Stalked by my Professor Novel

Chapter 46 "Kai. Kai!" I surface groggy as fuck from a nap that, judging from the bedroom light shining into my eyes, looks like it nearly turned into an all-nighter. Rain drums against the window, but that's nothing new. It's been pissing down every day Saturday's game. I'd counted on the fact that Bobby's arrival would mess her up so bad she just couldn't anymore. Discover more novels at find⸺novel.net So imagine my fucking disappointment when she struts into AHC on Tuesday, shoulders back, chin up, like she'd physically walk over anyone who tried to stop her.

Meanwhile, I'd been feeling guilty for hooking Nora up with Bobby's contact info. Not even sure why the hell I still had it, but I guess a part of me knew it would come in handy one day. All that guilt evaporated as soon as Haven's ass came through Rooke's classroom door Tuesday. Most fucked up of all? I should've been pissed. So why the fuck a bolt of pride struck me is anyone's guess. Riversiders are as tough as rusty nails-and twice as nasty. Mess with us, and you'll be limping for a week, and you'll need to get a fucking tetanus shot.

Rooke kept eyeing Haven like she was a piece of meat, and I expected to see her simping after him. But she surprised me again. No smoldering stares for our fucked-up professor, just frosty indifference. And it looks like he finally got the message, because he left both of us alone, communicating with me via short, professional text messages and single-syllable instructions the whole week. This week should have been a fucking cake walk. But my brain's so addicted to cortisol, it'll throw anything on the fire to keep it going. Like the video Haven kept begging me to send her.

How many times have I watched it this week? How many times have I tried to delete it? Too many. Too. Fucking. Many. And if that wasn't enough, there's Ezra. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, and the anxiety is fucking killing me. Questions I can't answer keep playing on repeat like a song I can't get out of my head. Why has no one done anything? How can I go around drinking and partying when I should be suspended, or doing community service? I should be punished for the shit I've done, but it's like no one cares.

That dread expectation feels like a grenade with the pin pulled out sitting in my pocket, waiting to blast a hole in my gut. Someone grabs my shoulder and gives me a hard shake. "Kai!" "Fuck, what?" I mutter, squinting up at Blake through burning eyes. "Come on, dude, wake up. Nolan got some premium shit from his cousin's roommate." I give him the finger and roll over, pulling a pillow over my head. Then the smell of weed hits my nose through the fucking pillow. I roll onto my back again, staring blearily at the bong hovering above my head as Blake starts to tip it over.

"Rip it, or drink it." I should be threatened with bong water more often because, fuck, that's the fastest I've ever gotten out of bed. The fact that the water in that bong hasn't been changed since rush sure helps. That shit stinks. Plus, bong rips help with the memories. As should the line of coke I'm about to snort off one of Blake's phone screens. Turns out Nolan's 'premium shit' came in a tiny baggie all the way from Miami. Weird how I've never done coke before, but ever since I snorted those lines off Haven's ass, I've been accepted into some elite coke-head gang. People just know.

And now it's my turn to corrupt innocents to the dark side. "Looks like baby powder." Kruger squints at the fat line from less than an inch away, prompting Nolan to yank him away by the shoulder. "It's premium!" Nolan snaps, looking ready to punch anyone who argues. "That's what you said last time, and I couldn't feel my face for two days," Blake says as I take the rolled-up twenty he hands me. "Poor baby." Nolan stands, bouncing on his heels. "Want me to call your mama?" Blake gives him the finger without looking. "Want me to call yours?

She left her number last time." I snort the line, and immediately regret it as the coke stings its way up my nose and down the back of my throat. I sniff hard, eyes watering as numbness spreads over my face. "Fuck you," Nolan says. "Kruger, you're up," I manage in a thick voice. "Dude...I dunno..." "You wanna play or not?" Blake says, already chopping up a new line on his phone. "No one works my kitchen sober. Especially you. Your reaction times are way too slow." I listen to them bicker as I sink back into the couch, blinking hard as I run my hands down my numb face.

