Genevieve
I'M PART OF RED ALERT.
The fact that my name was on a dead girl is unsettling enough without the threat from Ford to supplement further anxiety that is now spicing my body to a crippling pressure. The fact that I feel unable to voice my torment to Harris is increasingly disconcerting, considering he's my boyfriend. The only person I feel like I can vent to is Ford Brody because he's spent however long deterring me from Harris and Red Alert, and that's an absolute no-goFord.
The cracks in Harris' armour are now more prominent than ever, and his tendency to provide a lack of detail for his nightly outings, especially when I'm staying at his house with the guys, is becoming a problem. He isn't telling me anything, and it's escalating.
If it hadn't have been for Ford, I would never have been alerted to my involvement in the girls' deaths and that I may potentially be next. As it's looking, Ford is seemingly the only one I can trust, which is absolutely ludicrous, given his peculiar personality, but he also knows about the cracked iPhone and Jean Sommers.
Because of all this, I've had to face the truth: I'm now part of the harrowing and plaguing world that is Red Alert. There isn't a definitive way I can leave without remnants of my entanglement tracing back to me. Whoever's fucking with the cult also knows that I'm associated with it by default because of my boyfriend and his friends.
Apart from Harris, my best friends and my family, no one else knows my middle name is Grace. The paranoia is overriding my sense of judgement and it's even starting to make me question my best friends.
"You're in your own dream world there," Talia announces, clicking her fingers in front of my face.
I glance fleetingly down at my left hand where my tattoos stain my skin. Twisting my wrist, I'm showered with the temptation to scribe another tattoo on the inside of my wrist for the millionth time, but I'm still uncertain of what to have.
Talia flicks back her sunshine blonde hair over her shoulder as there's a crazy tendril that's curled just a little too much and it refuses to be tamed. She frowns at me as she awaits my response.
"Sorry. I didn't get much sleep last night. Where's Quinn? We've got a lecture in ten minutes."
"She's running late. Didn't you look at our group chat?"
"Sorry," I apologise again.
As I incline my body so I lean more against the wall of a random corridor we're situated in, my gaze immediately locks with Ford as he strides through the corridor. Alone, I detect a hint of swagger in his gait, but it isn't enough for nearby girls to be swooning over him. Despite his champion boxer status, girls aren't throwing themselves at him. It's the bad boy, silently brooding edge he has that entices a girl to get to know him rather than immediately inviting him for a mindless fuck.
If only they know the wonders that is his mind. When I'd been sitting opposite him as he voiced his thought process, I was teetering somewhere in limbo between awed of his profiling of the girls' killer and ire because of his arrogance and I'm-above-everyone-else attitude.
Still, his chestnut hair and striking crystal-like eyes are blinding for girls. Even Talia and Quinn have commented on it in the past, though it's always been in tandem with the decision that they'd need to get to know him better before choosing whether they'd have a one-night stand with him.
He's a mystery to girls, and that's what magnetises him to them. Girls desire to be the one to divulge his secrets and discover that he's human just like everyone else. They crave to witness his vulnerability even just for a second, because then it means the trust has been instilled. They want the thrill of the bad boy, but his heart must be for someone who's head-over-heels in love with him.
