Stalked by my Professor Novel

Chapter 19 An incessant ringing drives me awake. I push an arm off my shoulder. Off my hip. Off my leg. Sit up and drag fingers down my face. Day has come, and it struggles to fill the room with light through Bastian's tinted windows and the pouring rain. Fuck, I need to pee. I have to tug the metal chain attached to my collar out from under Bastian's shoulder before I can wriggle off the bed. I pause for a second to stare at his and Kai's limp bodies where they lie sprawled on the bed. I'm smiling when I go into the bathroom, my body aching in places I never knew could hurt so deliciously.

But my smile evaporates as soon as I start peeing. "Fuck!" I whisper, squirming around to find a position on the seat that doesn't make me sting. I flush and turn to the vanity mirror. There's blood on my jaw. More on my hands. And when I put my hand between my legs, I feel more blood there. Proof that I finally gave what I'd saved for so long to the boy I could never stop loving, even when he spat at me. When he choked me. When he told me he hated me. This text is hosted at find[ɴ]ovel.net I feel different. Empty, like I've been hollowed out. But twice as heavy at the same time.

I guess now that the drugs are out of my system, all I'm noticing is how the world isn't a gorgeous sparkling kaleidoscope of love and lust like it was last night. I grab toilet paper and wipe, groaning when I just see more blood. That's more than I'd expect from just losing my virginity. Unless...did my period start last night? My eyes dart to the towel rail, and thank God my underwear is hanging there. Bastian must have put it on there after I showered last night. I grimace as I slide it up to my knees, because it's still stained with paint.

If there's one thing I've absolutely despised the past couple of months, it's the handful of times I was forced to wear dirty underwear. Wadding up some more toilet paper, I lay it on my underwear and pull them up all the way, yanking the chain out when it gets caught in the elastic waistband. I pad barefoot back into Bastian's bedroom and stare at the two men sprawled on the king-sized bed. Both naked. Both with their arms outstretched to the empty spot between them where I'd been sleeping. Kai with his messy bronze-and-gold hair.

Rooke's face is turned away from me, but his usually neat dark hair is just as messy. I stare openly at them, because why the fuck not? They saw every inch of me last night. Fair's fair. Their muscles. Kai's bare ass. The curve of Rooke's hip. I wish they were closer together. Holding each other. And I don't fucking know why. ...you want me to fuck him?... Oh, right. They were touching each other, too. Kissing like they wanted to destroy each other. God, that was so fucking hot. ...she likes that... I liked all of it, even when I said I didn't. At least...I don't regret anything.

That means I wanted it, right? Fuck, those drugs were strong. I'm not even sure about half the stuff that happened last night. There's so much blood streaking Bastian's sheets. Guess my period started before Kai⁠- ...it's meant to hurt the first time... -made love to me. And yes, maybe it's fucked up that I call it that when it happened while I was sandwiched between him and my professor, but I swear, in that moment, it was just me and him. Under the maple tree. The warm sun dappling my skin through the canopy of leaves.

And it was that day, and it all went right, and we've been together ever since. I flinch when I hear a laugh and realize it's mine. Therapy. I need so much goddamn therapy. I wince as I walk over to the bed, desperate to climb between those bodies and just forget about everything until I'm ready to deal with⁠- Ring, ring. Ring, ring. I pause with my knee on the edge of the mattress, glaring at the doorway leading out of Bastian's bedroom. Stop it right now. But the power of my mind does nothing. The phone just keeps ringing, and ringing.

Gritting my teeth, I stomp over to the wall phone near the kitchen and glare at it. How do you disable the damn thing? Does it have an off button or something? I intend to lift the receiver and slam it down without answering, but as I'm about to set it down, I hear a voice I recognize, but in my muddled state, I can't place it. "Hello?" I croak into the handset. "Who's this, please?" the woman asks. Fuck, even the rain's too loud right now. And this woman's voice is screeching right through my brain. What are those Egyptian beetles? Scarab. Scarab beetle. That's what her voice sounds like.

I stifle a yawn, take my collar's chain and thread it through my fingers. "Who're you looking for?" I wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand. There's a startled pause. "Is that you, Haven?" As she says my name, I recognize the voice. Nora from the college help desk. I clench my hand, the chain biting into my fingers. I'm seconds away from slamming down the phone, but I know how bad that would be. "Uh...yeah. Hi." "What are you doing at Professor Rooke's house?" I hear papers shuffle on the line as Nora mutters, "Wait, did I call the wrong number⁠-?" "Study group!" I blurt out.

Congratulations, Brain. The papers stop rustling. "On a Saturday morning?" "Yeah, well, rather now than Sunday afternoon, right?" Nora laughs, and the knot my stomach tied itself into stars to unravel. "Oh, yes, well, I suppose that's true. Anyway, I'm glad I caught you. You were next on my list to call." My stomach clenches. Fuck. "Mm?" "Sweetie, I know you said your father's away, but I can't quite remember when you said he'd be back. Was it this weekend?" "Uh...no. Why?" "If you could ask him to call me as soon as possible, I'd appreciate it.

The number I have for him has been discontinued." "Is it more paperwork stuff?" I grip the phone so tight the plastic creaks in my hand. I know I wrote down the right social security number on that form. And I've forged my father's handwriting enough times to know I got that right, too. So what the hell do they want? "It's...a little more than that. Could I give you my direct line, sweetie?" "Sure, sure," I mumble, my eyes squeezing shut as Nora reads out her phone number. I don't write it down. Because my dad isn't phoning anyone.

I push my fingers through the collar around my throat, tightening it until I can't breathe. "Got it. I have to go." "Hang on, sweetie. I still need to speak to Professor Rooke," Nora says, a laugh in her voice. Because I'm such a silly, flighty little girl, aren't I? "Professor Rooke?" I'd laugh, if I had the energy. No, sorry, he's recovering from the bender we had last night. There were drugs involved, and briefly, a gun. "Yeah, he's, uh, not available right now.

Can I take a message or something?" "I've been trying to reach him on his cell for the past⁠-" "He probably turned it off for the study group thing. He, uh..." I swallow, pull my fingers away from the collar, take a big breath. "He actually just went out for a sec to get supplies." My brain scrambles frantically. "You know, like, highlighters and stuff. I'll tell him to give you a call." "Oh. Okay. Thank you⁠-" I slam the phone down, tears pricking at my eyes. Fuck. My legs shake as I hurry over to the sliding door leading into Bastian's backyard. Fuck!

The rain hits me like a sluice gate opening, but I stand there and tip my head back and I bear it. My past was bound to catch up with me. I knew it would happen. But, fuck, I somehow convinced myself that everything would be okay. Silly, silly fucking girl. A hand slides around my throat, and until I reach up to touch it, I'm not sure it's even real. The world feels odd. I feel...different. And not because I'm not a virgin anymore. Everything's wrong that should be right. Everything's broken that should have been whole. I wait for whoever's gripping my throat to speak. To command me.

To comfort me. But they say nothing. Do nothing. They just stand there, watching as my tears merge with the rain pounding down on my face. They grab my hair, yank back my head. I'd be able to see who it was if the rain wasn't slamming into my eyes. I close them. Protect them. But it doesn't stop the tears from leaking out. The hand on my throat tightens. Cold metal from the chain still attached to my collar brushes my jaw a moment before a thumb peels down my bruised lower lip. But I still don't know who it is. I shiver. Wet. Cold.

My body should be shutting down in self-protection, but instead it's coming alive at their touch, somehow already conditioned to respond even when my mind is screaming to run. I don't want to know who came to find me when they woke up and I was gone. It doesn't matter. In a few days, this will all be over.