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I’m not even doing this in the pursuit of justice anymore – I am prodding at Liz’s grief because I want leverage against Adrian.
*me remembering what the author's note said about her being morally grey*
“Not really. I asked – believe me – but he’d just smile and tell me that he had it handled.” Her entire face scrunches up. “But, the closer it got to…” She swallows as if it’s physically painful to say the word. “I could tell he was nervous about something, but he wouldn’t say what. He started telling me that things could go wrong. He insisted that we stop following each other on social media. He didn’t want public association with me if ‘things got dangerous.’”
HMMMM 👀
I still. “A journal? Like Mickey’s journal?” “No, I don’t think so,” she sighs. “I mean, I did get Mickey into journaling this year, but I think this was something else.” “Like someone else’s journal?” “Maybe. I’m not sure. He just mentioned it briefly, but whatever it was, I think it had something to do with whatever cash or money he thought was coming our way.”
Curiouser and curiouser....
Adrian peers up at our side of the bleachers with a smile, but it’s not Sophie who draws his attention. It’s me. He’s smiling at me. And I hate the wide grin he’s giving me. I hate the way his cheeks flush from exertion. I hate his dark eyes, twinkling with victory. Because when he looks like this and he smiles like that, I almost forget he’s a killer.
🤭💗
Still, I shrug. “I don’t know…there’s just something about him in the water. Something…” “Amazing?” His jaw ticks, and his lips are compressed into a thin line. He’s pissed, a realization that should scream Danger! Turn back now! but it only sends a slight thrill through me instead. Because I’ve found a soft spot. A sensitive nerve to be poked. Adrian plays modest whenever he ends the quarter with another string of straight-As or has the fastest finishing time, but the humility is an act. A show for the crowd. I’m starting to think he can’t stand being anything but the best – even in the
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Oh, most definitely.
I remember mentioning that I was overwhelmed to Adrian at the pool, but the thought of him doing this… As confused as I am about what might’ve spurred this good samaritan act, it leaves another odd emotion curling through my chest – one that I didn’t think I’d ever feel toward Adrian Ellis. Gratitude.
👀🤭💗
“Adrian?” The figure sprawled out on the floor stiffens, and then turns to face me, looking just as surprised to see me as I am him. “What are you doing here?” His eyes narrow, as if I’m the one intruding on him. And judging by the way he’s propped against the shelf, a book spread open in his lap, he’s clearly been here awhile – so I guess I am the one intruding.
I had a feeling he'd be here, but it's interesting to see that it seems to be divorced from her.
I blame my mother for this bout of temporary insanity. She’s the one who spent eighteen years conditioning me like one of Pavlov’s dogs to hear No, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it and realize that it actually means if I don’t figure out what’s wrong in the next ten minutes, I’m going to get the guilt-trip and silent treatment combo for the next week.
... honestly, you're probably right
Of-fucking-course. Well, guess it’s on me for expecting him to open up like a normal human being just because I did.
it was, unfortunately
“Guess I’m not the only one who likes to pretend they aren’t fucked up by their parents.” Adrian turns from the window and looks at me head-on. “On the contrary,” he says, “Everything I am is because of my parents. They’ve turned me into the man I am today.” Maybe it’s the way his voice drops or his obsidian eyes seem to harden, but the statement sends a chill through my spine.
👀 Saving this piece of information for later
“You know, this thing we’re doing right now?” I say. “Pretty sure it’s called human connection.” A breathy laugh escapes him. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m not sure I’m capable of human connection.” I pointedly ignore the endearment as I raise an eyebrow. “Well, you’re connecting with me right now.” When he looks at me again, I don’t find any amusement or playfulness in his stare – but something entirely new. Interest. Not curiosity but interest. Pure, unadulterated interest that makes my breath catch.
😈💗💗💗
“Oh, you poor thing,” Adrian coos. “You are freezing.” Before I can protest, something heavy settles over my shoulders, and I realize he’s draped his jacket over me. The beige peacoat must be twice my size, nearly long enough to kiss the ground if I’m not careful, but it’s soft as a blanket against my skin. And warm – which keeps me from handing the coat back. If he wants to make an attempt to be gentlemanly, who am I to protest in this weather?
I love her
“There you go. You got it,” he murmurs, and it’s only then I realize that it’s working. I’m breathing through my diaphragm. “Good girl.” A sudden warmth rushes right through me, and I hope to whatever higher power there may be that he can’t tell.
If this is foreshadowing that he might be a soft dom, I WILL scream, because how dare you include one of my prime weaknesses???!
I’m a little shaky at first, but each stroke propels my body forward, not under – and I realize I’m swimming. If I weren't focusing at least eighty percent of my energy on breathing, I would laugh. Triumph surges through me. I’m doing it. I’m actually doing it.
