Stalked by my Professor Novel

Chapter 45 Steam plumes around me as I step out of the shower, those white clouds swirling frantically as I grab a towel and start drying my hair. I wrap the towel around my waist and lean closer to the fogged-up mirror, using my arm to swipe away the condensation so I can see my reflection. I stare at myself critically for a long moment, noting every imperfection, every sign of approaching middle age. Didn't shave today, and it makes me look older than usual. Rougher. I scrape my fingernails over my jaw, pausing when something catches my eye.

I turn my hand over, fingers curled against my palm, and stare unimpressed at my dirty cuticles. Christ. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ fіndnovel.net I step back into the shower and grab the nail brush. "Getting sloppy, Bash," I mutter under my breath, attacking my fingers with the nail brush. In seconds, I've worked up a pink foam. I rinse under the faucet and do another inspection, making sure every cuticle is pristine. Then I head into the kitchen to fetch a bottle and a pair of rubber gloves from my storage closet.

I bring it back into the shower, cupping one hand over my mouth as I splash it over the shower floor. Then I strip off the towel I'm wearing, splash some of the liquid on it too, and mop the bathroom tiles and the section of hardwood floor by the front door. My carpets are still streaked with neon body paint from the night of the Rain Dance. That will have to wait until I get the carpets steam-cleaned next week. The stench follows me like a fucking poltergeist as I go to put everything back in its place.

Even spraying a double dose of Tom Ford over myself before I change into sweats doesn't help. I grab my phone off charge, checking for notifications out of habit. When one of the popups registers in my brain, I give my screen a double take. ALERT: Delivery completed I huff out a pleased chuckle and go to open the glass doors leading to the patio to air out the place. As soon as my eyes lock onto the spiderweb of cracks, I hold back. I drag my hands through my damp hair as I try to stare past the cracks in the glass.

The rain hasn't let up since Saturday, and from the state of the dark gray sky, it won't be offering reprieve soon. I stand there a while longer, suffocating in the stink of luxury and sin I've surrounded myself with. Sandalwood, oud, and hydrogen peroxide. It almost-but not quite-overpowers the blood. Then again, that scent has been on the periphery of my senses since I was sixteen years old. It would take a lobotomy to rid me of it. My eyes keep flickering from the pouring rain to the cracks in the glass, and back again. And my mind inevitably keeps returning to Sybil.

"It's never going to stop, Billy," I mumble, my eyes losing focus as puddles begin to form outside, black and endless in the unnatural twilight. "Never, ever, ever."