Page 63 of Under the Bed

And I never stopped loving him.

The empty screen shouldn’t surprise me. I can always count on Dad not to care about me.

I can also count on him to be a control freak. The press isn’t blowing up my phone. They won’t be following me around campus. They won’t find Kaleb.

The unhinged serial killer who has zero sense of boundaries. My stepbrother. The man I shamefully long for.

Browsing through the major news sites online proves that I was right.

His face, mask, and name are out of the news. That’s good. It means it’s less likely that people will look for him. I bet almost everyone has already forgotten about him. Either that, or they missed the news that aired two nights ago and don’t even know he exists.

I shouldn’t wish for this, for him to be a free man. I shouldn’t. I should fantasize about sticking a knife to his throat for how he violated me.

But he needs my help. He’s owed my help. And it’s not like I actually suffered. He humiliated me, but I breathed him in. I bathed in his wrath and deviance. I welcomed it.

Sigh.

I’m in and out of the bathroom, treading carefully toward my closet. No strong, cold, and powerful hand grabs for my ankle.

He isn’t here. I can feel it as I choose my clothes for the day. I focus on that instead of the ache in my chest and the worry in my stomach.

A fitted black blouse. Black blazer on top. Black jeans.

My black leather boots will complete my look once my hair and makeup are done. I don’t think I look better or worse with my hair smoothed and my mascara on point, but it’ll send a message.

It’ll scream that I mean business.

Same as it did when I forced my dad’s hand this summer.

I’ll have to make Professor Dempsey hear me out. Then Kaleb.

I will.

Somehow, I will.

11

SHILOH

Achill, similar to that of yesterday, has settled in my bones throughout the day. A soul-numbing cold I can’t shake.

Of course I can’t. There’s no shaking Kaleb.

Even though I haven’t seen him around today.

He’s here.

Physically, he shouldn’t have been able to get into campus. The security at the front gates wouldn’t let him in.

And yet.

“That’ll be all for today.” My clinical psychology professor, Joe Dempsey, runs a hand through his short, thick blond hair.

A soft sigh comes from somewhere inside the classroom. One of those almost always escapes whenever he rubs his scruff or his hair like that.

The girls and some of the boys here have a serious crush on him.

He won’t acknowledge it, though. His blue gaze is constantly harsh, his expression serious.

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