Grey: The Encounter (Spectrum Series Book 1) Page 28

  The rest of my classes run the same way. Brief looks from my classmates, questions from my professors, and the flush of redness in my cheeks and my subtle attempts to flatten my wild, curly hair. I didn’t have my books or even a pen, so I ended up trying to keep up by typing and taking pictures using my phone. I will copy everything into my notebooks and binders when I get back to my dorm. And just because of this horrible, straggling attempt of acting like I’m keeping up in classes when all I really want is to down ten coffees, I vow to study everything twice.

  All in all, I was flustered and deflated the entire day. I wasn’t able to pay attention to anything but Grey and what he did. Maybe he’s always been this way, but I was so caught up in seeing tiny glimpses of the light peeking through his cloud of darkness to think realistically.

  And I was too stupid to not pay attention to what was actually real. But not anymore. This time around, I’ll see him for what he truly is—a monster.

  When I finally arrive in my dorm room, I strip out of my clothes for a shower. I throw the clothes in my hamper, too exhausted to fold and neatly place them in. I take a purple hair scrunchie hiding under Julia’s bed—probably Jaimie’s, the girl’s obsessed with purple—and put my hair up into a messy bun. Grabbing my toiletry bag, I head out with a fresh towel wrapped around my chest.

  Since classes are over, the dorm is buzzing with life. People are hanging out in their dorms with their doors wide open, some chatting as they walk down halls, and all the while I pick up my pace, receiving weird and suggestive looks. They must be wondering who the strange girl is walking around in a towel at two in the afternoon. This is why I shower before anyone else has even woken up.

  But if there is one upside compared to the multiple looks I gathered while on the way here, it’s that I have the shower stalls all to myself. The shower is long and helps ease the tension in my aching muscles. I think of Grey snapping at me a few hours ago as I scrub myself clean.

  My eyes close and a sigh falls past my lips as I recall the weight of his hand around my neck. I trail my hand around my throat and lean against the wall, screwing my eyes shut. Tears stream down my face before I can even process them. I’ve never seen so much…anger…so much instability.

  I don’t know how long I’ve stood under the showerhead, but when I finally suck up my tears and turn off the faucet, my fingertips resemble raisins.

  I step out of the stall and shiver due to the rush of cool air hitting my wet body. I quickly wrap the towel around myself and walk over to the sinks. I set my bag on the side and take my time brushing my teeth.

  It feels heavenly to finally be able to freshen up after receiving so many pity glances from my professors and whispers from my peers. Today has been both humiliating and emotional. Together they make for the worst day ever. But I can finally now say that things will go back to normal. Instead of pining after a dysfunctional guy with snarky comments and black eyes, I will pay attention in my classes without wondering if the person next to me can see the tears on my cheeks or the small reddish bruise on my neck—wait.

  I lean forward and hear myself gasp. “Is that a freaking hickey?” I shriek, running my fingertips over the tender mark on my skin. I’ve seen plenty of teen movies to know exactly what this is. And Grey gave it to me. Isn’t this just peachy?

  I grind my teeth and grab my bag and walk back to my room. The guy has officially marked me. What, is he some sort of werewolf? That would be a twist, wouldn’t it? Well, I’d still be assured since I’ve seen my share of supernatural movies to know how to kill one. He can be of another species, and I still wouldn’t consider giving him a chance. Not after I learned what he can do, firsthand. Pun unfortunately intended.

  A sigh leaves my lips as I enter my dorm room. I’ll just have to cover it using Julia’s makeup. I hope our skin tone is close enough, so it won’t look like I obviously tried to cover a hickey. And here I thought I would never get one. My doctor fiancé would never do such a mundane, childish thing. But Grey on the other hand…he’s game for silly antics, and it doesn’t stop here with this bruise on my neck.

  “Enjoy your shower?”

  I jump, feeling my heart skip a million beats. Grey quickly stands and curses under his breath as I lean against the door, holding my chest while I try to find my breath.

