Stalked by my Professor Novel

Chapter 4 I'm staring at my reflection in Bastian's bathroom mirror, and I don't recognize the girl looking back. Neon paint streaks her face like war paint. Her hair hangs in wet tangles. Her eyes are still too wide, pupils blown from the MDMA, mascara bleeding down her cheeks in dark rivers. She looks feral. Broken. She looks exactly how everyone will remember her. "We need to get you cleaned up," Bastian says from the doorway.

His bathroom is all black marble and chrome, the kind of aggressively masculine design that screams 'I have money and no one to spend it on.' "I can handle a shower on my own." My voice comes out sharper than I intend. I feel jittery, fragile, nerves raw. "Can you?" He moves into the bathroom, eyeing me warily before making a point of looking at the shower. It's one of those massive walk-ins with multiple heads, all black tile and chrome inside. Probably cost more than my entire year's tuition.

"Because twenty minutes ago you couldn't chew gum and walk at the same time." This content belongs to Fɪnd-Novel.net The words hit like a slap. "Fuck you!" I turn away from the mirror, from the broken girl trapped inside it. "I can shower myself. I'm traumatized, not incompetent." "I never said you were incompetent." "You're treating me like I'm going to shatter if you look away." "You already shattered, Haven." His voice is matter-of-fact, not cruel.

"I'm just making sure you don't cut yourself on the pieces while you're still putting yourself back together." "And that requires me stripping naked in front of you?" "You're not getting any more paint on my things," he says. "Get yourself cleaned up and into some warm clothes." Clean sounds nice. All I can smell is grass and mud and the chemical stench of paint. Warm sounds even better. My teeth are chattering, grinding, clenching together and I keep catching the inside of my cheek. "Fine," I mutter, stepping reluctantly into the shower.

I don't know how long I stand there, staring at the shower controls, but it's long enough for Bastian to lose his patience. "Got it all figured out, don't you?" comes his voice behind me. I flinch, glaring at him over my shoulder. "This thing come with a manual?" "Face the wall." He snaps his fingers, pointing, and I hesitate before facing forward." The black marble is exquisite. Feint lines of white and gray weave through the glossy, midnight-black stone. I trace a line with my finger before I can stop myself.

"We need to take this off," Bastian says, tugging at the trash bag stuck to my skin. I push my fingers through the plastic just below my throat. Every time I move, the leash attached to the collar around my throat clinks, but I try to ignore it. Bastian said he was going to cut it off when he led me through his front door. At least I don't feel like I'm being strangled anymore. Bastian rips the plastic off my back, and I shiver as the cool bathroom air touches my skin in new places. The small of my back. Between my tits. Over my belly.

"Good," Bastian murmurs, reaching past me to turn on the faucet. "Tell me when it's the right temperature." His voice is so smooth, so deep, so...caring. Is this what kindness feels like? Someone seeing me fucked up and broken, and still wanting to look after me? Water hits the top of my head. I gasp and leap back, out of the spray. Right into Bastian. He catches me, stops me. But our bodies are fused together, and I can feel he's not wearing a shirt. Panic hits me. When did he take it off? "Sorry." "That's alright," he says in a tight voice that suggests it's anything but.

He steps back, distancing himself, and immediately cool air swirls over my skin where his warmth used to be. Fuck, I miss it. But the water is warming up, so I move forward and hold out my palms, tipping my head back. God, it feels so good. Every drop that lands on my skin feels like a kiss of late afternoon sunlight. I hear a soft click, and glance over my shoulder through slitted eyes, seeing Bastian step out of the shower. Steam hazes up the glass between us, but I can see the splotches of paint on his chest just before he turns to leave the bathroom, sliding the door closed behind him.

When I tip my head back, it's so that the water will hit my face. I beg it to wash away the dirty thoughts in my mind, too. How I'd hoped he'd stay in here with me. Wash me. Every inch of me. His hands where my hands are. Sliding over my skin. Nails gently scraping, creating a ripple effect that coruscates through my flesh and builds a deep, hard ache in my core. My mouth opens on a gasp as I slowly peel the stickers off my nipples, as the water drops hit those flushed circles of sensitive, exposed skin. There's a bitter taste in my mouth. Body paint. ...eat it, bitch...

