Stalked by my Professor Novel

Chapter 59 I have a hotline straight to the celestial favors department tonight. When I rush back into my room, Haven isn't going through my things, about to or already having discovered the book I'd stolen from her. She's curled up in my bed. And it's the hottest thing I've ever seen. She looks so fragile, nestled in my sheets like that. I'm about to tell her I'll throw her out if she snores, but then I hear her soft breathing, and realize she's already asleep. Carefully, I slide in behind her, wincing when the bed creaks under my weight.

Staying propped up on one arm, I stare down at her shadowed face. Listening to her breathe as my mind reels. It's happening. It's finally fucking happening. I reach over to brush a strand of hair from her face, freezing at the sound of her voice. "Not gonna happen," Haven mumbles. "I wasn't⁠-" She rolls her head to the side to look up at me. "Aren't you tired?" "Fucking exhausted." I trail my knuckles down the side of her face. She leans into the touch, the gleam of light vanishing from her eyes as she shuts them. "Then go to sleep," she mumbles.

"Soon as I stop wondering if this is real." "Guess your feet don't hurt as much as mine." "Everything hurts." She huffs out a resigned breath, and rolls onto her back. Staring up at me, she tucks her arm behind her head and murmurs, "Why'd you do it?" Discover more novels at find(ɴ)ovel.net I let my hand drop to her stomach. "You'll have to narrow it down a little, Heavenly." "Trashing my room." Her mouth purses. "Fuck," I groan, twisting away from her to fall onto my back. Washing my hands over my face, scrubbing my fingers through my hair, I mutter out, "I don't know.

I don't even remember much of it." "So you just blacked out and wrecked my room for no reason?" "Not no reason." "What reason then?" "Jesus, where do I start?" "It was the letter, wasn't it?" Her voice drops, thickening. "God, Kai, I was sixteen. You know what an idiot you are at sixteen? I mean, I still thought⁠-" "Has nothing to do with that," I cut in harshly. "I told you to fuck off anyway, so we're even." "So why⁠-" "Christ," I grunt at her, because how am I supposed to put into the words what I felt last night when I tore through her room, destroying everything? I lied. I do remember.

How alive I felt. How in control. Briefly, but so vividly. I laugh dryly. "I don't want to hate you, but you make it so fucking easy." "Wow," she scoffs through a laugh. "You're a real piece of work." "No one pisses me off as much as you do." "No one?" She says, dead serious now. "Not even Ezra?" A shudder goes through my fucking soul at the sound of his name. Haven sighs. "Yeah, that's what I thought." "You fucking know he had it coming." Haven props herself up on her elbow, leaning into me.

I turn my head, expecting us to make out, my dick already getting pumped full of blood just at the thought. But she grabs my chin hard, her short nails digging into my skin. "What's your problem with me, huh?" "Problem-?" "No. You don't get to weasel your way out of this. Tell me now, straight up, why the fuck you keep calling me a slut. When have I ever, in my entire fucking existence, been a whore? Huh? When?" Her voice keeps getting louder, but when I press my fingers to her mouth, she rears back to break contact and digs her nails in even deeper. I swear she's going to break the skin.

So it's come to this. I tuck a clump of damp hair behind her ear. "I admire your commitment to the whole 'I'm a virgin' bit. Really, I do. But we both know you're pussy's seen more dick than the guys's locker room." Something Rooke said to me the night of the Rain Dance flashes into my mind. ...had my share of virgins over the years, but I've never had two at once... But I shove it away now, just like I did then. Her eyes narrow, mouth opening, but I cut in before she can speak. "Don't." I grab her wrist, tugging her hand off my face. I don't want to hear any more of her lies.

I've never been into forgiving and forgetting, but I'm a fucking ace at burying things so deep that future archeologists will get their rocks off digging them up. "Don't what, defend myself?" She scoffs, eyes glittering with anger. "Fuck you, Kai." "I've got proof, Haven." "Proof of what?" she growls. Turning onto my side, I plug the charger out of my phone and unlock it. It's been there since this afternoon when Blake tried to pour bong water over my head. I open my chats and scroll through a thread. It's not a long one-going back three years takes less than a minute.

A black hole opens in my stomach as I zoom past the picture I was looking for. I slowly scroll back down and tap it. Saliva rushes into my mouth like I'm about to puke, but I swallow it down, like I always do. "This," I say, turning my phone to Haven. She scrunches up her nose. "Oh my God, why are you showing me..." Light bathes her face as she stares down at my phone. She takes it out of my hand, slowly easing down onto her back, holding it above her head. She zooms in. My girl's always been a sick fuck. Sick slut. My fingers tremble until I curl my hands into fists.

"Get it now, slut?" I breathe through clenched teeth. She's silent. Staring. Her face locked in a stoic mask. I twist to face her. "Good angle, huh?" "Where'd you get this?" she whispers, her eyes still locked on the screen. But then she taps again, exiting the zoomed-in photo to check who sent me the picture. There's a twinge deep inside, but I guess it doesn't matter. She hates Ezra as much as I do. Not like I'm ruining their relationship or anything. Then she starts laughing. Quiet at first. Barely a chuckle.