I don't feel like I did at Rooke's house. This shit is fierce, and raw, and makes me want to go cannonball the pool. Then again, I had molly and a shit ton more weed and booze in my system that night. "Fucking peer pressure," Kruger mumbles as takes the twenty from Blake and sits forward to snort his line. "Anyone got gum?" I ask, realizing I'm clenching my teeth almost exactly like the molly I didn't have is kicking in. Austin tosses me a pack. "Grinding already? Fucking lightweight." "I'd like to keep my enamel," I say, popping two pieces in my mouth. "That's it, boys!

Let's get ready to flambé!" Blake claps his hands just like Rooke loves doing in his class, but I forgive him, because seconds later, I'm fucking soaring. A bottle of tequila appears, and it says a lot that I throw back every shot handed to me. I fucking hate tequila. Once I've puked up enough of one type of liquor, it's dead to me. But I forget about it tonight as me and the guys play Overcooked on the PlayStation. Coke seems to give me amnesia. Rooke? Who the fuck's that? Haven? Just some random charity case from the sticks. The bong does another few rounds.

We order pizzas, crack open more beers, do more shots. Someone mentions a party, but we're too busy trying to max out our score to leave the frat house. Blake channels his inner Gordon Ramsey, screaming at us to pick up the pace as we try to coordinate a burger assembly line that's rapidly descending into chaos, our fried brains overheating as we try to remember who the fuck's supposed to be chopping veggies and who's burning the patties.

"Those burgers look worse than my fucking crypto portfolio!" Blake shrieks, while Austin just giggles like a fucking girl and keeps throwing lettuce at the wrong station. After a short coke break, we've just gotten our shit together with thirty seconds left on the clock, when Jace walks into the TV room. Everyone stops what they're doing, even Blake, who's panting like a husky in summer, his controller clutched in white, shaking hands. "Yo, what's up, man?" I call out when Jace just keeps standing there like a fucking narc. "I'm back from the hospital," he says.

"Good for you." I glance at him, then back at the game. A small fire has broken out at the fries station. "Guys, guys! Who's on fries?" "You, you fucking idiot!" Blake yells. "Visiting hours are over." I hear Jace sniffing from the archway. "But I'm guessing you didn't have any plans to go see him today. Or yesterday, according to the hospital's sign-in sheet. Or ever." He just keeps standing there, silent, after that pronouncement. Because that's how he talks-like he's giving a sermon. I glance at him again, and then back at the flat screen as the timer runs out.

"Fuck!" I stand, slamming the PlayStation controller into the couch cushion where I was sitting. Jace doesn't even blink. Fucking reptile. "You're fired, Kai," Blake says, calm but for the shake in his voice. "Get out of my kitchen." "The fuck you looking at?" I bark as I storm past Jace, my thumb already slipping behind the waistband of the black Brunello sweatpants I threw on before coming downstairs. I've been holding in this piss for like half an hour. Now that I'm unemployed, I can sort that out and avoid Jace's accusing stare. Always loved me a twofer.

"Anyone who hates a brother or sister is a murderer. John 3:15," Jace intones. "John can suck my-" I cut off, throwing him a glare as he follows me to the guest bathroom just around the corner. "Jesus, you wanna come hold my dick for me, or what?" His expression, like the bible chick who got turned into a pillar of salt, solidifies. Yeah, my mom dragged me to church a few times before I knew to make myself scarce on a Sunday morning. "Your brother won't be coming home any time soon." I was closing the door in his face, even though hardly any of us ever bother when we're just taking a piss.

But I stop, because suddenly the tequila feels like it wants to come back up. "Yeah?" I try for cool and detached, but my voice just sounds weak. So I harden it. "You miss your little fuck buddy, huh? Maybe if you pray a little harder, he'll come back. Then you won't be so lonely anymore." There's a flash of surprise on Jace's face a second before I slam the bathroom door closed. There's barely enough space to turn around in this closet of a room, but I throw the toilet lid down and sit in a rush. Shove my hands in my hair and grip tight enough to make my scalp sting.

