Page 76 of Endless Anger
At the edge of the groupie circle, Beckett has one leg crossed over the other, his frame practically spilling onto the other seats as he gawks at Asher. He toys with a strand of hair in front of his face, clearly trying to appear bored, even as his slimy gaze remains on the new student.
Asher and I lock eyes when he turns his head slightly in my direction.My lungs constrict as if trying to seal themselves off from air, while the events of the night he first showed up play on a loop in my mind.
Ever since then, my brain’s been a broken record, rotating between Celeste’s screams and Asher’s warm brown irises.
My thoughts shift back: Celeste’s pleas for those guys to stop and how they seemed to get off on it.
Then Asher’s body pressing against mine in the forest as we hid from whoever killed Celeste. How he’d beencoveredin wet crimson, painted in blood like a stuck pig. Soaked in sweat but breathing normally.
He never did explain what that was about.
And then he’d sent me out of the dorm when we discovered the two corpses in my room, insisting I contact the police. I didn’t see or hear from him again, and I spent my night in the Obeliskos bathroom while he was God knows where.
Not with me, that’s for sure.
Resentment seizes my heart, squeezing it inside my chest.Would it have been so horrible to stay and comfort me, even if I turned him away? Would trying to make me feel less terrified have been that difficult?
When my gaze refocuses, I notice Asher’s still looking at me.
I don’t think he ever looked away.
Unable to deal with that realization, I break contact, facing the stage once more.
Professor Dupont turns back to the class as he launches into his lecture, dusting his hands off on his slacks. The sleeves of his black button-down are rolled up haphazardly, and I can’t rip my gaze from the differing lengths.
It feels off, since the man typically seems so polished and put together, and it’s all I can look at.
For about ten seconds.
“Now, I know this may seem like a superfluous course to a lot of you. Especially those taking me as an easy credit.”
A few students cough out laughs. No one could ever accuse Professor Dupont of beingeasy.
You take his classes because you want to learn from the renowned actor himself, not because you’re planning on coasting through.
“But the point of life isn’t to justget by. There has to be structure. Order. Otherwise, we descend into chaos. We spent the first part of the semester discussing the schools of thought, and how they influenced art in ancient societies, and now we shift into application.”
His green eyes find mine as he finishes the sentence, and my hands curl into fists in my lap.
“We’ll start with the basic formulation of the birth of a play in ancient Greece. Beginning with its conception and moving on to the archon eponymous proposal. Does anyone know why they were called an eponymous?”
I’m jostled in my seat as someone flops down into the one directly beside me. My peripheral vision shows black hair and a frame of lean muscle, clad in a burgundy knit sweater. A backpack sits half-deflated in his lap, and he pulls out a notebook, flipping to a page with a dozen unfinished sketches on it.
He doesn’t look my way, even when I turn my chin fully in his direction. I scan him from head to toe, cataloging every inch to see if anything feels new or jarring. If people regenerate their skin every seven years, he should be about twenty-three percent an entirely different person.
Yet… The scar slashing across his lip remains. The one he got when a food fight with Foxe at school turned brutal. I took an elbow to the face by the tight end of the football team, and Asher shattered the guy’s jaw.
There’d been blood everywhere after that. His parents donated a new cafeteria to keep him from being sent off for his aggression.
I don’t know what happened to the football player, but it was the first time I looked at Asher and realized he always seemed to have blood on him. It was a staple.
And even though I’d spent my life building my morals around pacifism and activism through peaceful efforts, I realized I didn’t much mind how it looked on him.
Backthen. Before he ruined everything.
Now when he shows up soaked in it, I’m not sure what to think.
Shrinking in my seat, I pull my feet in from the aisle and look at Professor Dupont. After three seconds of trying to focus, my gaze floats over to the group of students Asher left behind, and my heart ricochets in my chest.
