Page 8 of Dead Valentine

I stand up and turn, the smile falling from my face. I grab a bottle of water from my fridge and the bottle of pain reliever from my desk. I walk over, open the bottle of water before handing it to her. I dump two pills in her hand and gently push it towards her.

“Thank you, Corbin.”

She attempts to bat her eyelashes, the clumpy mascara making her lashes stick together. Obnoxious knocks come from my door and I already know by the beat of the knocks it’s my annoying half-brother. Thanks a lot for creating this fucker with your mistress, daddy dearest. I groan and roll my eyes as I unlock my door and open it a crack. He pushes the door open and walks in. “Oh, please, come on in, Colson,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

He adjusts his tie and smiles at Cara. “Well, hello, there.” He turns his gaze to me. “I didn’t realize you had company, Corbin.”

He winks in my direction and I glare in return. He stares at Cara and whatever she sees has her carefully getting out of my bed. I’m not surprised. Colson hasn’t figured out how to mask his twisted ways. Idiot. She gives me a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, throwing her coat on and bag over her shoulder. “Thanks for a great time, Corbin. I’ll, uh, see you around.”

She scurries through the door without a backwards glance. Colson stands by the door, leering at her retreating form.

“She’s too old for your liking, Colson.”

His eyes glaze over and I can only guess he’s imagining all the ways he can make her appear younger. I cross my arms and stare at his side profile. We’re opposites in every way. I’mall dark hair, while he’s light. I hide my needs, he doesn’t. I’m smart, he’s a fucking idiot.

“Settling down with that fiance of yours not all it’s cracked up to be, huh?”

He scoffs, looking at me, mirroring my stance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You thought picking sweet and innocent Emersyn would help you with your… needs. I told you it wouldn’t work. Sweet and innocent doesn’t mean young.”

He slams my door shut and jabs his finger in my direction, spitting, “You shut your mouth! You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

I smirk. “If you say so, Colson. You should really control yourself better. I’m not sure what needs more work: your emotions or your facial expressions. They’ll get you caught one day. Be careful.”

He adjusts his tie and blazer, yanking the door open. “Fuck you, Corbin!”

I follow behind, laughing. “Now, that’s even more twisted.”

I shut the door behind him as he turns to throw back a retort. I rub my temples, feeling my own headache coming on. Oh joy, the Colson special. I open the bottle of pain reliever and dump a mouthful in, swallowing it down with the bottle of water she left behind. I grimace as I feel the pills slide down my esophagus, it feels like a traffic jam of pills in there.

There’s still an hour and a half before my psych class. I pull my garment bag out of the closet and toss it on my bed. Walking into the bathroom, I turn the water on until it’s mostly hot andstrip out of my clothes. Everything fades to the background as I mechanically move through my morning routine.

I untangle my dirty clothes and put them in my laundry hamper. Stepping into the shower, I hiss from the temperature, forcing myself to stand still and adjust to it. After what feels like no time at all, I get out of the shower and wrap a towel around my hips. Back in my room, I notice that I stayed in the shower longer than I should’ve. I ball my hand in a fist and start punching over my heart.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

I growl in frustration, unable to properly finish my routine. Running to my closet I yank on the ironing board. It gets caught on the hangers in my closet and I pull harder. The hangers tangle and clatter against each other, some remain stuck on the bar and others tumble around me and the ironing board.

“Give me it!” I yank harder and pull it free, quickly opening it up. Unzipping my garment bag, I put my uniform on the board before grabbing my iron from the closet. The cord is tangled in the hangers so I yank it. I plug it in and wait for it to heat up. My dirty uniform gets shoved inside the garment bag and I hang it over my hamper. I pull out one of the giant, clear garbage bags and wrap it around the hamper and tie it off, attaching my personalized name tag around it.

I quickly iron my clean uniform, getting as many of the wrinkles out as I can. When I’m done, I yank the cord from the outlet and place the hot iron in the sink of my bathroom. Sliding my boxers on, I grab my athletic cup and shove my cock inside. After putting on my uniform, I slide my dress shoes on and tie the thin, wax laces. I push my hair back from my forehead andtighten my tie. I look at the clock, the tick tock sound ringing in my ears like a fucking pendulum. Shit.

I shove my psych book in my bag and toss it over my shoulder, picking up my plastic-covered hamper along the way and run out of my dorm. I yank open the laundry chute and shove it down. Letting go of the metal door, it snaps shut with a clang. Shoving the strap of my bag further on my shoulder, I nod to everyone who greets me as I rush to class.

4

Rushingthrough the door just in time, my professor gives me a disapproving stare as he prepares to shut the door. I give my best apologetic smile, “Apologies, professor.”

The door shuts with a click as he sighs. “Take a seat, Mr. Moriarty. I suggest working on your punctuality. I don’t think you’re prepared for the hostility that some clients will send your way if you make them wait.”

I give him my best apologetic smile. “I understand, sir.”

I turn away and roll my eyes, making my way to my seat. A few students look in my direction and I discreetly point and make the motion for talking too much. They quickly cover their mouths to stifle their laughter and turn to face the front of the class. I unbutton my blazer before taking a seat and scoot my chair in, immediately pulling my textbook, notepad and pen out of my bag. While waiting for the professor to tell us what page to open to, I open my notepad and click my pen.

I start doodling a stomach, focusing on the esophagus and duodenum. My lips twitch, suppressing a smile as I stare at it.My doodles would seem strange if I had some basic ass major, but nobody can question them with my field of study. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and I drop my pen, scrunching my brows. Who the fuck is texting me? I look around the class and make sure the professor is at the front of the class. I see him shuffling through paperwork, so I pull my phone out and hold it under the desk. I unlock the phone and find messages from Colson. I can’t help but roll my eyes. I can only imagine the drivel bleeding into his messages.

PATHETIC BASTARD: I will be speaking to Father about you.

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