"As the Campaign Manager of this fraternity," Jace says through the door, "I'm in charge while Ezra's⁠-" He pauses when Blake's yell cuts through his voice. "I've seen better organization in a pump and dump scheme! Who the fuck is on bun duty?" "When you're done in there, you'll join us in the War Room for an emergency caucus," Jace continues in the same dreary tone as before. I hear the whining and the bitching from the next room as Jace proclaims the same bullshit unto the other frat bros. Jesus, how I wish I hadn't lost control the night of the Rain Dance.

Not when I beat the shit out of Ezra-because fuck it, that asshole deserved it and I'll fucking die on that hill-but what came after. As in everyone who literally came after. I slip out of the bathroom and back into the TV room, grabbing the bottle of tequila and taking as many swallows as I can before I want to puke again. Gasping, I lean over, waiting for it all to come back out again. But tonight I have a steel stomach, and a platinum fucking liver. My brain's not so lucky. Soon as that tequila hits my neurons, those still shots from Fucked Up Tuesday will be gone.

Fuck, maybe if I drink enough, I'll be able to delete the whole fucking semester from my memory. Don't know why everyone stares at me when I throw open the War Room's carved wooden door. I remember it being heavier, like when you pick up an empty bag you thought was full of rocks or shit and it goes flying. "Yo." I collapse into the nearest dark leather chair, slide down, and give Jace a mock two-finger salute. Then I tug down my hoodie where it's riding up my back. Someone turned on the AC, but it would have to perform miracles to clear out the smell of Austin's BO.

Even Nolan's vape can't cover up the stench. Jace cocks a self-righteous eyebrow. "Thank you for deciding to join us. Now, as I was saying⁠-" "Yeah, yeah, Kai's gotta go see Ezra," Nolan cuts in. "I mean, we all gotta, but he definitely has to." Nolan turns to me. "Dude, just go see your brother." Jace swipes a hand down his side part. "Nolan is right. We can't be seen as a fractured entity right now. People are starting to talk." "Yeah, because everyone's finally figuring out Ezra's a psycho." I chuckle.

"Took you all long enough." "Brave words, when your brother isn't here to defend himself," Jace says. I scoff, trying to ignore how my face is heating. I should keep my mouth shut, because one way or the other, Ezra will hear everything I say while he's out of action. And, one way or the other, he'll make me pay. ...Ezra has quite a substantial file... My hospital file would have been a lot thicker than Ezra's if I hadn't disappeared into the woods after every beating that sonofabitch gave me. As we got older, Haven had to play nurse.

Not a sexy way, but in a 'how do we stop the bleeding' kind of way. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I'd had an internal injury that just looked like any other one of a hundred bruises I'd ever had. Would Haven have fulfilled the blood pact we made before either of us turned ten? Would she really have buried me in the woods without a word to anyone, a daisy wreath for my tombstone? Even at our age, we knew it was one of the few ways we could rebel. Could cause some lasting damage. Leave a nasty open wound on our family that we hoped would fester and turn into gangrene.

If it weren't for the woods, we'd have run away. Would we have ended up on the beach, like we wanted? It's hilarious thinking back on that now. We dreamed of living by the ocean. Catching fish to eat, selling the rest for clothes and shit. In reality, we'd have been homeless. Haven knocked up and dragging a snotty-nosed kid behind her as she stood on the corner pretending to beg, and then handing off our kid to one of the other prostitutes as she got into some rando's car. The hairs on my arms stand in a rush. Fuck. I'd probably be the one pimping her out.

Because I'd be addicted to crack or meth, like Bobby. And when we got back to our tent beneath the underpass, I'd be beating on them because I had all these issues, and the drugs only amplified them, and⁠- "Kai!" The crack of the gavel slamming its wooden stand jolts me out of my misery. "Are you listening?" No wonder Ezra put him in charge. They could be fucking twins. "No," I say, getting a quickly hushed giggle from Austin. I can't help but grin. And that pisses off Jace from the way the crease between his eyebrows goes white. "You're off the Lee case," Jace says.

