14. Nyssa

14

NYSSA

MY KINK IS KARMA - CHAPPELL ROAN

Samson doesn't regain consciousness for three and a half days. I'm en route to tort when I receive a call from Katelyn telling me he's awake.

"He's in bad shape, Nyssie," she sobs. "Oh gosh, why does this happen to good people?"

I bite my tongue before pointing out that Samson Wicker is anything but good. While he was technically ‘attacked' and put into a short-term coma, he was far from innocent. If Professor Adler hadn't shown up out of nowhere, he would've forced me to have sex with him.

He would've raped me…

All because I refused to accept his cheating ways. Because I called him out on sleeping with my best frenemy.

That's beside the fact that Samson Wicker is an all-around terrible human being. He's as insufferable as the rest of the vultures in Castlebury.

The past overtakes the present as I ditch tort and catch a rideshare to the hospital.

It was Samson Wicker who stepped forward to deal the final blow—his arms thrust out to give me a rough shove into the dirt.

I tumbled to the ground, mud splattering onto the secondhand dress I had thought was so pretty when I put it on that morning…

On Friday night, for a second time in my life, Samson had knocked me to the dirt. He sought to hurt me…

Professor Adler might not understand what he did showing up when he did, but he was interjecting himself in decades-old trauma. He was rescuing me in that moment from my tormentor.

As far as I'm concerned, Samson's concussion and cracked open skull aren't enough karma for what he's done. He deserves to go down in a fiery blaze like the rest of them.

I'll do everything within my power to ensure he does.

I show up to his hospital room to find Katie and Macey coming out. Macey has an arm tossed around Katie's shoulders as she quakes from her sobs.

"Nyssie," Macey says the second she spots me. "We were wondering when you'd come by. Samson's asking for you."

I barely conceal the incredulous quirk of my brow. "He is, is he?"

"Katie, why don't you go clean up your face in the bathroom? I'll come find you."

The mousy brunette nods between choked sobs and dabbing at her eyes with the tissues she's clutching. She plods off down the corridor, the sniffling sound she makes following her every step of the way.

Macey waits 'til she's sure Katie's gone before she speaks. "I get you and Samson are having issues right now."

"Issues?" I interrupt despite myself. "You mean like him cheating on me?"

"You know how Heather is. She sleeps around. Stealing men is her thing. "

"Macey, a man can't be stolen unless he wants to be," I snap. "Samson made his choice. He stuck his dick in Heather—and probably other girls—and a concussion doesn't change that."

She folds her arms, her expression puckered. "All I'm saying is, people make mistakes."

"They do. I don't hate Samson."

Lies.

"But that doesn't mean I have to accept his cheating."

Nice save.

"I'm here, right?" I ask, tone blunt and unapologetic. "I care about his well-being."

…and we're back to lying.

"I want to make sure he's okay," I say. "I want to speak to him too."

Macey sighs, still with a dissatisfied bend to her mouth, but she nods. "Maybe you guys can talk it out. Come to a new understanding."

It takes a great amount of restraint to keep from rolling my eyes. I let Macey pass me by with a mention that she's going to find Katie, then I venture into Samson's room.

A calmness washes over me. More than the usual kind of calm that leaves you feeling peaceful and devoid of stressors.

It's a calm that's commanding—if such a thing exists—a calm that's born from the knowledge I'm in control the moment I walk into the room and find that we're alone.

Samson's propped up by a stack of pillows, haloed by the natural light from the hospital window. He's got IVs stuck into his arms and a thick bandage wrapped around his head. The TV's on, but it might as well be off for how much he's paying attention to it .

I come up on the side of his bed. Sensing my presence, his bleary eyes drift over to me.

"Nyssa…" he mumbles. He sounds like he has cotton in his mouth. "Hey… you came…"

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

"Nyssa…" he swallows audibly. "I didn't… mean to…"

"To what, Samson?" I ask. "Cheat on me? With my best friend, by the way."

He shakes his head, his lids hanging lower as if the medication's taking over.

I take no pity on him. I'm not here for mercy. I'm here to make one thing and one thing only clear.

"You're sorry," I say. "Is that what you expect me to believe?"

"I was drinking…"

"And you attacked me. You pushed me into the dirt. You held me down and laughed . One fuck for the road, right? I owe you, right?"

His nostrils flare, his usually ruddy skin blanching. He has no words. No real defense. But awareness lives in his bleary gaze.

He knows exactly what he did.

Even if he doesn't know who did what to him…

"Let's get one thing straight, Samson," I say, cutting a cautious glance over my shoulder. We're as alone as ever.