Then louder, and louder, until I clamp my hand over her mouth so she doesn't wake up the entire fucking fraternity. She doesn't stop me. Maybe she can't, because the hand holding the phone falls onto her chest as if the laughter has turned her muscles to water. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I whisper, scowling at her. She lifts the phone again, points, and starts laughing more. She licks my palm when I don't take away my hand, and I pull away with a grimace. I'd let her lick me anywhere, but somehow that's gross.

"Ezra sends you a picture of me having an orgy, and you think it's real?" She's speaking quietly, but there's a wheeze in her voice like she's about to laugh again. "It's not fake." She holds out the phone for me to take, dismissing it. "Well, that's not me, so..." I grab her fingers, forcing the phone back in front of her face. "That's not you?" I point at the photo that's so obviously her. "Nope. Unless someone drugged me, and I got amnesia. Because I have absolutely no memory of fucking..." She squints at the phone. "Six? Seven...guys?

Who even are they?" "Jesus, you're fucking delusional," I mutter, trying to pull the phone away. "The fact that you're still trying to deny this is⁠-" "That's not me, Kai." "Of course it's you. That's your fucking hair, and your fucking face, and your fucking tits, and your⁠-" "Huh. Did this birthmark I apparently have on my shoulder just disappear?" She stabs toward a dark splotch on her shoulder visible in the photo. "Could be anything," I mutter, still trying to pull the phone away. "Yeah? Did I shrink a few inches too?

Because whoever this is, she's at least six inches taller than me." It's like that rabbit or the duck photo. Once I see it, I can't unsee it. The photo I've stared at a thousand times, used to fuel my rage and justify my cruelty, is so fake it's ludicrous. How could I have been so fucking blind? Still, I can't stop myself from trying to hold on to some sliver of my current reality. "It's just the angle⁠-" She jerks the phone out of my hand, and then tosses it across the room. We both flinch as it bounces off the desk and lands on the carpet. I wish she'd thrown it out the window instead.

All these years... "No, Kai. You wanted to believe it's me." She turns her back, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Now I'm going to sleep because I'm fucking exhausted." Then, as if she just realized how unpredictable I am, she adds, "If you try to wake me up before that alarm, I'll scream." But I don't wake her up. And I don't go to sleep. I just lie there as cracks spear through the foundation of my entire world, threatening to topple my reality on top of me. I just lie there and wait to be buried beneath the debris.

Yesterday morning, I woke up in a world where Ezra-psycho that he is-cared for me. At least, in his own fucked-up way, he did. Before things in the Jordan household took a turn for the better, they got really, really bad. Living in that trailer park was torture. We never had money for anything. Dad kept losing his job, but it was never his fault. Just bad luck. So, Mom got a job. Then two. Eventually three, just to feed two growing boys and a depressed husband who'd sleep most of the time. When she finally had enough of it, she began picking fights with him. And he'd take it out on us.

First it was just snapping. Then yelling. The first time he hit Ezra, I wasn't even there. I'd been in the woods with Haven, trying to get away from all the yelling. When I got back home, Ezra had shut himself in our tiny room in the single-wide, refusing to open the door. I thought he was just mad I went outside to play without him. Until I saw the bruises the next day. When I asked Ezra about them, he said he fell.

When Dad started yelling at us again a week later because we hadn't woken him up when the phone rang-it could have been a job, are we both fucking idiots?-Ezra bundled me out of the house so fast I left without a shirt. Dad called us back inside. I'll never forget the look on my brother's face as we stood outside our shoddy mobile home, staring at each other, both knowing what would happen if either of us turned back. Because I knew he hadn't fallen. "Don't," I'd told him. "He'll be mad." "He's already mad." "I'll be fine.

You go play with your friend." "Come play with us." "I'm too old for that crap." And when I didn't move, he pushed me so hard I fell on my ass. "Go!" That was before he knew Haven was a girl. Before I started spending every afternoon out there with her in the woods. Before Ezra became withdrawn and sullen. And selfish fuck I was, I never again asked him to come play with us again. I never waited around, either. I came home from school, then fucked off to the woods while my brother stayed home and put up with the brunt of Dad's abuse. Ezra never asked for anything in return.

Maybe that's why I said nothing when my brother started punching me. He told me he was toughening me up. And it worked. Eventually, I stopped crying. Ezra's fists taught me that love and pain were the same thing. Is it any wonder I keep hurting Haven? It's the only way I know how to care. I roll onto my side, watching the rise and fall of Haven's chest in my football jersey. She looks so small beside me. So fragile. I've broken her so many times already. Me, Rooke, her dad, her uncle. I don't know what their fucking excuse was, but mine was all for a lie.

The rage building in my chest isn't directed at Haven anymore. It's hot and black and aimed squarely at the person who's been pulling my strings like I'm his personal puppet. Years of rage. Years of cruelty. All for a lie. I want to wake Haven up and beg her to forgive me. I want to go back in time and never look at that fucking photo he sent me. Instead, I just lie here in the dark, listening to my best friend breathe, wondering how many of Ezra's lies I've swallowed whole. ...he showed me his scars, told me who gave them to him... My heart gives a hard thump, stomach filling with lead.

What else did Ezra tell Rooke? What else does our professor know about my life? I fist my hands, cracking my knuckles as I stare up at the ceiling. Beside me, Haven lets out a quiet, "Mm..." like she's wondering the same thing as me.