~Ava
I stared at the screen in the empty third-floor corridor, the email from the registrar glowing like a death sentence:
PSY-480 Final Exam – Last attempt before degree audit.
Failure = automatic additional year.
I laughed, one sharp, bitter sound that echoed off the lockers.
An extra year. In this place. With these people.
I was never coming back anyway. But the thought of that red “Incomplete” stamped on my record forever pissed me off more than it should.
I still tasted Jason on my tongue, felt the ghost of his fingers in my hair, the way he’d whimpered while coming down my throat. My body was already lit up, craving more, craving release, craving control.
Hartman wanted s*x.
Fine.
I was done being the victim of men’s games today. If he wanted to play, I’d play, and I’d w