I turn to spit water out of my mouth, but more rushes in. And then I'm puking, on my hands and knees, retching so hard my stomach hurts. When I open my eyes, most of it's gone down the drain. I wash out my mouth, take Bastian's shower lotion, and lather it over my face, my neck, my tits, my stomach. Everywhere. Paint swirls down the drain, mixing until it's the same color as the mud washing off my feet. My eyes flash open, staring at nothing. ...bitch needs training... I hear that voice in my head again, but I don't know who it belongs to. So gruff, mean. Brittle with hate.

Someone said that to me, long ago. But I buried it. I buried it so fucking deep, along with all the other voices that told me I was nothing. Bastian's voice is different. Bastian's voice says I matter. I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and pull open the sliding door. My professor is perched on the edge of his bed, his phone in one hand, clothing bundled in the other. He's so caught up in what he's doing, he doesn't notice me right away. I lean back against the door and rap on it with my knuckles. He lifts his head, giving me a double take.

"You didn't see the hoodie?" he asks, a bemused smile on his face. He disappears into the bathroom, back a second later, holding out the same hoodie I wore the last time I was at his house. "Thanks." I reach up for the edge of the towel where I tucked it in. Bastian is busy pulling the door closed, but he stops, his eyes flickering down to my hand. I lick my bottom lip and then tighten my hand on the towel, ducking my head. My body flinches when he slams the door closed. What the hell am I doing? Something happened to me inside that shower. It's like it reactivated the drugs in my system.

I feel like I did back on the dance floor, right before things got all fucked up. But the sensation is darker and deeper, like I was listening to treble, now it's all bass. All I can think about is how good it would feel to be wrapped in Bastian's arms. How tight he'd hold me. How warm his body would be against mine. Everything he's done for me these past couple of weeks. He's been so kind, so thoughtful, and I've just thrown it back in his face. Ungrateful. I pluck the towel free and let it drop to the floor.

Cool air glides over my skin, and I pause for a moment, waving my fingers through air as thick as cream. Lick my lip again, wincing when it stings. Ouch. My hand is on the bathroom door. The faucet starts running inside, and I hear the shower door click closed. I hesitate, then slide the door open an inch. Two. Three. Just enough so I can peek inside. The air is so much warmer in here, and it flows over my skin as I duck my head in. Bastian has his back to the door, messing with the faucet.

Steam is building up, sticking to the glass door separating us, turning his body into a pale smudge against the black tiles. The foggy air smells like his body wash, and I take a big hit into my lungs. Enough that I'll still be smelling him tomorrow when I wake up wondering if this was all a dream. I slide the door open just enough to step into the bathroom. My heart is hammering so hard, I swear he could hear it if the shower wasn't running. What will he do? Will he turn me away? Or will he let me inside with him?

I can feel every tiny water droplet suspended in the air as it cleaves to my skin. Reaching behind me, I fumble for the door, trying to close it without taking my eyes off Bastian's tall, pale body. Imagining what's behind that clouded up glass. If that darker smudge is the hair above his cock. If⁠- There's a loud rapping at the front door. It feels like someone knocking on my skull. I gasp, and then Bastian turns to look at the door, and sees me, and I gasp again. My arm wraps around my tits, the other slides between my legs.

"Shit!" I spin around, hitting my shoulder on the bathroom door as I wrestle my way through it to get out. "Haven?" Bastian calls after me. I snatch up the hoodie Bastian left on the bed, tugging it over my head, my legs almost tangling under me as I head for the front door. But then I stop, because this isn't my house, and should I be answering Professor Rooke's⁠-? Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock. Harder than before. Angry almost. Who is it? "Who is it?" I call out, my voice echoing, warbling, sounding so fucking weird in my own ears.

My heart is pounding, and my skin thrums along with each heartbeat. The knocking stops. I stand on tiptoes and peer through the peephole as every hair on my body feels like it's vibrating. The only thing out there are a few tastefully lit plants on the edges of the porch, and a whole lot of darkness. Am I hallucinating? I grasp the knob, hesitate, and then turn it to make sure it's locked. But then I have this sinking feeling that I missed something, so I put my palms on the door and push up onto my toes to look through the peephole again. Right into Kai's blood-smeared face.