Page 43 of Endless Anger
Avernia College isn’t what I expected.
It isn’t even really like anyone else said it’d be either. There’s a sinister film that clings to the campus air, sure, but in general, the state of the university itself is just sort of strange. Macabre in a way that’s still somehow trying to pretend it isn’t.
My student advisor swears it’s just the massive change in scenery and that I’ll adapt to the atmosphere eventually. But so far, I’m not convinced.
Even my coming out tonight was only because I’ve spent the first four weeks of classes holed up in one of the libraries, alternating between studying feminist poetry of the eighteenth century and wondering if the floor I like to study on most is haunted. There’s not much else to do unless you’re in one of the many campus cliques, and those are nearly impossible to break into.
My eyes find Asher’s, and I swallow.
Unless you’re a founding family member. Then it’s practically your birthright, because the organizations want donors, and there’s a very strong superstition among the residents that disfavor from the founding bloodlines will result in the crumbling of their community.
I still can’t believe Asher didn’t tell me about that connection. Instead, I had to find out how deep his family ties go during orientation, when they went over the school’s dark history and all the deaths that have happened on the property over the centuries.
A strange introduction but powerful nonetheless.
The Andersons are the only name on the founders’ statue in the quad that’s been scratched out.
They’re somehow revered and feared at the same time.
“What do you want me to say?” I finally ask, because there’s no way I can broach the subject of his secrets.
Or admit that I get it now—why he didn’t want to come here.
Maybe if he’d been honest about it, I’d have been less offended. Maybe I would haveunderstoodand gone wherever he picked.
But he didn’t give me that choice. He just did whatever he wanted, same as always.
“Don’t you—” He cuts himself off, chewing on his lip for a split second.
My eyes trace the indentations his teeth make in the soft flesh. My stomach tenses, and I pretend not to notice.
He releases his lip with a soft breath. “Don’t you miss me at all?”
His thumb smooths over my chin.
Gravity pulses between us, an electromagnetic field of opportunity. Heat expands in my blood, rising as he sways forward, temptation welling in his heavy gaze.
I’ve never seen him look at me like this.
It’d take so little effort to push up on my toes and close the distance. To do what I’ve dreamed of for the past year, after convincing myself the first time in that sunflower field was a hallucination brought on by alcohol.
We never talked about it after. Really, we barely spoke past that night, but I could never tell if things were awkward because of the kiss or because our lives were splitting in different directions.
He taps on my skin, bringing me back to focus.
I shake my head, dispelling the want. Ignoring the strange, almost wistful look on his face. What good will it do me now anyway?
“No. I don’t miss you, Asher. Not even a little bit.”
For a few more seconds, he continues touching me. Staring at me.Finally, his expression drops slightly, something blank replacing the emotion there. His arms fall from the door, releasing me from the prison he concocted, and without another word, I reach for the knob, wrenching it open.
Laughter and loud music spill into the small room. Perfumed air filters in with the warmth from a bar packed with college kids, and I spin on my heels, then slip through the opening.
Because if he can lie, so can I.
11
ASHER
