Page 188 of The Devil We Crave
A chill teases across my nape.
I finished that bookover the summer.
My pulse kicks up as I go back to the photos of me sleeping. This time, when I peer closer I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth as I jerk away from the laptop.
What the FUCK.
That’s not Morvaine Manor.
…It’s the bed I sleep inat home.
That chill teasing over my nape drips like ice water down my back.
These photos of me sleeping were takenbefore the semester started.
Before that Para Bellum party.
Before Achilles thought I was…well, whoever he thought he was meeting that night…which is a subject we’ve fastidiously avoided.
So… What the fuck am I looking at?
My pulse starts to beat faster, my veins twitching as I scroll further down the huge folder and open a PDF at random.
It’s a charge history of one of the meal cards students on campus use to pay for their food at the dining hall.
Not just any card’s charge history.
Mine.
From last year.
And it’shighlighted.
Streak after streak of yellow lines through “breakfast orders”.
…Every single one “western omelet, side of salsa, side of guacamole.”
A low whine starts up in the base of my skull.
The next PDF is computer-generated pie chart showing all the breakfasts I ate in the dining hall my freshman year at school. The biggest wedge, colored yellow, shows that I clearly have a go-to favorite.
Western omelets, with guacamole and salsa.
No.
Dread begins to settle into my skin as I scroll through the rest of the files.
My grades from last year. Professors’ notes on me, which nobody should have.
A spreadsheet with all my clothing sizes, including shoes and bras.
My online shopping wish lists.
A photocopy of my passport.
My—Jesus Christ—my fuckingmedical records.
The color drains from my face as I scroll through more candid-no-let's-call-them-creepy photos of me. On campus. In class. Walking through Central Park with my mom after a 10k we ran together…this past summer.
