Page 147 of Ruthless Chaos
Shrieks catch my attention.
I turn my head just in time to see a throng of Chaos House students chasing three guys down the road. They are all buck naked, save for a red cloth wrapped around their necks and the Chaos House students have knives in their hands.
A pang of terror makes my stomach clench.
As the group rushes past me, I realize that while they pursue the Chaos House hopefuls they arelaughing.
All of this is just a joke to them. I swallow the distaste, reminding myself that I’m not in danger anymore, or at least as much as I used to be.
I stick to the narrow path that leads toward the handful of restaurants and cafes we have on campus. There shouldn’t be any Rush Week stuff happening here.
I’m in the mood for dessert.
Tonight, The Pastry Shop is a ghost town. Usually, there’s a line stretching out of the tiny building. I walk inside, browsing through the display cases.
There’s a middle-aged woman behind the counter. Her hair is pulled back from her face, and the bags under her eyes tell me she’s been here all day.
I give her a small smile. Her face doesn’t budge.
“How can I help you, ma’am?” she asks in a dull voice, putting on a pair of gloves and moving to the display case.
I point to a chocolate cheesecake sitting on a golden platter. “I’ll have a slice of that one, thank you.” The cake is nearly finished, which means it’s good.
She nods and I’m out of the store soon after.
My first bite into the cheesecake is a shot of dopamine and instantly puts a smile on my face. I forgot how happy desserts made me. Maybe if I just kept eating sweet treats, I wouldn’t have any time to be sad.
It would solve all my problems.
One path from the Food Court leads toward the lake, and I follow it absent-mindedly as I munch away on my cake. Though I haven’t been back to Lac De La Mort since the party, I remember it being beautiful at night.
Maybe that’s just what I need to see now.
Tall bushes encroach on the walkway, and I turn sideways so as not to get scratched by the shrubs. I’m halfway down the path when I realize that in hindsight, wandering alone around this part of campus wasn’t my brightest idea.
Even as the thought of danger prickles my skin, I continue walking towards the lake.
When the shores of the lake come into view, I sigh a breath of relief.
The moon is full and bright, casting its glimmering silhouette on the mirror-like surface of the lake. The water is a deep blue, almost black. It calls to me.
It’s probably colder than a witch’s tit, but putting a hand in won’t hurt.
Crumpling the paper bag that once held the cheesecake, I stash it in the pocket of my coat and approach the water. It’s so calm, so peaceful.
Though I can’t swim—I’ve never lived anywhere with a beach long enough to learn—I have always had an appreciation for water bodies. It’s why I ran away to the lake all those years ago.
I admire their duality.
On a calm, hot day a beach or a lake are like a salve: soothing, refreshing. Yet, amid a storm there’s nothing scarier—the water becomes unpredictable, scary even.
I wish I could be like that.
To have that much power, and still have that much control? It’s amazing.
I stoop down a few inches from the place where the water meets the shore and stretch my fingers out to meet it. The water is colder than I imagined and—
The sound of footsteps and talking shatters my thoughts.
