look across the dining hall again, at Dean’s stern and unsmiling face. He’s still watching me. Does he know we’re talking about him? Does he care?
I can’t imagine Dean ever apologizing. Ever showing remorse.
I pick up my tray, ready to return it to the kitchen staff.
As I walk toward the kitchen window, I hear steady footsteps intercepting me. I know without turning that Dean is standing behind me. The tiny hairs rise on the back of my neck, like the charge in the air before a lightning storm.
“Did you enjoy your lunch?” he says quietly.
I return my tray and turn to face him.
We haven’t stood this close since our kiss.
He hasn’t spoken to me since then.
The memory is like a hologram shimmering in the air between us. I can see the two of us locked in an embrace, and I’m sure he can too.
“I have a proposition for you,” Dean says.
“What kind of proposition?” I reply warily.
“Meet me in the Bell Tower tonight. Nine o’clock.”
I chew the corner of my lip, considering.
The last time I was alone with Dean, things took an unexpected turn . . .
There’s been a constant throbbing curiosity in the back of my brain ever since. A strange, dissatisfied yearning, like a melody cut off mid-note.
Dean and I have unfinished business.
“Alright,” I say, at last.
“Nine o’clock,” he repeats, his low voice vibrating in my bones. “Don’t be late.”
All afternoon in class, I’m thinking about Dean and what sort of “proposition” he might offer me.
He already has all the leverage he needs to coerce me into doing what he wants.
Which can only mean . . . he’s about to ask for something more.
Dean terrifies me. I just learned that he’s a would-be murderer himself, that he tried to drown his own cousin out of jealousy over Anna and whatever other grudges he holds against Leo.
Still . . . I can’t deny that there’s something magnetic about Dean.
I never met someone so intense, so consuming. He’s like a fire running wild through dry brush, swallowing up everything in his path.
He wants what he wants, he does what he pleases. He doesn’t care if he’s liked or hated.
I have to admire that to a degree. Because I absolutely care what people think of me. I’m easily embarrassed, easily intimidated.
If Dean were to leave me alone . . . I’d still think about him all the time. The last week has shown me that. When I lie in bed at night, unable to sleep, I slip my hand beneath my covers and touch myself, trying to recall the exact texture of his rough, strong fingers against my skin. My small, soft hand is nowhere near as satisfying.
After class, I find myself showering and shaving every inch of my skin, making myself clean from top to bottom. Dean is obsessed with cleanliness. The thought of him finding me dirty or unkempt is intolerable, though the idea of him touching me again is hardly any better. I’m a bundle of raw nerves.
I put on fresh clothes: knee socks, Mary Janes, a green plaid skirt, and an oversized knitted jumper. I pile my curls up on my head, pinning them in place, or at least attempting to—little corkscrews always escape, dangling down around my face and the nape of my neck.
I look at my face in the mirror, wondering if I should put on makeup or not. Dean made me wash it off that one time, but I think he was just being an ass.
I take a liquid liner and draw a wing on either eye, tilted up at the outer edges. It makes my eyes look bigger than ever, very like a cat. I blink slowly, pleased with the effect.
Why am I dressing up for Dean?
I don’t know.
I only know that my heart is racing long before I jog across the open expanse of grass between the Undercroft and the ruined Bell Tower on the northwest corner of campus.
The Bell Tower looks as if it was hit with a lightning blast. It may well have been—the stones are charred and blackened by fire, with large gaps in the wall where the inferno raged through. Only half the roof remains in place, the other half gaping open to the stars like a missing eye. The edge of the bell peeks through, the metal tarnished from sun and rain.
No one comes in here because it’s a death trap. It looks like it might crumble at any moment.