Tristan
I DIDN’T REALIZE how hard teaching a class would be with Lisa being that attentive. She’d dropped her pen twice, and stuck it in her mouth at least a dozen times. Her tongue had popped out, touching the tip and my entire body tightened at the sight. I literally had to teach from behind the desk because I was afraid that the students would think talking about mass murders and sociopaths was a turn on for me, when, in fact, it was the exact opposite.
This was the lesson I hated.
Because it was too close to home.
I knew more than I’d like to know about the topic.
“Sociopaths,” I said in closing, “are usually well-liked, good-looking people. They’re people you trust, people that seem like Good Samaritans. Take, for example, Ted Bundy. I think the misconception, especially with TV these days, is that if someone looks harmful, they are harmful. What about a stranger, someone you see on the street? Their hair is messy, they’re talking to themselves, and they’re waving their hands all over the place. They wave a gun in the air, and you immediately think they’re going to start shooting.”
I shrugged and glanced around the room, making eye contact with a few of the students without really seeing them. “Take a similar situation: a nice-looking doctor pulls out a gun and smiles. Are you going to immediately duck? Or will you think, wow, is he protecting me from something? Science has proven you’re more trusting of those who appear to be trustworthy, which means those intelligent, attractive people, who are, most likely, well-spoken. It’s why you can’t ever base your judgment on someone solely on his looks or what you perceive her intellect to be. You don’t know their stories, and, for some of these cases you’ll be reading about, the victims didn’t know until it was too late. I’m not saying this to freak out the entire sophomore class.”
Chuckles followed.
Good, I was still reaching them. “But I think it should be fair warning to look beyond the masks and into the person’s soul. Study the nonverbal cue charts, and let that be what you put your trust in. Subconscious movements don’t lie.”
I checked my watch. “Alright, looks like we’re out of time. Be sure to look over the human emotion study sheets. We’ll be having a quiz tomorrow.”
The sound of scraping chairs and talking filled the room. Lisa was rooted to her seat, her eyes glazed over like she was in another time, another place.
Jack waved in front of her face, then shrugged and walked off.
Students piled out of the room.
And finally it was just me and her.
When she didn’t move, I got nervous, so I shut the door to the classroom and slowly made my way to her desk.
Her eyes were wide, her mouth tight, jaw clenched.
“Lisa?” I whispered. “Is everything alright?”
“No,” she said quickly. “But it will be.”
In an instant she was out of her seat and in my arms, her mouth pressed hotly against mine. I wasn’t ready for her attack, so I almost fell backward. Gripping her shoulders, I tried to brace myself, but she held on to me for dear life.
She kissed me hard.
But not with passion.
No. Her kiss tasted like fear.
So, I kissed her back hard enough to gain the upper hand then slowly retreated my mouth so that I could nibble on her lower lip. When she let out a whimper, I rained soft kisses on her cheeks and finally her forehead then pulled her in against my chest. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“No.” She shivered. “I can’t. It’s just… maybe one day, but that day isn’t today. One day I’ll be brave enough to throw all those masks at your feet. I just don’t think I’m ready yet.”
“Kissing me won’t make it go away.” I sighed. “Not that I’m complaining at all about your methods.”
She sighed, her hands wrapped tightly around my waist. “I’m sorry. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Kissing…” I pulled back and gave her a soft smile. “…is always a good idea.”
She flushed. “I should probably go to my next class.”
“You can open it.” I nodded to the envelope. “Now that the classroom is empty.”
A look of pure joy crossed her face before she reached for the envelope and tore it open.
The key dropped out with a note taped to it.
“From Anonymous,” she read aloud. “Hmm… wonder who that is?”
“No clue,” I said seriously. “Some people like to keep their identity a secret just in case the gift receiver isn’t happy with the gift.”
“So, a key?” She lifted it into the air. “Is my gift?”
“Let’s just say the experience is the gift.” I shrugged, hoping she would get the hint not to make a big deal. ‘Then again, if buying you a car gets me in your good graces, I’m all for it.”
“A car?”
“Look closer.”
She brought the key closer to her face and squinted at it. “Holy…” Her eyes flashed to mine, filled with a hundred questions.
“Vroom, vroom?” I smiled and leaned closer. “Oh, and you’re going to love this part.”
“What part?”
“The shopping, of course.” I grinned, satisfied with her stunned expression. “Now get to class. I’ll text you later.”
“But—”
“You know how I feel about being late.”
Rolling her eyes, she put the key in her back pocket grabbed her bag then reached up and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for the surprise.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
She laughed softly and damn-near skipped out of the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“I have a secret,” I mused, drawing circles in my journal, feeling marginally better since my asshole of a father had given me more pills. “Wanna know?”
“What?” Mel asked, her expression shuttered.
“I’m going to die.” I shrugged. “Just thought you should know, since it’s going to be your fault.” I held up a piece of fruit. “Hungry?” —The Journal of Taylor B.
Lisa
I THINK IN ALL my twenty-one years of living, I’d skipped once, maybe twice. And both times I was probably in pigtails. But he made me want to skip. A Ferrari? I knew he was extravagant, a bit crazy, but I felt… special, like he’d really listened to me.
By the time I skipped back into my apartment, the easy, happy-go-lucky feeling was gone.