Page 21 of Scary Suitor

He lets go, although there is discontentment in his pace, and I miss the opportunity to kick his shin.

“Really,” I mumble, flabbergasted. “There’s nothing here for you.”

I motion thoughtlessly to the lacrosse field and painting area. Seminar speakers, group activities, and staff all have their own-colored attires. Unless he’s here with the group of businessmen I saw.

“Impatient little girl,” he chides.

His demeaning chuckle acts as a rhythmic guide, building up a steady rush of blood to my cheeks and provoking a purr in my distant brain.

“You’ll know the reason for my visit soon.”

My muscles tighten, my mind spiraling from the implications. Did he leave another headless photo in my room? Will there actually be a dead person there? I hope he doesn’t take this obsession into hurtful territory.

I can’t take more of his sickening fascination.

I pour my energy into believing if I let him kiss me, hug me cozily, and talk like we’re in a relationship, then it’ll satiate him enough to not spur otherintimateactions.

This man ignores an inch, takes a mile, and seeks infinity.

“There will be a surprise later tonight; come see me,” he directs, jolting my chin with his rough knuckle.

“No way.”

The sun reflects off the green leaves, basking us in warmth as a salty breeze dances on our skin.

His lips stretch to a smile. “You will.”

“The last surprise,” I probe, cringing at the memories of the terror I had when I saw the headless man in the Polaroid.

He hums, not confirming whether or not he sent it. With our history, only he would and can send something morally questionable. I don’t know anyone well enough to get pranked; Finny thinks it’s childish, and the police think killers aren’t this bold or stupid to give proof of their crime.

His eyes linger on my neck, searching for the necklace like a lover’s caress in a moment of aquarelle dimension.

“It’s a shame,” he notes, mesmerizing green eyes glimmering wickedly. “You would’ve looked more beautiful with it.”

“You’re taking things too far,” I maul as I carefully study his chaste features. “A picture of a dead person? That’s tasteless.”

He cocks his head, voicing his confusion so innocently. The air is thick as I wait for his response, standing on bated breath, and amusement flounces through the uneasiness in his eyes.

I almost feel guilty for accusing him, even after he has been nothing but a nightmare. I still hate him for the stalking, ruining my life, and dangling me over the cliff.

The silence splits with a triumphant roar in the distance.

“You can’t possibly think I would—” Cassio pauses, handsome features twisting painfully, “…hurt you.”

The inked muscles below his elbows’ rolled sleeve flex, a silent hint of his strength.

He has put my sanity inside a blender and made a smoothie to quench his sick fascination.

A breath tethers in his throat, molding the noise into a low growl and resonating it over my ringing ears. Green eyes stare at me, hauntingly dull, before an emerald shade overtakes them. The blood in my veins freezes over, crumbling under the pressure of coiling phantom vines slithering from ankles to thighs.

Hedoeswant to hurt me.

Shivers raise the hairs on my nape. I realize it’s better to keep certain accusations in their place and live with blissful ignorance, or the unspoken truth, based on simple fleeting gestures, will taunt me.

Intrusive thoughts bounce back and forth, believing his words and distrusting his actions. The lavender-scented wind chimes will be the trigger to this conversation and revelation that he wants to cause me harm.

I love lavender flowers, but he defiled them, just like everything else in my life.

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