Page 2 of Unhinged Desires
Her laughs aren’t theirs. Her smiles aren’t fucking theirs. They’re mine. She’s mine. I pick up my phone again, take a photo of the douche, and email it to myself. I can only see his profile, but that’s all I need. I upload the image to the facial recognition software I use. It takes two minutes before I have his whole student file in front of me.
Logan Morgan. I embed his face into my memory. This punk is about to find out the consequences for his actions.
As soon as class is over, I jump up from my seat and push through the door. I wait outside the building for her to walk out. She’s whispering something to that guy. It’s the same one from her class. The fucker who’s now number one on my shit list. I had plans of following my busy bee back to her apartment. I know she’s going home to shower before she heads to the library for a few hours.
Instead, I slide up next to Logan. “Let’s take a walk,” I tell him. It’s not a question.
His face pales as he looks at me. He knows who I am. Everyone around here knows who I fucking am. It’s hard to stay anonymous when your name is on plaques all over the fucking school. It’s the curse of being born a McKinley. You’re constantly under the limelight. Everyone is always watching, waiting for a glimpse into the prestige that is old money.
“I have a class to get to,” he says.
“It wasn’t a fucking option. Walk with me,” I tell him again. And I don’t like repeating myself.
He nods his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He knows he’s fucked up. Everyone on this campus knows not to touch her. Every guy knows she’sun-fucking-touchable. Although he’s not the first to try, and he won’t be the last either. Which is why I’m always watching, always ready to pounce.
Logan follows me around the building and out the back. There’s no one around. I stop in my tracks and spin to face him. I don’t give him a chance to speak before my right fist connects with his face. I hear the crunch of bone breaking right before a stream of blood starts running from his nose. My left fist comes up and hooks him in the ribs. The fucker falls to the ground like the sack of shit he is. I look down at him, his body squirming as he tries to create distance between us.
Pain. Fear. It radiates off him and I soak it in. This is what I live for. Pain caused by me. My hands. The fear in their eyes at the knowledge of who—whatI am.
I lean down close to his ear. “Next time you see her, look the other fucking way.” I spit at him before my fist connects with his face again, and I knock the fucker out cold.
Rising to my full height, I jog around the building to where my car is parked. I slide in, pull out my laptop, and bring up the camera feed I’ve set up in her apartment. It looks like she just got home. I watch as she opens every fucking cabinet, every cupboard with caution, like she thinks something is about to jump out at her. It’s a new habit she’s developed over the past couple of weeks.
It’s almost like Lucy Christianson knows I’m coming for her.
TWO
Paranoia is enough to make anyone crazy. Or at least it’s enough to make mefeelcrazy as I make my way through my apartment, opening and closing every available door. I know the reality of someone hiding out in my kitchen pantry is probably slim to none, but I can’t shake the feeling that this place either has a ghost lounging around or someone is actually watching me.
Once I’m satisfied that the apartment is empty, outside of me and Casper, seeing as the hairs on the back of my neck still rise like there’s a pair of eyes searing through me, I shake my head. “There’s no one here, Lucy. You’re being ridiculous,” I murmur to myself, while hoping that if a ghost really is listening, maybe he’ll get the hint and leave.
I should have opted for a studio apartment instead of this three-bedroom monstrosity. When I first bought this place, I really thought I could convince my best friend Shar to move in with me. However, she’s too bloody stubborn and doesn’t want to be a “charity case.” Her words, not mine. She’s had a rough run in life. She deferred from university for two years while she nursed her mum through to her final days. I want to help her. I mean, if anyone deserves help, it’s Shar.
But, no, I couldn’t convince her, no matter how hard I tried. So I’m stuck in this big ol’ place by myself. With Casper.
Shaking the thoughts of being watched from my head, I pivot towards my bathroom. I just need a hot shower and to go to the library. I have to study if I want to pass my upcoming Econ exams. I lock the door behind me because it gives me the smallest sense of being safe—not that it really matters. I mean, if Casper wanted to walk in and watch me shower, he could just float on through. I guess it’s a lot like hiding under the blankets when you’re a kid. There’s not much a piece of fabric can do to protect you from whatever’s lurking under your bed, but it gives you a little bit of comfort anyway.
