I stop by the dining hall and get my food for the evening before making my way to my dorm room. I have a feeling that I’m being followed, but anytime I turn around, no one is there. I pick up my pace and climb the stairs two at a time. I have a feeling I know who is following me and I don’t want to get trapped in an elevator with the two of them. I don’t think that they are trying to hurt me, but I do think that they are hyper-focused on fucking with me today. Most of the time they make a few comments and then leave me alone, but not today.
I get to my dorm room and before I can shut the door, a hand blocks the door from shutting. I immediately turn slightly, set my food on my desk, and drop my bag. I keep my foot behind the door, so Connor can’t push it open. He’s not trying to, but he’s not letting me close it either.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
“Not here. No,” I say.
“Oh, come on,” Dillon sighs. “Two minutes?”
“Fine, but you are not coming in my room,” I say, as I pointed for them to back up so I can step out of my room and pull the door closed behind me. “What do you want?”
“How did you know so much about the CNC thing?” Connor asks.
“Ask something else,” I say, shaking my head.
“Why?” Dillon asks. “Why don’t you want us to know?”
“Why do you care?” I question.
“I think someone hurt you,” Connor says.
“And why would I tell?” I ask.
“So, you have been assaulted,” Connor pushes.
“Jesus. Fine,” I say. “Yes. I was gang raped by some guys from the baseball team. I was on the softball team, so we traveled together sometimes for games. The coaches fucked up and put me in a joining room to one of them when we traveled over night for a game, and they somehow got a copy of my key. They used condoms, forced me to shower, and denied having a copy of my key, so no one did shit. They’re still out there living their lives, while I’m scared because two entitled assholes have been following me all day, wanting me to go to dinner with them. I don’t know the difference between a trick and genuine interest, so I say no to everyone to avoid someone hurting me again… Does that answer your questions?”
“Yeah,” Connor says softly.
“If you are genuinely interested, maybe start by using my actual name when you talk to me. Try getting to know me as a person. I’m not that scared little teenager anymore. I will fuck you both up and go to bed with a smile on my face. If you’re intention is to hurt me, you can just fuck off and move on to someone else,” I say. “I’m going to go eat my dinner now. If one of you to try to block my door again, I’ll stab whoever it is with my fork. Got it?”
“You talk big for someone who doesn’t know what our intentions are,” Dillon says. “Also, after everything you’ve gone through… you would not risk it unless you were at least partly interested yourself.” Connor chuckles at his implication.
“Goodnight, guys,” I say as I step back into my dorm room and shut the door. I rest my forehead against the cool wood of the door before taking a deep breath. Unfortunately, he is right. I am partly interested because they are painfully attractive and I’m a sucker for those fucking veins bulging in their forearms. Why? I have no clue. When they smile at me the way they do, the only thing I can picture is what their hand would look like wrapped around my throat.
Fuck, I need to get that out of my head before my lust filled brain tricks me into believing they are being genuine. I sit down and eat my food before working on some things for class. When I get done, I gather what I need to take a shower. Everyone should be out partying already so I should be alone.
I always bring everything in with me so no one can take my stuff and I get stuck in there naked with no way to get back to my room without having to streak. The girls on my hall did that to Carol one time. They took a video and shared it with everyone. It took weeks for them to stop calling her “pancake tits”; which didn’t even make sense considering she didn’t have pancake tits, but whatever. I’ve been called a whore even though I’ve had sex one time in the last four years that I’ve been in college. That wasn’t even here though. That was over summer break two years ago with someone I met in a bar. He was twenty years older than me and fucked like a beast. To this day I regret giving him a fake number.
When I get done with my shower I walk back to my room and settle in with my Kindle for the night to read. I just started a new crime fiction series last night, so I’d like to get a decent amount of reading in. After a few hours, I fall asleep.
“Hello?” I say sleepily.
“Hey, Chloe. This is Dean Mathers,” he says.
“You could just say Aaron,” I say.
“Force of habit,” he chuckles. “Look, we have some students who got caught with some alcohol Friday night and opted to be judged by a peer. Your name was chosen.”
“These people hate me, Aaron. Can’t you pick someone else?” I ask.
“It’s random and no, I can’t. It’s the rules and I’d love to bend them, but I can’t with this.” he says sympathetically.
“Do they know it’s me?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s their right to know who’s judging them,” he says. They’re not allowed to talk to you until the hearing at four this afternoon. Do you want to know who they are?”