He Hates Me In Real Life

chapter 6

Aiden refused to leave me alone in my dorm with a concussion. He drove me straight back to the campus apartment he shared with Dorian and set me up on the living-room sofa with three pillows, a heating pad, and a bowl of chicken-noodle soup that tasted mostly of salt and guilt.

Iris was livid when she found out.

“What am I here for?” she demanded, hands on her hips. “You think I’m just going to leave my friend alone all day while she’s injured?”

Aiden sighed. “I didn’t want to burden you with the responsibility of taking care of my whiny sister.”

That seemed to cool her down a little. She glanced at me, then at him, and the fight drained out of her shoulders.

“That’s not even genuine affection,” I muttered once Aiden went to buy more food.

Iris pushed my shoulder gently. “At least it’s something. And you are whiny. I would’ve killed you if you stayed.”

I laughed through the pain in my head, voice low and raspy. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love it.”

She kissed my uninjured temple and leaned against my shoulder while I draped an arm around her. When Aiden returned she left, still grumbling under her breath.

Dorian’s door down the hallway stayed shut tight the entire evening. Light bled under the sill, accompanied by the muffled, frantic clicking of a keyboard that never seemed to stop.

“Don’t mind him,” Aiden said, dropping into the armchair with a grunt. “He’s been acting like a psycho since we got back from the hospital. He practically threw Clara into her dad’s car, bolted up the stairs, and locked himself in his room. Didn’t even take his coat off.”

“I don’t care what he does,” I murmured, staring down at the soup.

Aiden tilted his head and gave me the long, searching look he used to give when we were little and he always knew I was hiding something. This time he didn’t push. He only said, “Finish that, then take a shower. I’ve prepared a hot bath,” before standing and walking into the bathroom.

Some days later Aiden retrieved my ruined phone from the alleyway. The screen was shattered into a spiderweb of dead pixels, the battery housing bent at a violent angle. Completely bricked.

“I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow,” he offered, sounding surprisingly contrite. “I’ve got some savings from my laptop stipend. It’s fine.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Since when are you so generous?”

“Since you nearly split your head in two.”

“Oh, so I need to get injured to enjoy your magnanimity. Sounds like a fair trade.”

“Shut up, Quinn.”

We laughed.

Iris arrived that afternoon in a blue coat and jeans, carrying takeout and juice boxes.

“I brought lunch,” she announced with a beaming smile.

“The Samaritan arrives,” I said dryly.

She pouted, placing everything on the table beside the sofa. “That’s rich coming from a girl who survived a freaking stampede. How’s your head, by the way?”

“It feels like someone put the leftovers of Professor Edwards’ bean cake into my skull.”

We looked at each other and both started laughing. Through the corner of my eye I caught Aiden staring at Iris with a complicated mix of worry, adoration, and uncertainty. She noticed and blushed. I gagged theatrically. He turned his face away before I could see more.

When Aiden went to shower and Iris finally left, I fished my old iPad from my bag and plugged it into the wall. The moment the screen lit up and connected to the Wi-Fi, the device began to shudder violently in my hands. Notifications flooded the center in an endless cascading waterfall of banners.

WeChat — 342 unread messages.

WeChat — 18 missed voice calls.

WeChat — 7 missed video calls.

I tapped the green icon with a trembling thumb. The chat window with the blank black avatar was a graveyard of frantic desperation.

Babe where are you?

Why did you delete the app?

Babe please don’t do this. Tell me what I did wrong. I’ll fix it. I swear to God I’ll fix it.

Did something happen to you? The news said there was a fire near the university. Are you okay?

Babe please just send me one letter. I swear I’ll leave you alone.

I won’t leave you alone but please, just tell me you’re okay.

My cousin got her leg hurt and I’m at the hospital but all I can think about is you.

My chest hurts so bad I can barely breathe. Why won’t you answer me?

I saw someone today at the hospital. Her head was bleeding. She was bleeding, babe. Why did she look at me like that? Why did she have your eyes and why is her name also Quinn? Babe do you know her?

No. That’s impossible. You told me you live in the southern district. You told me you go to culinary school.

Babe tell me you’re safe. Babe answer me. I’m dying. I’m literally dying. I’m on my knees right now. I’m wearing the collar with your name on it. Look at me.

Attached to the last message was an image.

In the dim light of the bedroom Dorian had stripped down to his bare chest. The heavy gold chain with my name was buckled tightly around his pale, elegant throat. The skin beneath the metal was chafed an angry red where he had dragged it against his Adam’s apple. His head was pressed against the floorboards, knuckles white as they dug into the carpet. His dark eyes stared into the camera lens with a raw, feral agony that made my stomach lurch.

I stared at the photo until the screen dimmed.

The next morning I was sitting at the kitchen island in one of Aiden’s oversized cardigans, hair pulled back so it wouldn’t irritate the gauze on my temple, when the front door opened.

Dorian stepped inside.

He looked like he had been hollowed out from the inside. The crisp aristocratic aloofness that usually clung to him was completely gone. He wore a faded black hoodie with the strings pulled tight. His face was pale as chalk, deep bruised-purple crescents carved under bloodshot eyes.

When he saw me sitting at the counter he stopped dead in his tracks. The air between us grew thin and cold.

I set my mug down with a soft click.

“There’s coffee in the pot,” I said evenly, polite and formal—the voice you use with an acquaintance you barely tolerate in an elevator. “Aiden brewed it before he left.”

“I don’t want coffee.”

His voice sounded like it had been shredded over broken glass. He stood there, towering over the edge of the island, looking down at me with an expression of such intense, naked pain that it felt almost indecent to witness.

“Your head,” he whispered. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s fine.” I picked up a spoon and stirred my water. “The doctor said the stitches come out in a week.”

His knuckles gripped the edge of the marble countertop until the skin turned translucent.

“Last night at the theater…” A shudder ran through his broad shoulders. “I didn’t—I didn’t know it was you on the floor.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” I said, raising my gaze to meet his. My voice was smooth, devoid of any tremor. “We aren’t friends. You’re my brother’s roommate, and you made it very clear that you don’t like me.”

He looked as if I had driven a physical blade into his sternum. He staggered backward half an inch, face turning an even more sickening shade of gray.

“I didn’t mean that,” he choked out, hands coming up in a frantic defensive gesture. “I was—I was angry. I thought you were— I have a girlfriend, and I thought—”

“And you were very loyal to her,” I said, offering him a small, empty smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Calling another girl ugly, desperate, and pathetic to prove your devotion. She must be very lucky.”

Every drop of blood drained from his lips. His breath caught in his throat.

I stood up slowly. My temple throbbed with a stinging pain, but I kept my spine straight. From the pocket of the cardigan I pulled out a small brass object and laid it on the marble counter between us.

It was a dog-training clicker. Standard issue. Faded green plastic worn smooth from years of use with my golden retriever back home.

Dorian stared at it. His eyes widened. His pupils dilated until the gray in his irises was almost swallowed.

I raised my hand, looked straight into his bloodshot eyes, and pressed the button twice.

Click. Click.

The sound was sharp and mechanical, echoing over the kitchen tiles.

“Now this,” I said, smiling a smile that still didn’t reach my eyes.