stop asking questions about him. The answers will only make it hurt worse.
“You’ve probably learned by now that Zadie knows everyone.” Lark laughs, turning her attention back to me. “Zadie and I were in the same dorm freshman year, and I introduced her to Rafferty. He transferred to my high school during the start of his senior year, and we had some friends in common, so we got to know each other.”
An ugly and uncontrollable surge of jealousy rushes to the surface and my muscles grow tight. It’s like an automatic reflex that’s been programmed into me. There isn’t a single logical reason I should still feel this way, but no matter how much time has passed or how much pain I’ve endured for him, it’s still a habit I can’t seem to break.
Trying my best to recover from my unwanted physical reaction to Lark’s comment, I nod my head and take a drink of my now cold coffee. “That makes sense. I’m convinced Zadie could make friends with a rabid raccoon.”
“I’m pretty sure that she’d succeed too, but I wouldn’t go as far as to say that she’s friends with Rafferty. Don’t get me wrong, she’s tried, but he and his brother don’t really let people get close. They can be kind of … standoffish. Guarded.”
Pax was always more on the shy side, but he had a group of friends at Hemlock Hill that he hung out with. It makes me sad he’s become reclusive like his brother.
On their own accord, my eyes drift back to where Raff stands. Zadie is laughing at something, and as she does, she reaches out and places her hand on his forearm. Like he can sense me watching this interaction, his gaze slices into mine. I don’t know what I’m expecting him to do—or hoping he’ll do—but like a cold impassive statue, he simply stares back at me.
Rome says something and nudges him with his shoulder, but Rafferty is unmoved. Something in my gut tells me he’s daring me to look away from him—to run from him and whatever sinister intentions he has for me. I want to run, and know that I should, but like I said earlier, I’m tired and I’m irritated, and I don’t feel like giving him the satisfaction. Not yet anyway. I know what’s coming my way, but that doesn’t mean I have to make it easy for him.
Lifting my cup, I nod my head once in a silent greeting. Once his face darkens and his lips flatten into a tight line, I look away from him. It was a small act of rebellion, but it made me feel more in control than I have in three days.
It’s also a move that doesn’t go unnoticed by Lark.
Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rise in confusion and her doll-like sapphire eyes widen. “Do you know Rafferty Wilde?”
It’s not a lie when I shake my head. “Nope.”
I know Rafferty Blackwell, but he’s not here. He’s dead, and I was the murder weapon.
Any further conversation on the topic comes to a screeching halt when Zadie skips back to the table with Rome and Rafferty following a step behind. Like I’m watching a violent storm roll in, my bones brace for impact.
While Rafferty’s expression is cold and threatening, Rome’s lips are curled into an arrogant smirk, and his posture is relaxed and nonchalant.
He’s about the same height as Raff with similar broad shoulders and trim waist. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to learn they spend a lot of time working out together. Where Rafferty’s dark hair is longer and the messy waves fall to his forehead and curl around his ears, Rome’s almost-black hair is shorn short. Raff’s always been pale, but Rome’s skin has a natural olive tone.
Even with these differences in appearance, you can tell with one look that they were cut from the same cloth. One of them just doesn’t bother hiding behind a casual mask. He lets everyone know that he’s not to be fucked with.
Zadie tugs on the long strands of my stick-straight hair before plopping down in the white plastic chair beside me. “Hi, babes.”
The blonde across from us opens her mouth to return the greeting but stops when Rome comes to stand directly behind her. With his hands on the back of her chair, he leans his head down next to hers.
“Hello, princess.”
There’s a split second that I believe there’s something going on between them, but as Lark’s perfectly symmetrical face twists into utter disgust and she whirls in her seat to shove him away, I discover I’m in fact very wrong.
“Back the hell off, Valentino,” she snaps with a harshness I didn’t know she was capable of. “What did I say about calling me princess?”
Rome’s smirk only grows at this and his brown eyes light up with mischief. “And what did I say the last time you put your hands on me like this?” He twists a honey-blonde strand of her hair between his fingers, and she immediately slaps his hand away. “I said if you want to hit or shove me, that’s fine, but at least put some effort into it. Put some fucking weight into. I like it rough. Make it hurt, princess.”
“You’re impossible,” she seethes as she flies up from her chair and swings her bag over her shoulder. “Zadie, I’ll see you tonight at the party, and Posie, I hope I’ll see you there too, but don’t let her pressure you into it. You can say no. She will find a way to get over it. Isn’t that right, Zadie?”
Zadie blinks up at Lark. “Um, false. I will one hundred percent hold a grudge until the day I die if she doesn’t come to this party.”
I can feel his eyes on me. With each pass of them over my skin, it’s like blades are slicing into my flesh, adding to the invisible scars he’s already left there. He’s waiting for me to give in, to look up at him, but I keep my focus on my roommate and new friend.
Deciding not to push the subject since she knows it’s a loss cause, Lark shakes her head and looks at me sympathetically. “Good luck.”
“Good luck?” Zadie repeats loudly as Lark walks away from us. “Why the hell does she need good luck? It’s one fucking party. I don’t know why everyone’s making such a big deal out of it.” Turning her attention back to me, she jabs a finger into the tabletop as she all but orders, “You’re going and you’re going to have some goddamn fun. Got it?”
My rebuttal is on the tip of my tongue but admitting that attending isn’t a good idea in front of Rafferty feels like letting him win. He doesn’t want me here, and he sure as hell doesn’t want me to enjoy a single second of my time here. So instead, I lift my shoulder and lean back in my chair with false bravado.
“Maybe I should go,” I offer. “It could be fun.”
Do you know the expression playing with fire? Well, I’m juggling flames knowing full well I’m going to get burned.
Zadie bounces in her chair and the many bracelets she wears chime together as her hands clap. “Yes! See, was that so hard?”
Lifting my chin, I finally look into Raff’s intense gaze. My heart thuds painfully against my chest and a shiver runs down my spine, but I still don’t shy away. “No, it wasn’t. I really don’t know what I was so afraid of.”
Rafferty used to be one of the few people on the planet that really knew me. He could know what I was thinking just from the way my brows pulled together or my posture shifted. And I could do the same with him.
I wonder if he can still see through me and if he knows I’m lying through my fucking teeth.
I don’t look away from him even as Zadie says her goodbyes and kisses me on the cheek. It’s not until she’s fully walked through the exit does Rafferty speak.
“This is your last warning.” His words are low and flat, lacking all emotion. “Don’t go to the party. Stay home.”
My arms cross stubbornly, and I make sure to keep my hands safely tucked against my body to hide the way they’re trembling. I can pretend I’m brave all I want, but my body knows the horrible truth. I have every reason to be afraid, and Rafferty has every reason to be angry at me.
Standing from my chair, I grab my half-full cup of coffee and step around the table, preparing to leave. This move brings me closer to him and causes him to bristle. It’s the complete opposite reaction he used to have when I’d get near him. There was a time I was the only one who could calm him. It’s just more tragic proof of how things have changed.
“You’ve always had a terrible habit of telling me what to do, Raff.”
“Had you listened to me back then, we could have avoided all of this,” he bites. “You have no one but yourself to blame now.”
My throat burns as I nod once. “I know.”
It was never a question of if I’ll pay for what I did to Rafferty. It was a question of when. I’m officially out of borrowed time.