It's like he's speaking in tongues. "What now?" "Lee." Jace's head shoots forward. "Haven Lee?" "What about her?" I catch the other guys staring at me from the corner of my eyes and it makes me shift in my seat. Fuck, what did I miss? "Drop it," Jace says. "You and Ezra have raised too much suspicion already." "Thank fuck," I say through a chuckle. "So we done here?" "Yeah, I'm waaay too fucking amped for this shit," Nolan says, wide-eyed, like he's about to have an existential crisis and would prefer it happen alone in his room. "Not yet.

I was hoping more of you would step up, but I can't say I'm surprised none of you have been to visit Ezra yet. So before you leave, I'll be assigning everyone a time slot to visit Agony Memorial," Jace says. Groans abound. Blake mutters something about leaving all this bullshit behind so he can go manage his kitchen in peace. "Amen, brother," I say, holding out a fist for him to bump. "Just a few more months, and I'm outta this shithole of a town for good." There's an awful, awkward silence that makes my skin want to crawl off my body.

"What?" I stare at the guys, but everyone except Jace refuses to make eye contact. And he stares at me like he's about to exorcise some demons and needs to gird his loins. "There's something⁠-" Austin cuts in with a vicious, "God, shut it, Jace!" Which only earns him a sharp gavel crack that feels like it goes right through my fucking skull. Jace's expression hardens. "Therefore, having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another. Ephesians 4:25," he says, looking at everyone in turn until finally stopping on me.

"You should know the truth about your internship," he says, somber as fuck. My face goes cold and prickly, and it has nothing to do with cocaine this time. "What about it?" I ask, sounding so careful, like reality is going to shatter if I speak too loudly. Jace looks down at the gavel as he adjusts his grip on the wooden handle, and I scan everyone seated at the round table. Blake looks at me for all of three seconds before glancing away and muttering, "Sorry, bro." "The fuck is happening?" I rush to my feet, slamming my palms down on the table.

"Someone better say something, or⁠-" "It's not a salaried position, Kai." Jace sets the gavel down, but then immediately picks it up again. "And Ezra didn't set it up for you. It's an automatic benefit for anyone who remains in the frat until graduation. It makes NEX more enticing during rush and provides free labor to ACE Enterprises every year." Despite the chilled air blasted into the windowless War Room by the AC, my skin is suddenly clammy with sweat. "Ezra told me it was a paid job," I mutter through clenched teeth, my hands balling into fists.

"He said⁠-" "He's full of shit," Blake says, throwing a hand out toward Jace when he makes an angry sound. "Seriously, guys, enough. Kai deserves the truth." He looks back at me, mouth downturned as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Ezra made us all swear not to tell you. It started as a prank, and...I guess it just got easier to keep playing along." My brother's been lying to me since I pledged. All of them have. I step back, the ground feeling more like a trampoline than solid earth. I can't speak, because it feels like there's a belt tied around my chest. Fuck this War Room.

Fuck this fraternity. And fuck the chair that catches my ankle and sends me sprawling onto my back as I try to retreat before I murder them all with Jace's gavel. I shove it aside so hard it breaks the glass in the display cabinet it crashes into. Blake is at my side in an instant. The shock of the fall must have rattled something loose in my head. For a fucked-up second in my warped brain, Blake looks exactly like Rooke. And he doesn't look concerned. He looks smug. ...he liked it rough...

The words I've been suppressing for weeks, that I thought I'd locked away for good, light up like a neon sign. And then it all comes rushing back, a fucking wrecking ball to the walls I'd so carefully bricked up. ...it fucked him up so bad, he begged for more... And out pours all the disgust, the confusion, the fucking shame. My fist slams into the side of Blake-Rooke's-jaw. Pain jolts down my arm, making me hiss as I scramble to my feet. Blake goes down, knocked the fuck out. The rage boiling inside me won't let me pause even a second to see if he's okay.

