Shame (Ruin #3) (13 page)

“Whoa!” He didn’t push me back, just braced my shoulders and gazed at me with those gray swirling eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I shook my head. “I was just… sorry, I thought I saw something.”

Slowly, he released his grip and stepped back. “So tonight? Six?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Sounds good. Should I meet you there?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“But won’t that look… bad?”

“A student eating with her professor? I’m sure there are worse things for the faculty to be gossiping about than a professor taking a student out to dinner to apologize for being an ass. You know, school shootings, drugs, rapes, things like that.”

My edgy feeling continued, but I found myself nodding in agreement. “You’re right.”

“Wow.” He smirked. “I imagine those aren’t words that pass those lips often.”

“Talking about my lips is definitely off limits.”

He stared directly at my mouth then outlined his lips with his tongue and whispered, “Now, that really is a pity.” He’d so done that on purpose.

“So, six.” I stepped back and coughed, trying to distract him from the heat I felt on my cheeks. “Great, awesome. I’ll just, be waiting outside… my… dorm, where I live, because that’s where…” I held up my hand to wave — yes wave — upon my departure and ran smack-dab into Jack as he came out of the guys' restroom.

“Whoa there. Guys’ restroom. No girls allowed.” Jack winked then nodded to the professor. “Everything okay?”

“Great!” My voice was too high-pitched to be convincing. “Gotta run. Bye!” I ran down the hall and out of the building. It was already too late to go to class, so I cut my losses and went to the student center to check my mail. I’d been having a hard time remembering my PO on account of having to change everything so often. By the time I scrolled through my notes on my phone, I’d been standing in front of the stupid boxes for ten minutes. Finally, I went to the correct one.

I reached in and pulled out a bit of junk mail, an announcement about a party on campus, and finally a black-and-white picture.

Of me and Taylor.

Taken two years ago.

I dropped it to the ground, terrified to look at the picture, so damn scared that Taylor was going to jump through the picture and hurt me again. Seeing him was like seeing the boogeyman in real life or chanting
Bloody Mary
in the mirror.

Swearing, I picked up the picture, planning to rip it up and toss it in the trash, but as I grasped it and began tearing the damn thing, I noticed handwriting on the back. It was the same black block lettering I’d seen before.

It’s almost time. Did you think I’d stay dead forever? I own you.

A cry rippled from my throat, and I dropped the photograph into the trash. Without a backward look, I ran straight to my dorm, my body numb the entire way.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The thing about leaving a legacy? It’s not truly a legacy unless you affect the maximum amount of individuals. Why in the hell would I go to all this work just to hurt one person? Do I look like an idiot? I work tirelessly because it has to be perfect, everything has to be perfect. The best part? The players don’t even know they’re in the game. —
The Journal of Taylor B.

Lisa

I
LOCKED MY
door and slid down, hands shaking. I tried to get my breathing under control. I’d run the entire way back to my room and then hesitated even going in. What if a crazy person was waiting for me?

Clearly the hair hadn’t thrown off the stalker.

Which meant someone from my past, someone — someone I’d hurt — knew I was here, knew I was going to school, and knew my connection to Taylor. The worst part? Just thinking about all the people who were negatively affected by him. I shuddered, the list was long. So long.

“You can do this,” I whispered to myself. “You aren’t Mel anymore. You’re Lisa.”

The familiar taste of metal entered my mouth, quickly followed by knife-sharp pain as I bit down hard on my tongue. Fear wrapped itself around me like a blanket, and I let it, because I was so tired of fighting. It’s sad — no, it’s actually pathetic when what you fear most becomes an object of comfort. When fear actually turns into a friend. When you open your eyes and all you see is the dark because it’s been so long since you’ve seen the light. I’d been under that type of cloak for a while. Meeting Kiersten, having had her as a roommate last year had helped, and then, of course, meeting Wes; the guy was like a walking inspirational quote. And then there was Gabe; for a while we had carried the burden together. But now? It wasn’t fair to ask that of him.

Which just left me.

I took another deep breath and slowly rose from my position on the floor and walked over to my computer. I clicked the mouse to wake it up and with shaking fingers typed in the one website I swore I’d never revisit, the one place that still gave me nightmares.

Videos of shame popped up right away. Millions of hits, millions of followers. I had no idea who had taken over since Taylor’s death, and I didn’t want to know. I’d had my parents email the site to take down all the videos I’d been involved in, but once something was on the Internet? Yeah, it’s pretty much there forever, and in the end, because I’d willingly participated and apparently been one of the founders of the website, there wasn’t really anything they could do.

Thus, changing my name and taking on a new identity.

Only the victims knew it was us.

And the really horrible part? They were always convinced, you know, after the shameful video was posted, that we wouldn’t stop shaming them until they signed an NDA, meaning they couldn’t expose the masterminds behind the website.

Protecting us, or so I thought.

The home screen had ten different featured videos of the day, a little kid picking his nose and getting caught by his twin brother, then telling the girl on camera and showing the picture to her. Silly stuff. At least it wasn’t as bad as what it used to be.

I scrolled through more of the videos. They were embarrassing but mostly funny, not something that would cause a kid to commit suicide or want to start a school shooting.

The last video was titled,
“Revenge, a Dish Best Served… Late.”

I clicked on it.

And almost threw up.

They were pictures of me.

Pictures of me in class, pictures of me at a bar, pictures of me two years ago with Taylor, and pictures of me and Taylor kissing and then…

My entire body went rigid as I watched the video go live…

“Just take it,” Taylor whispered. “It will make you feel good.”

“You promise?” I swayed a bit, already drunk. “It will help my stomach cramps?”

“Totally.” He winked. “Would I ever steer you wrong, babe?”

I rolled my eyes and took the pill; he handed me a beer and the video continued with us talking. I had no memory of staying that night, no memory of even drinking.