  “Crap, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “What the hell did you mean to do?” I snap at him. “And while you’re at it, please do tell me what the hell you’re doing here. In my dorm room.” When he doesn’t answer, I point a finger at him and take a single step forward. “If you don’t answer me right now, I will not hesitate to call campus security.” I wouldn’t, not really. But I will if he tries that choking bull-crap like he did back at the fraternity house. I still can’t believe he did that.

  “I didn’t come here to fight,” he says softly.

  “Then what did you come here to do? And stop avoiding my questions. How did you even get in?” I doubt Julia would just give this psycho a key to our dorm room without telling me. So that leaves him breaking in, which is a felony. Especially if the said dorm room resident has just come back from a shower and is bare naked save for the towel wrapped around her body. “Speak, Grey!” I shout, frustration creeping through my veins.

  “I don’t know!” he screams.

  “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?” I hiss. He sounds like his thoughts are jumbled. I can tell by the way his eyes are slightly bulging and he’s taking deep breaths. “You can’t just not know how you broke into my dorm room—”

  “I picked your lock.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. I must look puzzled, because he sighs and adds, “You learn a trick or two when you were raised in the neighborhood I lived in when I was younger.”

  I shake my head and pinch my nose bridge in growing frustration. “Okay, just tell me why you’re here right now. Because if you’ve forgotten, a few hours ago you put your hands on me. That’s not something you just forget.”

  “I’m here because I wanted to—you know—apologize.” It sounds more like a question.

  I laugh but find nothing truly funny. “Oh, you’re sorry? Did you not just hear what I said?” I shout louder than intended. He looks at me sheepishly, and I smile through gritted teeth and nod. “Okay, let me say this in a language I know for a fact you speak and understand. ¡Me pones las manos malditas! ¡En mi cuello jodito, Grey!” (You put your fucking hands on me. On my damn neck, Grey!)

  “Some girls actually like it when I do,” he mutters under his breath, like this is funny. But I find absolutely no humor in any of this.

  “Newsflash: I am not like those girls! And I know you know I’m not, because you told me so yourself. Remember when you insulted me for being a prude on several occasions? I sure do. And you know what, I don’t even think I’m living up to your expectations. Because here I am, giving you the time of day after what you did—after all you put me through.

  “You can be so friendly and hilarious and a good person, but the second your dick pops up like a damn parasite and you’re on Diana and who knows how many other girls, you’re a complete asshole. And then you’re back to being sweet again, and whoops! There goes asshole Grey again. What a lovely cycle of bullshit you put me through time and time again. You deserve an award for best deranged actor.”

  “I have never heard you curse so much in one rant,” he says. “It’s kind of endearing.” He cracks a smile.

  “Unbelievable.” I put my head in my hands.

  “I didn’t mean to do it!” he shouts. “I just—I lost it, okay?”

  “Whatever.” I’m too tired to go back and forth with him. Our bickering never seems to end, and I don’t have the energy. Not right now. I walk over to my closet and search for something comfortable. After I kick him out, I plan on studying. I will not let him derail any more of my plans.

  “Don’t just turn your back on me,” he says in a low voice.

  “Or what?” I grab the hanger holdi
ng the school hoodie and turn around. “You’ll choke me again? Or something worse, perhaps?”

  “I would never intentionally hurt you, Liv.” His voice is soft, but I know better than to believe him. He’s demented enough to attempt to fool me with the softness in his voice or the sadness sprawled across his face.

  “You say that, but you already did.” I shake my head, my throat constricting. “And a time before today too. How can I possibly trust your word when all I see when I look at you is that dark part of you who lost his mind?” I avoid the drop of his face and brush past him as I walk over to my dresser. “Will you just leave me be? Or at least turn around? I have to get dressed.”

  I flick a glance over my shoulder and find him staring at me with an unreadable expression, his hands limp at his sides. “Yeah, yeah…” He turns around, and I look at him for a long while, imagining a world where he didn’t lose his mind and hurt me, both physically and mentally like it’s a sport to him.

