Page 1 of Terror Tuesday
one
Fear is for the guilty.
That’s what they tell us. Seventh Society instills guidelines for the betterment of all. Rules are made for everyone’s safety.
I just wish people followed them.
Then we wouldn’t have issues likeDelta Pi Alphainitiates shooting up one of my family’s restaurants in a turf war.
“You’re driving too fast,” I say, clutching the door handle of Hunter’s Porsche. Echoes of my heartbeats jar my insides into a tumultuous rhythm. My foot presses on the floorboard as if it could slow us down.
He scoffs. “You said to get you out of there. I’m doing that.” Then, quieter, through a gritted jaw: “Can never do anything right with you.”
Rumbles travel through my stomach as my throat constricts with nausea. He’s upset, and it’s best not to test him when he’s like this. It’ll only start another argument. Or finish the one we had at Luminescence over his flirting with thatSigmaLambda Psisister. Better not to bring it up while he’s operating the vehicle that could kill us both.
“I gotta stop and take care of some business.” He says it like a command without room for disagreement. But I do anyway.
“You shouldn’t go to the warehouse again. If you get caught, not only will you be expelled, but the entirety ofBetaKappa Etawill be sanctioned?—”
“Enough, Olivia!God,your voice could make a straight man gay. I can’t take the nagging tonight. You give me such a headache sometimes.”
Tears sting my eyes with his frustrated sigh that follows. He blows cold air over my body like a chilled blanket, and horror rises inside me. Like I’m drowning in fear.
If he left me, who would I be then? Who would I get appointed to? Who would even accept me?
I cannot be alone.
It’s my fault. Even though he’s breaking every Northview University law, I shouldn’t have tested him when he’s already on edge. Turning my face away, so he doesn’t see me cry, I stare out the glistening window, watching the Brutalist buildings whizz by in a blur of grittiness. “Fine. Could you drop me off first?”
“No. We’re already here,” he says curtly, pulling up to a large metal structure deep in a black hole of an alley.
When he throws it in park, the leather seat squeaks as he shifts to me. “You coming or what?”
With a glance at his light eyes, I pause. Why would he even ask? I would never put myself in that position. “No.”
“Stay in the fucking car until I’m back.” He checks himself in the rearview, runs a hand through his dirty-blonde waves, then grabs the keys and jumps out.
It’s dark. Quiet. My fingers shake as I dig through my beaded evening bag, pulling out my father’s knife. The one he gave me on my sixteenth birthday, inscribed:
For the daughter who wields both steel and silence:
May your blade speak when your voice cannot.
I’ve never had to use it and hope I never do.
We’re in the bad part of town. The side that doesn’t appreciate university students like us “richies.” Hunter’s Porsche sparkles in the dim light like a homing beacon, I’m sure. Especially with his license plate—H4RTG0D—declaring to everyone he’s a Remington, destined for med school to follow in his father’s footsteps.
For someone so interested in the organ, he usually lacks one.
A buzzing notification almost makes me lose control of my weapon, but I quickly snag my phone from my bag and check the text.
Ryan
Are you safe? U okay?
Olivia, shit’s going down. Text back now.
Aiden
