Page 9 of Beautiful Nightmare
Raven’s astute eyes scan my face. “It’s been a long day. Maybe you’re right. But if you want to talk to the RA tomorrow, I’m game. I’ll go with you.”
I nod, shooting her a tight smile, then turn my head and extend the same awkward smile to Star.
“Okay, I’m going to respect your privacy. I get it. Moving in with new people is rough. But just so you know? This was weird. It makes me nervous.” She plucks a hair tie from her wrist, scoops her hair up and wrangles it into a knot on top of her head. Her green eyes search my face before she finally shrugs.
“Yeah.” I let out a ragged sigh. “I think we’re all agreed on that. I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry this situation, or whatever the hell it is, has freaked you out.”
Raven sits on the bed beside me. “Don’t worry about us. Try to get some sleep. Things might not seem so crazy in the morning. Or maybe we’ll find out there’s a reason behind it.” Her smile is hopeful. I hate to tell her, but I have a whole lot more crazy in store for her that I can’t begin to explain.
“Yeah.” I moan inwardly. “Maybe it’s nothing. You’re right, I should try to catch some z’s.”
* * *
The honest truthis I’m not going to bed, I’m simply peopled out. There’s no way I’m going to sleep anytime soon. For whatever reason, this guy felt the need to invade my private space. Why? And it doesn’t help that I keep wavering back and forth between believing my high school boyfriend is really here, alive and well, and admitting I’m certifiably crazy. I can keep asking myself questions all night, but the only one who has the answers is… Hawk.Fuck,that feels so weird to say. And there’s no way I’m sitting down to have a conversation about this. What am I supposed to say?Hello, back-from-the-dead boyfriend. Was there a reason you were snooping around in my room? Were you looking for something? Or were you trying to scare the shit out of me? Because if it’s the latter, congrats, you’ve succeeded.
Attempting to keep my mind off of it, I rather methodically begin to empty the last of my belongings from the boxes, bags, and luggage I’d brought them in, stashing everything in semi-appropriate places. I’ll figure it all out later, but for now, everything is squared away and no longer scattered across the room, so I feel a bit better.
A weird sensation shimmies down my spine. I’m positive that whoever was in here touched my things. I remember leaving my backpack hooked by the straps over my desk chair. It’d been on the bed when I came in. A closer inspection of the framed photos I’d set out on the bookshelf has me fairly certain they’re no longer in the same place I’d put them earlier. And my toothbrush, which I swear I’d left in a cup on the right side of the sink, is currently on the left. Cautiously, I pick it up and inspect it. The bristles are dry. I bite my lip. If I’d brought a spare, I’d consider chucking this one, but I don’t want to have to hunt down a new, untouched toothbrush, so I load it with toothpaste and begin to brush my teeth.
What purpose would Hawk—or would anyone—have in rearranging my things? I stare at my reflection in the mirror, watching as bit by bit my face falls into a helpless expression. Unable to stand myself a second longer, I rinse and spit, jamming the toothbrush back into the cup and moving it back where I know I had it. I’m not fucking crazy. I’m not. My eyes slam shut.I’m not.
Out in my room, I sit down at my desk to check my email before I go to bed. I hardly ever have any, but my parents insist on using it, even though I’ve told them I’m more likely to respond to them if they shoot me a text. Opening my laptop, I see I’m still logged into my Gmail account. I glance through my inbox, not immediately finding either of my parents’ addresses. It’s mostly a bunch of junk email. I’ll have to go through and unsubscribe again. Annoyed, I cast one last glance through everything, and my breath catches. I don’t know how I didn’t see it the first time I looked through. But there’s an email to me…from me.
What the hell is this?I click on it, and sure enough, the sender and receiver both are listed as the same, as if I’ve sent myself an email. Not that I haven’t done it before when I wanted to remember something, but I sure as hell didn’t send one to myself today. The message is only three words containing one unnerving message.
I blame you.
He blames… me? Forwhat?
SIX
HAWK
I blame you.I wonder if she’s seen the note I emailed her last night from her own account. If she realizes I was in her room. That I touched her things. Does she understand I’m coming for her? If not, she’ll figure it out soon enough.
“Get your fuckin’ head in the game, Hawk! Do you want to start next week or do you wanna let Grey have a shot at it? We’re down two upperclassmen wide receivers. This is your fuckin’ golden moment, kid.”
The new guy, Xander Grey, shoots me a look that says,Hey man, totally up to youand follows it up with a shrug of his shoulders and a wink, good-naturedly taunting me.Fucker.And he’s good, too. I’ve been watching. That whole crew of freshmen this year is outstanding. I’m going to have to up my game or ride the bench this season.
I exhale heavily.Fuck.After a night spent tossing and turning, my head stuck on the girl across the hall and swamped with all the ways I can make her regret her decision to come here, I’m in a foul state of mind, which is exacerbated by the fact that Coach Randolph is riding my ass hard. I’ve dropped more passes today than is acceptable, and if I’m not careful he’s going to allow one of the fucking freshmen to play instead of me. I don’t think he’s bluffing one bit about pulling me and playing Xander.
I jog over to where he’s waiting for me. “Well?” Coach Randolph eyes me steadily. He’s a good coach. Knows when to push us when we need it and when to let us prove ourselves.
I’ve worked too hard to fuck things up. This shit should have stayed buried in the past. “I’m good, sir. Sorry. Can we run the play again?”
Montclair, a sophomore quarterback, joins us, clapping my shoulder pad with his hand. “Just run it like we’ve done it a million times since last year. We got this.”
Usually, I wouldn’t be starting as a sophomore and neither would he, but two of our wide receivers and our quarterback have all been sidelined with injuries, which is a shitty way for the team to start the season, but what can I say? I’ll happily step in to show everyone what I’m capable of. It’s a good thing we have a lot of depth at the wide receiver position.
The next time we run the play, the ball drops right into my waiting hands, and I run into the end zone.That’show it’s supposed to be done. I put my arms in the air, holding the ball in triumph over my head.
“Again,” comes the booming voice of Coach Randolph. “And again. And again, until you’re sure you can run the goddamn play flawlessly.”
I remove my helmet, swiping the sweat from my brow with my forearm. “Yes, Coach!” is the resounding response from the entire offensive line.
He claps his hands. “Let’s go, then. Hustle! Go, go, go!”
Running that play over and over again serves to keep my mind occupied. That is, until out of the corner of my eye, I spot Lux in a group of students walking around the track. No doubt it’s the freshmen tour of campus. Orientation advisors take them around after they register so they know where the fuck they’re going on the first official day of classes.