  I quickly get dressed in bra and panties and my hoodie and a pair of sweats. My mother would kill me if she saw me dressed like this. I practically had to hide the sweatpants like they were contraband when she helped me pack my suitcase before I came here.

  “You can turn around now.” My voice is hollow and deflated. I pad over to my bed and pull out the notebook I’ve been writing my research paper for the psych program in. He turns around and glances at it before sitting at my feet. I roll my eyes and grind my teeth, but I bite back my plea for him to leave and flip open the last page I was on and begin writing.

  It feels like an eternity with the weight of his eyes on me, watching me as I write. Why doesn’t he get that I don’t want him here? He insulted me and told me we couldn’t be friends because I was too much of a stuck-up prude to keep up with him, yet he shows up in my room, practically begging for me to accept his apology. It’s like he has personality disorder or something. I just—I just don’t get him.

  He has to be the most complex person I have ever known. A complex person I am slowly but surely wishing I had never met in the first place. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be feeling my blood spike at this very moment. If I hadn’t, things would have been much simpler. But I did, and there’s no reversal. I’m stuck with this outrageous guy who’s quickly learned the way to make me tick.

  “Can you please not stare at me?” I pipe up after a long while of silence. “I can practically feel your eyes burning through my skin.”

  “I doubt that.” His voice is mumbled by his palm pressing under his chin.

  “Don’t doubt me, and don’t doubt when I say I don’t want you here.”

  “Why are you so hostile?”

  I spew a string of curses inside my head, close the notebook, and put it to my side. “Excuse me if I’m a little confused, seeing how just last night you said we weren’t even capable of being friends.”

  “You remember that?” He sounds hesitant. I glare at him, and he nods. “Then you remember what happened between us.” His voice is low, and so are his eyes. He draws small circles on my visible ankle. His touch—however minimal and unsexual—sends an army of flames through my body.

  “Can you just get out?” I scream and jolt back, desperate to get away from his manipulative hands.

  He scoffs, throwing his head back. “No.” A villainous smile appears on his face. I want nothing more than to tear it off and throw it in the ocean.

  “Why can’t you just do what I ask?” He can be so damn difficult and for no reason. Wait, no, he has a reason: to irk me until I’ve lost my cool and blow up at him. I think he wants me to do that every time I’m in the same vicinity as him—lose my temper. But I’m not like him. I can actually control my feelings and not have them fly around like they’re in a bouncy castle.

  “Because I don’t have to,” he says, his words soaked in defiance. Must he always be like this? Defiant? Rebellious? Annoying?

  “Grey,” I gripe in frustration.

  “It’s a shame we all don’t get what we want, isn’t it?” he taunts. “Not all of us can be a spoiled princess like you, darling.”

  “I am not a spoiled princess!” I gasp, clutching the sheets.

  The twinkle in his eyes fuels even more anger to the fire inside of me.

  “What do you call someone who thinks they’re entitled to everything they want?” he questions, pinching his eyebrows together.

  “Please, just get out,” I softly plead.

  He leans forward and whispers, “No.”

  “It’s my room!” I remind him.

  He shrugs. “Half of it.”

  “Fine.” I kick the sheets off my legs and stand. “Then I’ll leave.”

  His face drops. “Wait—fuck—don’t leave.” He actually sounds apologetic. I ignore him and stuff the notebook in my backpack and my feet in a pair of black Toms.

  “Goodbye, Grey.” I open the door and hold my head back with high hopes. I hope he drops this obnoxious façade of his he loves and that he truly apologizes, and we can hug, and we can go to the cliff and stare at the stars and talk about the cute bird on his wrist.

  But I should have learned a long time ago to never get my hopes up, because nine times out of ten, they are shot down and leave you with a broken heart. I learned that from my mother, but I’ve been too disobedient to listen to her wise words.