That's my girl!
I wait for him to hoist me the rest of the way up, but he stays just like this, keeping me half-submerged in the water – and a new sense of dread creeps in. “Adrian? Can you pull me out?” The smirk inching over his face does nothing to ease my growing anxiety. “You know,” he says, “It’s such a shame you’re here with me and not Cam.” My eyebrows cinch together. “Cam? Who the fuck is Cam?”
Oh, he took that shit you said at the meet to HEART 😭😭😭
REMOVES OLD & FADED BODY SCARS, one bottle reads. So, not for acne scars. For a moment, I can’t imagine what kind of bodily scar Adrian could have that he’d want to get rid of so badly, but then it hits me. The ankle scars. I hadn’t given those thin, faded scars on his left ankle much thought since I spotted them at the pool, but now I’m curious. Is that what all this stuff is for?
👀👀👀
“If you say so,” Adrian shrugs and then calls out to the worker. “We’ll need one large popcorn too.” My forehead crinkles. “What are you –” “You’re a terrible liar, you know,” he cuts me off. “When you want something, it’s written all over your face.” “It is not,” I argue and then frown. “Is it?” The kid hands over the popcorn and tickets and mutters, “Enjoy your date.” I can’t help the flush that branches up my neck as we walk away. Do people really think we’re on a date? I mean, I guess that would be the logical assumption to make about two teenagers slinking into the movies in the
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🤭💗💗💗
“Sophie doesn’t like me,” he interjects. My head swivels. “We’re talking about the same Sophie, right?” He rolls his eyes. “Sophie may think she likes me, but it’s the idea of me that she likes. The possibility of what I could do for her. What being attached to a family like mine would mean for hers.” “I see.” My shoes crunch over some dead leaves piled onto the sidewalk. Of course, it’s the idea of him that she likes. She’d probably run screaming in the opposite direction if she knew what he was really like.
Quick as a whip, that one.
“It’s not about helping people,” he explains. “If that were the case, I’d just spend the day writing checks from my father’s penthouse office. I like the objectivity of medicine. It doesn’t matter what someone does in real life. When we’re cut open, and our flesh is peeled away, we’re all the same vulnerable mound of muscle and blood and nerves underneath. I like that. And I like knowing that, for a little while, someone’s life completely depends on how well I’m able to wield the cold steel in my hand.” I’m not sure if it’s his words or the darkness in his voice that accompanies them, but a
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So in other words: Power.
God only knows what he’d do if he spent half the year lounging in Santorini, drunk on ouzo.
no fr
“Look at you.” His voice is soft, and my breath catches. His eyes…they’re – dare I say – almost warm. Like a splash of red or green thrown into black paint. “Opening up. Like we’re friends.” Friends. The word hits me like a punch to the gut.
🥴💀💗
“Oh. You didn’t need to do this, but since you did…thanks.” I take a sip, mildly surprised that the coffee’s black. Just the way I like it. He rolls his eyes. “You always say that. I don’t understand.” My forehead crinkles. “Say what?” “‘You didn’t need to do this.’” His voice pitches higher, as if in imitation of me. “As if you could make me do anything I didn’t want to do.” Well, that I believe. “It’s just how I was raised,” I tell him. “Southern hospitality and all that.” “Right. Alabama,” he drawls, “Somehow, hospitality is not the word that comes to mind when I think of Alabama.”
have I mentioned that I love them?
He peers past me and into my dorm room. “What the hell kind of computer is that?” I clear my throat. “My computer.” “It looks like it’s from 2005.” “Actually, it’s 2007,” I correct. “And it works just fine.” Granted, ‘fine’ was a low bar, considering it took at least twenty minutes to get from the home screen to Internet Explorer, and the device’s still running Windows Vista.
PLEASE 😭😭😭
“Well, if I’m being honest,” Adrian says, “I came here to convince you to put off your work and spend the day with me, but…” He levels me with a look I can’t interpret. “You’re such a sorry little thing, aren’t you? I’ve never felt particularly moved to help someone in need – not genuinely, at least – but seeing this pathetic little set-up you have, I can’t help myself. You can do the paper in my study. I have an actual computer you can use.”
Adrian please 😭
After a shower and a change of clothes, Adrian’s taken up residence in one of the recliners by the study’s fireplace, one long leg crossed over the other and a medical textbook propped open in his lap. Besides the quiet click-clacking of the computer keys and Adrian’s fingers flipping from page to page, we work in silence. At times, I swear I feel the weight of his stare sweeping over me, but he doesn’t say a word, so neither do I.