It propels me out of the door, down the stairs, and into the road. Rain pummels my face as I storm down the sidewalk. There's an inch-thick carpet of water pouring down the paving, splashing up under my bare feet as I pound my way over to the GAZ house. Everything's a stuttering blur, and it not just from the rain hitting my eyes. It's like I'm sprinting through a game, and the frame rate on my screen can't process the graphics fast enough. I'm drenched. I should be cold, because it's freezing out, but all I feel is a numb impact every time my feet strike the wet concrete.

I try the front door, but it's locked. I slip around the side of the house, scaling the gate on my second try, and wriggle through the laundry window. I halt for a second in the foyer, listening to make sure I'm alone. But it's Friday night, and if the girls aren't ripping it up here, then they're somewhere else, ripping it up there. It's so fucking convenient, it feels illegal. But I do it anyway. A house full of sorority girls couldn't have stopped me. I've got the fucking devil in me now.

I race upstairs, reeling and nearly losing my footing as I whip around the corner at the top of the stairs at full speed. I grab the railing, using my momentum to slingshot me down the hall. Haven's bedroom door is closed, but unlocked. Bitch still hasn't learned her lesson. I have time to study the room this time. No unconscious Haven begging for attention. No one coming in behind me to have their fun with her. One side of the room is tidy. White, pink. The odd bit of glitter on a notebook or a pen. Melissa's side.

Haven's side of the room isn't just a different story, it's a completely different genre. The same duffel bags I helped her carry upstairs are on the floor at the foot of the bed, both zipped open, clothes spilling out. Coffee mugs and water glasses clutter her nightstand, that same pretty pearly-white bedside lamp with its silver-beaded shade so close to the edge it could go flying off any second. I can smell her as I prowl closer to the bed. No. Not her. Rooke. He's fucking everywhere. I grab her pillow and press it to my nose. He's on there. I snag the blanket and smell it.

He's on here too. He'd probably be on her sheets...if she had any. Where the fuck are her sheets⁠- I stare at the blurry pink red splotch in the middle of Haven's mattress that the gray blanket had been covering. Jesus. I feel like I'm trespassing on a crime scene. And yet, seeing that stain, all I can think about is the way Haven's bloody pussy tasted. Did it taste the same to Rooke? I slump down on the bottom corner of the bed, shoving my hands in my hair. I don't know if I was about to start sobbing like a fucking pussy again, or yelling like a psych patient, but I do neither.

Frowning, I bounce on the mattress. Below me, another faint pop. The fuck? I stand, stick my hand under the mattress, and pull out a wad of bubble wrap. There's a phone, a black Amex, and a note inside. My eyes blur before I can get halfway through, so I have to start over, reading the same words on repeat until they make sense. But they don't. This is fucking bullshit. That's who we are? Like he fucking knows her? Rooke doesn't know shit about Haven Lee.

I know how she got the scar down her chest, her favorite flower, how she'd always turn her face up to the sky and stick out her tongue to taste the rain. Me. Not him. Me. But she kept this bullshit. Hid it safe, out of sight, so no one could find it. Like a dirty little secret. We used to be each other's dirty little secret. Guess Heavenly's outgrown Hide and Hunt. I must have only briefly outrun my unsober ass on my rush over here, because that's when everything finally catches up with me. The edges of my vision blur, light dimming.

My breath is hot and thick as I pant through a sudden swell of nausea, and that heat makes my blood boil. But I'm not mad at Haven. She could have a hundred reasons for keeping this shit. Evidence. Blackmail. Who the fuck am I to judge? It's Rooke that's giving me double vision. He thinks he knows my girl better than I do? Thinks he can manipulate her? Push her? Nah. I bought the rights to her heart when I was a kid. That shit's non-transferable. That motherfucker will have to pry them from my cold, dead hands. Haven is mine. Mine. FUCKING MINE I stagger.

My arm wheels out, knocking into the nightstand, sending the pretty little lamp crashing to the floor. It explodes on impact despite the thick carpet, its beaded shade jiggling merrily. That's when the grenade finally goes off.