  “Don’t forget your stick, Princess. Oh, wait. Never mind. It’s already up your ass. Have fun studying all alone.”

  I feel my heart plummet. I continue walking and slam the door behind me.

  This is what I get for seeing that damned middle ground he suggested I see in the world…in him.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I walk to the library and bury myself in assignments. But he still lingers around me, and I pile tons upon tons of classics on the wooden table, hoping they’ll be enough to keep my mind busy.

  But even as I move onto the third book, which happens to be Wuthering Heights, I can’t seem to push him out of my mind.

  I look around and all I see is Grey. He’s tucked between two shelves, begrudgingly fetching me one of my favorite classics. He’s behind me, persistently pulling me away from the table, complaining that I’m not paying enough attention to him. He’s in front of me, tipping on the legs of his chair, balancing a book on the tip of his nose and trying to get my attention. I’d be laughing in all these scenarios.

  And that’s what scares me. Because I’m not supposed to. I don’t want to. I just want to study. Why can’t he leave me alone?

  My phone buzzes across the table. I pick it up, silently grateful I can be distracted from the mirages playing out before my eyes. “Hello?”

  “Liv, where are you? I stopped by your dorm room, but you weren’t there. Are you lost again?” It’s Mason. A smile spreads across my face as I recall the moment we met. I was wandering around like a lost puppy, looking for the orientation. I’m so glad he saved me from that airborne football.

  “No, I am not lost,” I say. “I’m actually at the library, studying.”

  “And you being there doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I can see Grey patrolling the building outside of my window?”

  I nearly choke on air. “What?” Why is he still there? “Really?” Mason could just be messing with me, but it sure doesn’t sound like he is.

  “Mm-hmmm,” he hums in reply, and I hear him shuffling and sighing. “He’s leaning against the tree out front. You know, the one that’s starting to drop apples? The said apples you almost slipped on a while back?”

  My cheeks heat at the embarrassing moment. “Yes, I know what tree you’re talking about.” My smile fades as I anxiously scratch my wrist. “I’m just confused as to why he’s still there.”

  “Still here? What do you mean still here? Liv?”

  “Oh, he came by before I left for the library,” I explain. “He’s actually the reason I’m here right now. I don’t understand why he’s at the dorms if I left.”

  “He’s deranged, that’
s why.” I can sense the hatred growing in Mason’s voice. “What did he stop by your room for, anyway?”

  I let out a sigh and sit back in my chair. “To apologize for nearly choking me.” He lets out a coughing noise that turns into him choking. I sit up quickly, looking around frantically. “Mason! Mason, are you okay? Take a deep breath, drink some water.”

  I listen to the distinct sound of him gulping repeatedly before he takes a deep breath and, outraged, exclaims, “He did what?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Forget about me,” he says dismissively. “He fucking choked you?”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds—” Why am I defending him right now? A few hours ago, I was just as angry, maybe even angrier.

  “Seriously, Liv?” Mason sounds confused.

  “To be fair, I did throw a cup of water at him.” I shrug and play with my bracelet.

  “That doesn’t give him the right to put his fucking hands on you!” He snaps, making me jump at the sudden rise in his voice.

  I flinch and keep quiet. “You’re right,” I mutter, staring at the pile of books in front of me.

  He lets out a winded sigh. “I’m sorry I yelled, but I’m upset. I should go down there and shove a fucking apple down his throat.”

  My eyes widen, and I shake my head. “Don’t—don’t do that. Please, just let it go.”

  “Like hell am I letting it go.” I can hear him stand, and I feel my pulse quicken.

  “For me!” I shout and cringe when people look at me like I’m crazy. I mouth an apology and sink back into my chair. He’s stopped moving. “For me, don’t hurt him. Don’t go up to him to confront him. Just…don’t. Please.”

  “Why not?” He sounds genuinely puzzled. I would be worried too if my friend told me a guy put his hand around her neck.