Not the body doubling! We love an autistic king 🫶
Guess I have another thing to thank Rick for. That’s got to be a record at this point. If I do find extra cash in here, I’ll buy him one of those sparkly Father’s Day cards that sing when you open it. Mom will love it.
😂😭
There you are. The drawer’s only inhabitant is one dark, leather-bound journal. I’m not sure if it’s satisfaction or dread that bolts through me when I reach down and grab the journal, but whatever it is, it’s making me tremble. This moment feels like self-induced déjà vu.
*This action will have consequences later.*
I didnt mean to do anything bad. Daddy said I embarased them at dinner and he put me back down here. I told him sorry but he said he will decide when Im sorry. I wanna go back upstairs. The cuff on my leg hurts. I think im bleeding. I screamed for Mommy but she didnt anser. Please Im sorry. I dont want to be down here. Im sorry. Im sorry. I promise Im really sorry. I didnt mean to stain my new shirt.
omg I knew it
She did, however, argue with him for nearly thirty minutes about whether a trip to the cellar is truly necessary. Even now, she’s telling him that my B-plus on that Wuthering Heights paper is the result of my trouble sleeping lately, and not a sign that I’m becoming lazy about schoolwork. I wish I could say that I appreciate her coming to my defense, but I know it’s not borne of any sort of maternal instinct or guilt. She’s doing this because she senses the same change that Father does. She knows that I’m getting older, and one day, sooner than later, she won’t be able to control me
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And there it is 💔
“I can –” Explain. The word dies on my lips the moment I see his face. Because Adrian’s anger is not heard – it’s felt. It’s in the tensing of his shoulders. The hardening of his jaw. The narrowing of his eyes. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed casually, but there’s so much icy-cold rage radiating off him that I swear the temperature of the room drops by ten degrees. I am so fucked.
You quite very much are! Remember that thing about consequences?! REMEMBER THAT THING ABOUT CONSEQUENCES?!?!
But it’s not me he reaches for. It’s the journal. He plucks it from the floor and says, “To be honest, I had no idea he’d taken it. Not at first. It wasn’t until he showed up at my door, threatening to plaster its pages all over social media unless I gave him a million dollars, that I realized what had happened.”
WHAT THE HELLION??
“Of course, the thing that Mickey didn’t account for,” he says, “Is that if you’re going to use the possibility of scandal to threaten a family that doesn’t have any, you should probably think about why they don’t.” It takes a lot of effort to avoid retreating when he takes another step toward me. “I played my part well enough. I told him I’d do it. I’d get him the money as long as he didn’t release it and ensured there was no paper trail to link us together. He thought it was all about keeping the extortion quiet, but I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t a suspect in his death.”
👀🥴 Well.
His forehead creases and then clears. “Oh, I see. This is nervous laughter. Your body’s using this as a defense mechanism to avoid panic.” The laughing stops. The fear returns – twice as potent as before. It might as well be leaking out of my pores. I’m going to die. I am not going to survive the night. I force myself to look him in the eye. “Are you going to kill me, Adrian?”
It's almost comical how good he's at coming up with this shit
“Adrian.” His name is a soft plea on my lips. “You didn’t deserve what your parents did to you. No parent should –” I gasp as his hand shoots back to my throat and squeezes in warning. “Do you really think I need pity from someone raised in the armpit of civilization without a nickel to their name?” He sneers. “You can keep your fucking pity.”
WELL DAMN 😭✋
“Cheating, misrepresentation…same thing,” I shrug. “And honestly, the details don’t matter. What matters is that I have a scholarship that I shouldn’t. And I know I shouldn’t have it, but nobody else does. And if you told anyone, say the Dean –” “He’d make you pay back every cent you owe in tuition,” he finishes, and the dark smile that fans over his face does absolutely nothing to calm my nerves. “Possibly file criminal charges.” “Which is $846,000 I don’t have, not including room and board.”
GODDAMN 😭✋
Still chuckling, he grabs a tissue from the box on his desk and dabs at his eyes. “Well, this…” He shakes his head. “Explains quite a bit about you, sweetheart. And your inability to discern where a semi-colon should go.” I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I get it. I’m not exactly an academic genius by Lionswood standards.” “No, not a genius,” he says, “But you are…” My breath catches. He’s looking at me, which, on its own, should not be a novel revelation. But he’s not looking – he’s looking, eyes shamelessly raking over me from head to toe, lips upturned as if he enjoys what he sees. Like I’m not
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They're developing 😈🤭💗💗💗💗
“Well, I think you've succeeded in pissing her off.” “Good,” he says, “An angry Sophie is far more tolerable than a happy one. This version will leave me alone.” I can’t argue with that logic.
true that
Freddy Rook shoots me a breathtaking, wide smile that leaves red blossoming over my cheeks. From the corner of my eye, I register Adrian following my gaze, but Freddy is the only one that has my attention right now. He gestures to the rose and mouths: Think about it.
