Then I felt the inprint of his touch, burning on my body, and I was right back there again. Screaming. Struggling.

And angrier than I’d ever felt before.

‘My car wouldn’t start again.’ I finally found my voice, quiet in the dark. ‘My teacher, he offered to give me a ride.’

There was silence, as Oliver methodically worked his way through the rest of the fries. I wanted to scream, to shake him, to ask if he had heard a single word, but something stopped me. Ethan would be all over me now: demanding we go to the police, asking if I needed the hospital, protective and concerned. I would be back there again, describing it, reliving every terrible moment and trying my best to calm him down.

Oliver just slurped his milkshake, watching the distant lights on the highway snake past in a stream of red and gold.

I exhaled. As the silence stretched, I found myself reaching for the fries. I chewed slowly, tasting salt. Took another. Before I knew it, I’d eaten the whole package, and my throat was dry.

Oliver passed his milkshake without a word.

‘Thanks,’ I murmured, tasting the cold sweetness, feeling it shiver down my throat. It felt too normal, all of this did, but now that normalcy gave rise to a small flicker of hope.

Maybe I could pretend none of it had ever happened. Maybe nobody would make me speak of it again.

Except Ashton was out there, and I knew now, he wasn’t the kind of man to let things go.

Oliver finished his food and neatly folded our wrappers into the bag, holding it out for mine too with an expectant look. I passed my debris and he got out of the car, walking back to the trash-can by the main building.

I watched him in the faded neon: unhurried, casually sauntering, his face shadowed in the dark. I never knew what he was thinking, it was infuriating like nothing else, but tonight, I found his mystery was almost a relief. I wasn’t responsible for his thoughts, trying to navigate them, keep him happy the way I did with Ethan. He was as inscrutable as ever, and I was left alone with myself.

He slid back in.

‘Ready to go?’

I nodded slowly. I wasn’t shaking any more, and my heartbeat had slowed. Now, I was just tired, bone-deep, my limbs aching from the struggle, my body crashing after the surge of adrenalin.

Now, I just wanted to sleep.

Oliver drove us back on familiar roads, winding through town until they reached my neighbourhood. There were lights on in the houses as we passed; neatly-cut lawns and old front porches.

Safe.

He pulled up outside my house. I hugged my purse to my chest.

‘Thank you,’ I said quietly, already reaching for the door.

Oliver’s hand shot out, capturing my wrist. I flinched. He tugged again, and I had no choice but to turn. His eyes were watching me, dark in the night.

‘Did anyone see you get in the car with him?’

I thought back. ‘I . . . I don’t know. The parking lot was empty, but we were at the college, there could have been people around.’

Oliver nodded, and I could see his brain working, turning things over. ‘What about at his place?’

I shook my head. ‘It was dark . . . I didn’t see anyone around.’

‘Then he took you straight home. If anyone asks, he dropped you off, safe and sound. Nothing happened.’

I paused. I wanted to ask what he would do, but I knew it was safer if I didn’t.

‘Don’t tell Ethan,’ I said instead.

Oliver’s lips curled in a smile. He released me. ‘It’ll be our little secret.’

I climbed out, walking slowly towards my front door, but something stopped me and made me turn back. Oliver had his window down. I met his eyes, dark in the night. ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked, my voice shaking.

He smiled at me. ‘What do you think?’

Ashton was found dead in an alleyway two days later. The reporter said he’d been beaten and mugged in a drug deal gone wrong. The college board sent out an email, saying there would be a replacement lecturer for his classes. His pregnant girlfriend was shown, weeping on the news. Nobody knew he had a problem, but everyone in class agreed there had been something off about him all along.

I found the newspaper left on my front step, tied up with a red ribbon. I kept it in my top dresser drawer and re-read it every night, searching for clues.

Deep down, I knew, I didn’t need them. Oliver had worked that intricate brain of his and found a solution, just the way I’d wanted.

Just the way I’d known he would.

‘You think Oliver killed your professor?’ Weber looks at me, his eyes wary and searching. We’re still alone in the empty room across the hall from Ethan, the neon hum of the hospital filtering in bright strips through the blinds while we sit here on hard plastic chairs, dredging through every detail and lie.

I nod, shredding tissues in my hands. Tiny strips, over and over, I can’t keep still. I thought telling Weber about what happened would help my story – paint Oliver as a monster, capable of anything.

‘Why you didn’t say something? You could have come to me,’ he points out. ‘You could have told a teacher, your mom . . . What about Alisha? She didn’t mention anything to me.’

I have to hold back a sorrowful laugh. As if my mother would have been any help at all. And as for my teacher . . .

‘I was scared,’ I whisper, shivering in my sweater. It’s lost property, maybe, or belongs to one of the doctors: an oversized grey hoodie that dwarfs my frame, wrapping me in the bold team logo of some sports club or major league team. I don’t know. I never followed sports all that much.

‘Chloe?’ Weber’s voice rises, and I realize he’s still waiting, still watching me with that expression that’s equal parts sympathy and confusion. He’s been wearing it all night, just like every other adult whose tiptoed around me, speaking in hushed tones. But now I realize, there’s something more there too, a new emotion flickering to life in his eyes.

The steely glint of suspicion.

‘I saw you together,’ he adds slowly. ‘Around town. At the station. It didn’t look like you were scared of him. It looked . . . ’ He pauses, then glances away.

Fear strikes me. ‘I didn’t know what to do!’ I lie, my lips already trembling, tears stinging the back of my throat. ‘He was so . . . charming, everyone in town thought he was so great. I tried to tell, I really did.’ I babble, trying to get my words out. The right ones, the words that will make him see. ‘But I didn’t know what to say. He killed someone, and I was scared he’d do the same to me! It all sounds so crazy, when you say it out loud.’