Page 88 of Snitches and Serpents

He stares back at me.

The tension between us is so thick that I could’ve cut it with a knife.

At last, Tristan jerks his chin towards the door.

After holding his hard stare for another second, I start towards the door without another word. But when I reach it, I pause and look back at him. He’s watching me with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I really am sorry,” I say.

And then I slip out the door. My purse with my phone and keys and everything else I brought to the party is waiting for me there on the first step outside the door. I snatch it up and then quickly make my way out of the house. No one stops me.

The moment I’m back in my dorm room, I lock the door firmly behind me and slump back against it. My heart pounds in my chest.

I’m free again. But for some reason, I feel more trapped than ever now.

Because now, I need to deal with the fallout.

Pulling out my phone, I quickly plug in the charger and sit down on my bed. Then I turn it on and call John Smith.

He answers quickly, but he sounds less than pleased.

“Firstly, you should only text me. Not call me,” he says by way of greeting. His tone is curt. “And secondly, where the hell have you been?”

Irritation crackles through me like bolts of white lightning. Grinding my teeth, I tighten my grip on the phone so hard that the charger cable still attached to it sways.

“Firstly, I figured that this was a conversation best had over the phone instead of sending a billion texts back and forth,” I retort, the annoyance in my voice barely hidden. “And secondly, Tristan kidnapped me and locked me up in his house.”

Shocked silence falls on the other end of the line.

Then John at last presses out, “What?”

“This week was the first exam week. If I miss it, I will get expelled. Which is exactly why he kidnapped me and locked me up. And now, I’ve missed it. So in the next few hours, I will be getting a notification that I have been expelled.”

“Uhm… Alright.”

“What do you mean ‘alright’?” I snap.

“Calm down. I’m just processing what you said.” He’s silent for a few seconds. Then he says, “He actually kidnapped you and locked you in his house?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… messed up.”

“Agreed.”

“Are you going to press charges?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t be able to prove that he did it.” Impatience streaks through me. “Look, can we focus on the problem at hand? I’m about to get expelled. Can you do something or not?”

“Watch that tone,” he replies, his voice darkening with anger.

I wince. Being rude to the only person who can help me right now is a really dumb move.

Softening my voice, I add, “Sorry.”

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