No, because that *would* make me think about it, I'm afraid 😭
“There’s an art exhibit Saturday night. In Hartford. One of the museums has a few Dalí pieces on loan.” My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. “Dalí? Like Salvador Dalí?” “If it were another Dalí, I wouldn’t be bringing it to your attention.” “In Hartford…” My brain does a few quick calculations. “That’s –” “Two hours away,” he finishes, “My driver can take us.”
Not him trying to pull out the resources part of his little mating ritual like he's a damn bird 😭😭💗💗💗💗
His eyes only narrow. “I don’t want to go next weekend. I want to go this weekend.” I stare up at him, waiting for an explanation or reason to follow. None does. Why is he being so difficult?
Because he wants you, but doesn't know how to say that, because my autistic king lacks social skills!
“I don’t get the appeal.” His eyes flash. “Of him. There is absolutely nothing special about Freddy Rook, and yet, you’re choosing to spend time with him over me. I thought we agreed to be friends.” “We are, but I want to go to the dance,” I hiss quietly. “It’s not about you. It’s not about him. It’s about me wanting to go to a silly high school dance with a cute boy and take pictures and embarrass myself on the dance floor. It has nothing to do with you.” I don’t even realize I’ve taken a step forward till I’m face-to-face with his collarbones and have to tip my chin upwards.
oh he's so jealous 🤭💗
The anger vanishes from his face. “Then go with me.” The world skitters to a stop. “What?” “Go with me,” he repeats. “I’ll take you to the dance.”
*crackles* I am having SO much fun right now 🤭💗💗💗💗💗
“Tell me why,” he orders. “I need to know why.” There’s an edge of desperation to his voice that’s almost unsettling. “Do you really need me to spell it out for you?” His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word.
Yes, because what did I say earlier about him being neurospicy and not understanding social dynamics?? 🥴
This morning’s argument plays on a constant loop through my brain. The longer I’ve known him, the easier Adrian’s been to read, but I’m officially stumped. Either Adrian’s holding some grudge against Freddy that he’s not willing to share, or – and this is the ridiculous part – he’s jealous. As I said: ridiculous.
Nope, that is *exactly* it. Unfortunately, I don't think the poor bastard's realized this about himself.
My jaw drops. And I’m not the only one. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but it’s not to see a florist walk in, carrying the biggest bouquet of red roses I’ve ever seen in my life. It must be at least two or three dozen flowers bundled together.
HELLO??
“Poppy.” I turn, my stomach plummeting all the way to the floorboards when I come face-to-face with a grinning Adrian. My eyes dart between him and the line of florists towing a garden’s worth of roses. The room is dead silent as I ask, “What’s going on?” Adrian’s grin only widens. “I want to take you to the St. Benedict’s Dance. Will you go with me, Poppy?” What the hell?
What the helly?
What the Heliantte?
What the hell he on?
What the helly Berry?
What the helly 'Burton?
What the helly 'Bron James?
What the helly Cyrus?
😭😭😭
But one look around the room, I see that nobody’s laughing. Most of them are staring at us – at me – with an emotion I’ve become intimately familiar with at Lionswood: burning-hot envy. And they’re envious of me. Good, is my first thought as my gaze flits from one hungry face to the next. I stand taller. You know how it feels now. Until my eyes land on Freddy, whose devastation is sobering.
this reaction is sending me
“Because I see you now,” he breathes so quietly I know I’m the only one who hears. “So say yes or I’ll make a scene so bad this entire room will be begging for your expulsion before the day’s over.”
😭😭😭😭 SPOILED ROTTEEEEEEEEN
I rub the bridge of my nose. Another deep breath. “God, you are so frustrating sometimes.” “It’s funny. I could say the same thing about you.” It’s the sound of his chuckle, low and rich like molten chocolate, that peels my eyes from the floor. And I still. Because he’s looking at me. Well, looking isn’t the right word for what he’s doing. He’s staring at me, and he’s doing it in the same way half the Lacrosse team stares at Sophie’s bare, high-heeled legs – with total shameless captivation.
Oooooh, Poppy 👀 You better watch yourself, he looks like he's about to start planning y'all's future kids soon 🤭💗💗💗💗
“It was that pathetic display at your locker.” His face suddenly darkens, every ounce of softness disappearing. “You pulled out that pitiful little rose, and you had all this stunned excitement on your face. For him. For someone else.”
AKA, his jealousy at not being #1 in your heart drop kicked him in the throat 😭😭💗💗
