The Devil Inside

15: Paranoid

Cooper gazed at the highschool through his grimy windshield, his hands clutching the steering wheel with excessive force. Under his breath, he whispered: "You can do this. Just get out of the car."

It was the same speech he'd given himself every morning these last two weeks, dread roiling in his gut as he contemplated the day ahead. The staring, he could endure. He even understood it to an extent. After all, he was that guy. That guy—the one who'd found the dead cheerleader at a party. That guy—the one who'd survived a kidnapping at the hands of a serial killer.

That guy—the one who'd just become a suspect in his girlfriend's murder investigation.

He blew out a deep breath. "Get. Out. Of. The. Damn. Car."

Before he could lose his nerve, he hurried out into the cold, shivering in his hoodie and jeans. He pulled up the hood as he half-jogged across the parking lot, ignoring the multitude of heads that swiveled in his direction.

He glanced up, half-hoping to find Vincent standing at the entrance to the building, a dorkish smile on his face—completely unbothered by the hostility around them. But Vincent was not there. He hadn't been there for two weeks now.

He's still avoiding me. 

Cooper's stomach plummeted to the soles of his feet. Vincent's disappearing act was impressive, honestly, considering the fact that they were now living together. He'd taken to sleeping on the couch, despite Amelia's protests that he take the air mattress. And he was a good roommate—he cleaned up after himself, always said please and thank you. But that was it. How he'd managed to avoid any sort of significant conversation beyond that was a mystery to Cooper.

Ignoring the tight ache lodged in the back of his throat, Cooper shoved his way through the door and made a beeline down the hall, wanting only to get the day over with.

He had no idea what had triggered Vincent's reclusive behavior. Vincent had stood beside him for years—even after it became apparent that they were on very different paths in life. 

So what had changed?

"Cooper."

He flinched—and then relaxed when he caught sight of a red ponytail. "Oh. It's just you," he muttered.

Calla joined him at his locker, her eyes thoughtful as she watched him grab a textbook for advanced cell biology. He snapped his locker shut. "What? What is it now?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Cranky."

"I'm hungry."

As if on cue, she brandished a packet of Goldfish. "Your favorite?" she prompted, eyes dancing.

He snatched the packet out of her hand. "You could have led with that."

"I could have. But I enjoy watching you suffer." She brushed her hair over her shoulder, unbothered by the whispers floating at their backs. "I'm going to set the record straight, you know. Whoever set you up," she lowered her voice to match the subdued atmosphere in the hall, "they're going to regret this."

Cooper thought of Cory then, of the sound his body had made when it crashed into the floor three stories below. "I imagine Cory regretted his decisions, in the end."

She smiled softly, sending a shiver dancing along his skin. "I imagine he did, yes."

Cory had been an obstacle, an inconvenience. A problem. And because of that, Calla had removed him from the equation—permanently. 

Venus is becoming quite the problem, isn't she? 

Cooper tried to banish the thought, but now that it was there, he couldn't shake it. Because despite what he'd said—despite what he'd told her to be true—Cooper wasn't entirely sure he believed Calla when she said she hadn't played a role in his girlfriend's death.