The room's quiet except for the occasional beep from the machines he's hooked up to.

"If you ever tell anyone about who attacked you, I tell everyone about who attacked me." I tug at the neckline of my sweater to reveal a vicious scratch mark along my collarbone. A memento from that night. "We'll see whose story is better."

The lump in his throat bobs. The rest of his face pulls tight. He's trying to scowl, but the medication's fucked him up so bad, his reaction's are off. Instead, he winds up with a wincing expression, deep blinks, and a downturned mouth.

I smirk down at him. "In case it wasn't already clear, we're over. For your own good, stay away from me."

Samson mumbles in protest, his attempt to get me to stay.

But I'm already striding out the door. I meant it when I said I'm done with him. At least in the capacity I've been using him for—our short-lived relationship is over.

I've got what I wanted, and it's time to move onto the next stage of my plan.

When I return to my apartment a couple hours later, Heather's parked outside along the curb. Her chauffeur jumps out of the car to rush over and open the rear door. She steps out in dramatic fashion, giant sunglasses disguising her blue eyes and her long strawberry blonde hair swinging.

I keep walking like I haven't noticed either of them.

"Nyssie! Can I come in? I've been waiting almost an hour."

"Why is that any of my concern?"

I've shoved at the revolving glass door and entered the vestibule of my apartment building. I'm halfway toward the elevator by the time she's caught up.

"Can't you hear me out, Nyssie? I promise I can explain."

"Who says I want to hear that explanation?"

"Please," she gulps down air. As the elevator door slides open, she rushes in after me. "Don't throw away three years of friendship!"

On the outside, I'm stone-like. I'm stoic and impenetrable to Heather's begging. Meanwhile, on the inside, I'm delighting in the fact that Heather Driscoll is practically groveling .

Exactly what I anticipated.

She's chasing me like a sad puppy, pleading to be my friend.

Funny how the tables turn…

The elevator dings reaching the fourth floor. I'm first out with Heather on my heels.

"Five minutes, Nyssie. That's all."

I sigh as I dig inside my bookbag for my keys. "Five minutes. Make it good."

Coming up on my door, I spot the broken potted plant next to my welcome mat and slow to a halt.

It was perfectly intact when I left this morning. Who would've broken it?

There's a crack right down the side as if it's been kicked.

Heather stops at my side. "Cute plant. Who broke the pot?"

"I'm… not sure."

"It's okay, Nyssie. If you forgive me, I'll buy you a new one!"

Peaches pounces at the two of us from the second we finally walk through the door. I'm unfazed while Heather shrieks and almost kicks her foot at the ginger cat. She catches herself right before she does, spying the look of warning I give her then pasting on a fake smile.

"Awww, sweet…" she says. "Peaches… she missed you… she's cute… very cute."

"What do you want, Heather? "

"Samson tricked me. I never would've slept with him. I was mourning my father and… and he took advantage."

"Your father? You mean the one you told me you hated?"

"Grief is complicated, Nyssie. You know that."

I toss my bookbag down on my quilted sofa and kick off my ankle boots. "When was the first time?"

She sniffles. "A few days after my dad passed away. I was feeling sorry for myself and he took advantage, Nyssie. I swear he did."

"The afternoon you came over to try on your funeral outfit. The person you were meeting with. Was it him?"

"He said you'd never find out."

"But Katie knew, didn't she? That's why you've been pissed at her."

Heather pouts, folding her arms. "She wanted to tell you. As if she doesn't sleep with whatever guy that'll have her."

"And the times after?" I ask, turning around for a look at her. "All the texting you've been doing?"

"It got out of control," she says, her chin quivering. Tears gloss her eyes. A decent performance all things considered. Maybe Heather should've pursued theater instead of law. "He was always complimenting me. Telling me how gorgeous I was."

"It sounds like he knew the things to say to stroke your ego."

"Yes, exactly! You get it, Nyssie."

"I may get it, Heather, but that doesn't mean I'll look past it."

Peaches purrs in interruption, leaping up to the armrest of my sofa. I sit down with my hand extending to scratch her behind her little pointy ears. Peering across the room at a teary-eyed, rosy-cheeked Heather, I offer what I have all afternoon.

Cold indifference.

Secret joy.

For every sniffle of Heather's, I remember how I'd cried too, all those years ago. I'd cried and Heather laughed.

Her stepmother laughed too when she stabbed my mother in the back.

It was hilarious to Holly Driscoll how she ruined my mother's life.

"Heather, I don't know what else to tell you," I say, stroking Peaches to more purrs. "You betrayed me. Both of you. It's going to take me time. If I can ever forgive you."

