Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 134133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
I wait all night for him to reappear in my life, but there's no text. No car.
Mom comes to pick me up and take me to her house where we have dinner and I get my car back.
I watch the headlights in my rearview and still feel a sense of paranoia as I make my way back to the dorm, but there's no sign of him. When I turn out all my lights and climb into bed, I don't even have that same feeling I've had before of his presence lingering in the air around me.
I feel free.
I don't know why, but I don't care.
It was an odd chapter in my life, that's all.
Now I can turn the page and see what comes next.
When I close my eyes, I'm filled with a sense of anticipation I haven't felt since the very start of the school year. Maybe I even feel a little lighter because of what I told Professor DeMarco at the coffee shop, I don't know.
All I know is I feel a little bit like who I was supposed to be before people started breaking me, and it feels damn good.
Chapter sixteen
Sophie
I walk to school on Wednesday, and then I walk myself home.
There’s no sign of Silvan, no sign of Hugh.
If I feel slightly abandoned, I tell myself that’s insane and shove it down.
I’m free.
That’s a good thing.
No more looming presence, no more feeling of my space not being entirely mine.
It’s as if Silvan has disappeared.
As if he’s a monster I dreamt up, banished by the light of day.
I’m happy about it.
Happy.
Not at all confused or disappointed.
Definitely not.
Thursday is more like my Friday because it’s my last day of classes before the weekend.
Professor DeMarco’s words from yesterday hang in my mind as the end of class approaches. I catch his gaze a couple of times and think it’s on his mind, too.
He has office hours Tuesdays and Thursdays, after all.
I could go to his office.
I’m all jumbled up wondering if he wants me to, if I want to when class ends and students begin to file out. I take my time putting my things away just in case he wants to come over and talk to me like he has been.
I don’t get to find out, though, because Shelby Cunningham approaches his podium and starts asking a million questions.
I can’t stall long enough to wait her out, so once the last pen is tucked away in my pouch, I hoist my bag and make my way out.
I catch the professor’s gaze as I head for the door, and I swear he looks a bit disappointed.
That I’m leaving?
Maybe he really does want me to come to his office.
I can’t decide if I want that, though I did enjoy our brief conversation yesterday.
At least, I think I did.
I don’t know, he makes me feel immensely confused about everything.
My steps are slow as I make my way down the hall. I end up stopping a few classrooms down.
I don’t know what I’m stopping for, exactly. It would be so obvious if I actually waited for him to leave the class, wouldn’t it?
Before I can decide what to do, Shelby comes out of the classroom. Her pace is brisk, but she slows down when she sees me standing in the hallway.
“Sophie, right?”
My eyes widen in surprise and I nod.
She holds out a folded sheet of white paper. “I was asked to give you this.”
What?
I take the paper, but my confusion must be clear on my face.
She flashes me a smile, then turns and continues down the hall.
I swallow, glancing back at the classroom where I know Professor DeMarco is alone now, but going back feels about as subtle as waiting for him in the hall.
I open the sheet of paper and my heart stalls when I read the message typed inside.
Sophie,
I enjoyed seeing you yesterday after school.
Don’t come to office hours today.
Come to my house tonight.
I’ll be eagerly awaiting your company.
-Professor DeMarco
My jaw drops open.
“Tonight” is underlined with three bold strikes, and below that, he wrote a time and his address.
It’s all typed, but those three bold strikes… he writes those below his comments at the top of tests.
He wants me to come to his house.
That’s… insane.
I can’t go.
Right?
This bold invitation changes my tune about wanting to see him after class. If I do, I’ll have to give him an answer, so I pick up my bag and hurry down the hall so I’m gone before he gathers his things and leaves the classroom.
All night, I agonize over whether or not I’m going to go.
On one hand, he’s my professor. If I don’t go, won’t that be incredibly awkward come Monday morning?
But on the other hand, what does he expect to happen if I do go over there? A brief chat in a coffee shop is leaps and bounds away from going over to his house.