I turn on the water and wait for the steam to fill the room before I undress and hop inside the stall. The hot stream pelting my skin eases some of the tension in my muscles. Picking up the loofah, I squirt bodywash on top before rubbing it all over. After quickly rinsing off the suds, I switch off the tap, wrap a towel around my chest, and tuck it in place. Then I open the bathroom door and peer out into the hall. The steam billows through the gap as I glance from side to side and make a quick dash to my bedroom.
I really need to get over this, shake this stupid fear and relax in my own space. Maybe I should ask my brother to stay over again tonight? I’ve had Xavier sleep here a lot lately. He doesn’t complain or tease me about being afraid of my own shadow. He just comes around like it was his idea all along. He’s always gone when I wake up, but knowing he’s here helps me fall asleep. Unlike those nights when I feel like I’m alone butnot…
I don’t think I’m ever truly alone in my apartment, and frankly, I wish the bogeyman would just jump out and make himself known already. Because this whole not knowing but knowing at the same time is driving me insane. I’m not someone who has ever been afraid of the dark before. Now I sleep with the lights on—although they’re always off when I wake up.
Like I said, Casper is fucking with me. Or suddenly concerned about being energy efficient. Because if there were a real person creeping through my apartment at night, I would know. At least I’d like to think I would.
I walk into my closet and pull out a pair of jeans and a plain white sweater. My closet is separated into two very distinct sections. One side is full of designer everything: shoes, bags, clothes. The kind of stuff that’s straight off the runway. The other side is what I refer to as my “college wardrobe.” Don’t get me wrong, it’s all still labelled. You just can’t tell by looking at it. I like to try to blend in as much as I can. I don’t like being given special privileges because of my last name or the balance in my bank account.
Opening a drawer, I find a baby-blue matching bra and panties set from La Perla. Not that any of the guys I’ve ever let see my underwear would know what that is or what a single pair of my panties are worth. I don’t date in my family’s social circle. I’ve tried, but they’re all pretentious assholes looking for a helping hand up that billionaire ladder. Me, the designated heir to Christianson Corp, being their ticket to the top.
Once I’m dressed, I head back into the bathroom, run a comb through my hair, and apply some gloss to my lips. I find my bag and take one look around the living room, trying to memorise exactly where everything is. I swear things get moved in here all the time. Then I press the button for the elevator and wait. When the doors open, I sigh in relief, noting that the car is empty, and push the button for the garage.
My apartment is only a five-minute drive over to campus. I could walk—you know, if I didn’t have to look over my shoulder every five seconds. I stopped walking to the library about two months ago. That’s when it started. The paranoia, the feeling of constantly being watched.
Unlocking my car, I climb into the driver’s side before quickly engaging the locks again and starting up the engine. By the time I arrive at the library, the sun is going down and it’s getting darker outside. I stop as close to the entrance as I can. I used to park in the back, to avoid onlookers, as eyes are always glued to my Mercedes G-Wagon. I know it’s not the typical car you’d find at university. Not that I’m the only trust fund kid in attendance. I think I’m just the only one who doesn’t like to flaunt what they have.
Grabbing my bag, I throw it over my shoulder and slide out of my seat. I look around the car park. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around. Well, no one I can see anyway. My steps quicken, and as soon as I walk through the glass doors of the library, I let out a relieved breath. I need to figure out a way to shake off this unease. Maybe I should enrol in a self-defence class. That would be one way to at least have half a chance of fighting off whoeveror whateveris following me.
Deciding it’s my best shot, short of telling my family I think someone is following me and being forced to endure a twenty-four hour security team tailing me everywhere, I fire up my computer and search for local self-defence classes. I know the Williamsons have a chain of gyms—Club M, they call them. Seeing as my family has done business with theirs in the past, I look up the number for the gym and punch it into my phone.