She shudders out a disappointed breath, then reluctantly nods. Wiping at her eyes and running mascara, she says, "I don't normally do this, Nyssie. Like, ever. But I… I might need your help."

"Oh? With what?" I ask.

But I already know.

More petty joy courses through me waiting to hear the words.

"There's some complications with my father's will," she says, looking on the verge of tears all over again. "My hag of a stepmother screwed me over dying. Her team of lawyers won't represent me now that she's gone. They're insisting I get my own. Now the rest of the family's contesting my father's will. They want everything he had! But what about me? I was his daughter! I might wind up with nothing, Nyssie. I was wondering if…"

"Yes?"

"You're so good at these things. You're already top of our class. A-and you said you come from a family of lawyers. "

Silence stretches on between us. Moments of agony for Heather. Moments of glee for me.

I sit calmly stroking Peaches, pretending like I'm conflicted. "I'll think about it."

"Oh, Nyssie. You really are the best. I'd owe you everything."

Heather's still blubbering when she finally leaves. I make sure to shut and lock the door after her.

It feels like an immediate load off.

I hadn't expected to deal with Samson and Heather in the same day. I definitely hadn't meant to skip classes.

A slow breath rolls out of me as I run my hand over my curls and then wander over to the stack of newspapers I've collected from the library archives. Each copy from twenty years ago when I was just a toddler but Castlebury was deep in Valentine hysteria. Even sifting through the first few on top of the pile, I'm met with jarring headlines like:

Tragedy Strikes: August Rothenberg Sr., Beloved Dean of Castlebury University, Found Dead

Interview with Amelia Vise, Widow of Valentine Victim Anton Vise: How She and their 3-year-old Daughter Rosalyn will Seek Justice

Another Student Dead: Eric Fochte, 23, the Latest Victim of Valentine. Will the Police Finally Catch the Killer ?

But none about my father, Edward Oliver, who Mom has always claimed was killed by Valentine at the peak of his murder spree. I haven't been able to find him in the student records at all, except for an Edward Oliver that was blond, blue-eyed, and had a smattering of freckles. A guy I doubt was the Edward she's speaking about.

There's still so much left to uncover. So much for me to do in order to make up for what happened in the past.

Samson's been dealt with. If he knows what's good for him, he'll drop the situation.

Heather's on the hook. She's as desperate and remorseful as I hoped she'd be.

I smile to myself, then glance over to the stack of law books on my spindly-legged coffee table. My mind immediately goes to Professor Adler.

He's the last current situation to deal with.

Yesterday was a cop out.

I sat in his class and did my damnedest to wear a poker face. I used all my energy just to pretend like I wasn't thinking about Halloween night and how it made me feel.

The moment was so complex, I didn't know where to begin.

I still don't…

It began as an assault by my ex-boyfriend, then morphed into a rescue by my crim law professor. The same professor I've spent the last couple weeks hoping to impress. The same man whose brooding glare makes my belly flip.

He'd looked so… feral and unevolved as he stood over Samson with the rock dripping of his blood. So different fr om his usual composed and civilized manner, it was an instant turn-on. I found myself breathless with want.

Endless desire for him.

I hadn't been able to contain myself the second we were secluded inside his office.

I went for it, seeking out his mouth.

Every time I close my eyes, I relive the passion. It flows through my body and ends as a throb in my pussy.

The guys my age hardly ever draw anything real out of me—it's all lukewarm affection. Take it or leave it sex that's forgettable and underwhelming.

But things couldn't be more different with Professor Adler. He was a composed, cold man with a secret primitive, bestial side buried deep. It reared its ferocious head in the blink of an eye as he came upon Samson pinning me down and he acted off these baser instincts.

And then when I kissed him, he gave in entirely. His stony mask fell away for the wild, passionate man underneath.

He had wanted me so badly I could feel it. His arousal rolled off him, a visceral feeling in the air.

I shudder just thinking about it, trying to block out the memory.

We can't. I can't.

He's my professor. I'm his student.

I have things to do—a goal in mind that I've worked toward for years. I came to Castlebury ready to burn it all down. Ready to destroy everyone in this community.

I can't let myself become distracted, no matter how unbelievably good Professor Adler's kiss may be.

Breathing through the temptation, I throw myself into my artwork. I promise myself that I'll keep a clear head and my hands clean. The professor might seek me out again like he did Monday after class, but I'll simply have to rebuff him.

Pretend it never happened.

"Because it's dangerous," I whisper. " He's dangerous."

As the hushed words leave my lips, intuition flutters on the inside.

It tells me I'm right. That maybe I'm so right, I haven't even begun to understand just how much yet…