And that’s when the video took a dark turn. I stumbled into Taylor’s arms, slurring my words. “I f-f-feel funny.”

“Probably tired from the pill.” He waved to some of our friends. “Let’s go lie down.”

“’Kay.” I snuggled into him and sighed happily.

The camera shook a bit as it followed us closely behind. At one point Taylor turned around and winked straight at the camera.

“Come on, Mel, let’s get you comfortable.”

He proceeded to strip me of all my clothes.

I should have hit stop on the video. Black censor marks covered my nudity and his, but you could tell what was happening by the fact that I was murmuring
stop
, by the fact that my body was completely limp, and by the fact that Taylor said directly into the camera, “Revenge, my friends, is a dish best served… late — are you watching? I know you are… I knew you would be.” He dropped my limp body to the ground and strutted toward the camera then whispered, “I. Own. You.”

I slammed the computer shut and stumbled backward. I didn’t know who to call, who to tell, what to even do! It was so long ago, could you even report a case like that? Plus he was dead? Right? He was dead? I watched him die, watched him throw himself from the ledge.

I ran into the bathroom and puked then slumped to the floor again. I didn’t want Gabe to know, not now, now when he was so happy and done with drama. Besides, what could he possibly do? Tell the police? Arrest a dead person? Take down a video that I’m sure would just be put back up the next day? Because that’s the thing about the website; Taylor had specifically filtered it through a different country, so even if we did have some crazy person filing against the site…

We’d block their IP.

Keep it up.

And keep running.

The video was there to stay — forever, I was one click away from turning into an E Hollywood story.

It was like Taylor was haunting me from the grave. How would he even know? He’d always said he owned me, and he’d been right.

And now.

Even in death he owned me.

“Well, congrats, you sick bastard,” I mumbled. “I feel… owned.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Making someone feel, making someone care, making someone experience emotion when your whole life you’ve been numb to it? It’s like fireworks going on all around you. It’s so loud, so damn loud it deafens. And then there’s the light, so brilliant it blinds; it scorches your retinas. And you take it as long as you can until you have to close your eyes, plug your ears — until all you want to do is scream. Mel was my fireworks, my everything, and because of that, she needed to be punished the way she was punishing me. You see, she made me human, and the last thing I’d wanted was to be something I wasn’t. She spoke calmly to the beast; she did my bidding. She was going to have to pay for that. I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry. The story is halfway done. —
The Journal of Taylor B.

Tristan

I
WAS ABOUT
fifteen minutes early to Lisa’s dorm… I decided that leaning against the wall looked odd, and sitting in my car made me look like an absolute predator, so I went into the lobby and sat on the couch. UW was so big I knew people wouldn’t necessarily recognize me, especially considering I was only wearing jeans and a T-shirt, meaning I looked a lot younger than I typically did in the front of the classroom.

By the time 6:15 rolled around, I’d started getting nervous. I had to laugh. Was the girl ever early? Maybe that was just her thing, being late? With a growl of frustration, I went over to the elevators and pressed her floor. I hurried down the hall, hoping we hadn’t just missed each other, and knocked on the door.

No answer.

I guess I deserved to be stood up.

Then again, what if something really was wrong?

I knocked again.

The door swung open. Lisa stood there in the same clothes as earlier, her eyes were puffy from crying, and her hair was a mess.

“What happened?” I cupped her face and examined it for any hint of injury. Finding none, shifted my gaze and quickly scanned her body. “Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?”

I kicked the door shut behind me and walked her backward toward the couch. I sat her down and gripped her hands with mine as I knelt in front of her. “Lisa, talk to me.”

“I—” she croaked, her eyes glancing at the computer and back at me. “I…” She started shivering. “I can’t tell you.”

“What
can
you tell me?” I was going to go crazy. Her tears were like tiny knives driving into my skin by force. I wanted to fix it; I had to fix it.

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

“Are you physically hurt?” I asked calmly, even though I was ready to run my fist through whoever had made her cry.

“No.” She sniffled.

“Did someone try to hurt you physically?”

She nodded her head slowly and then shook it, like the question confused her. But she cried harder, so something had happened.

“Lisa.” I sighed heavily. “Let me help you, let me take care of you.”

“Oh yeah…” She rolled her eyes and sniffed. “The professor that hates me so much he can barely look at me wants to suddenly take care of me? Sorry if I’m not so keen on trusting you at this point.”

I reared back, eyes searching her face. She was right, completely right, but she had no idea the real reason. Why I did what I did, what drove me to treat her like she was nothing when really I knew in my soul she was an everything girl, the type of girl that guys hold on to. Hell, I knew that firsthand, because she’d been the one to drive him to madness. And I knew I’d follow happily in the same footsteps, even having proof that I could end up the same way, and I was ready to pack my suitcase and jump along for the ride.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Sorry for the way I addressed you in class, sorry for not listening to the real reason you were late, and sorry that you’re crying, that someone’s hurt you so deeply that you feel the need to waste tears on them.” I tilted her chin toward me again. “But I won’t apologize for kissing you, for thinking about you every night, for wanting you when I know I shouldn’t. I can’t apologize for that. I won’t.”

Her sharp intake of breath was all it took for me to move. My mouth met hers, and I knew, in that instant, in that very second… madness for her? Was something I would choose.

No going back.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, and then, just as quickly as the kiss had started, she pulled back and quickly covered herself with the pillow, blocking me from reaching her.

Chest heaving, I held up my hands. “Sorry. I’m sorry, no touching.”

She shook her head again, taking her lower lip hostage as fresh tears started pooling in her eyes.

I sighed, feeling completely helpless, totally unused to the foreign feeling that there was no one I could call to fix it, nobody I could pay to make her tears go away. “Are you hungry?”