29

He never smiles around me, though. I wonder why. I know exactly why, but it doesn’t make me despise the others any less. “Just come out. I’ll wait outside. If you faint, I’ll let you die.” “Ever thought of writing a How-to Tough Love book?” “No, but I’m thinking of writing a How to Murder Your Professor for Dummies, though you might not get to read it.” I laugh, and he pauses, a curious look lightening his bright greens, but then he seems to shake off his thoughts as he stalks out the door. I tilt my head, watching the way he walks. He’s confident, but it’s not that. It’s the posture. The upright, perfect posture. I want to break that fucking spine so he never lifts his head again. But maybe I should have a picture of that posture first. I kill the cigarette in the ice, then get up and go into the shower, turning the water on full blast. My muscles protest and the lavender scent is barely there, now overshadowed by sandalwood and bergamot. The smell is so male and him, I drive my fist