Emery
I do care. Fuck. I really do care.
I didn’t think I would. But with every hour I let slip by, my anxiety has continued to grow. At first in had just been a general sense of unease, like a mildly upset stomach, but that quickly developed into spiraling thoughts and doom pacing the dorm. Itried to distract myself with an everything shower, studying, and even a marathon of reality shows, but it didn’t work.
Now I’m smootheverywhere, I removed a layer of skin, my hair is shining, and I’m twitching like a crack addict desperate for their next fix.
Oakley came stumbling out of her room at some point, looking worse than I had when I’d woken up this morning. She came and gave me a hug on the couch, then made herself a coffee and disappeared back into her room.
At least she only took one mug in there. I’m not sure I could face Vinnie after abandoning his friend last night.
But now it’s almost four, and I feel like I could throw up. Just hurl my lunch and stress snacks all over the back seat of the Uber. Why the fuck didn’t I just go home, clean myself up, eat something, then go straight to the club? Why did I leave it to the last goddamn minute?
I know why, because I thought I was stronger than this. I thought I could handle being ordered to do something, then ignore it. But nope. Apparently not.
The car starts to slow down, andoh shit, that’s the building. I glance at the time on my phone. Four thirty-five.
There is a very real possibility that I’m going to pass out.
The driver pulls to a stop, and he turns to give me a nodded thank you. I quickly confirm payment and add a tip, then exit the vehicle to stare up at the huge concrete-and-glass building.
From the outside, it looks like a normal building, with offices on the first few levels and residential apartments above that, I’m assuming because of all the balconies. The trick was to go to the very last elevator and request to go down a level. According to the instructions I’d received for my first time at Obsession, it was the only elevator that would take me to that level.
I adjust the strap of my handbag on my shoulder and force my feet to move, even though my stomach is squirming like I atesome questionable street food. The building is basically empty, since it’s Sunday, and when I hit the button for the elevator, it opens immediately.
Which is good. If I had to stand here waiting for even a few seconds, there is every chance I would have turned around and left. The ride down is quick and quiet, except for the way my pulse is thundering in my ears.
With a ding and awhoosh, the doors open, and I step out into the black-and-white foyer with its walls of mirrors. I can see the top of a blonde head behind the computers at the front desk and make my way over.
My sneakers make a scuffing noise as I come to a stop and clear my throat, but whoever is sitting back there is very involved in whatever they are doing and doesn’t notice me. I raise up on tiptoes and wave my hand, moving it slowly into their field of view.
A pair of green eyes stare back at me.
Familiar green eyes.
My gaze darts to the blonde hair, out in gentle waves around her shoulders, not in the super high ponytail I’m used to seeing it in.
Dylan’s eyes widen when she sees me, and she immediately reaches up to pull earbuds out of her ears, then shoots to standing, all while stuttering to get her words out. “Oh, ah, hi! Sorry, I was just moderating the forums. E-emery, right?”
Her smile trembles on her lips, like she isn’t sure if she should commit to it.
I stare back at her, not sure if I do actually want to commit to a conversation with her.
What exactlyisthe etiquette here? How does one greet an ex-submissive of your dom, who is actively trying to get him back?
This is so fucking awkward.
“You know my name?”
With all the thoughts and questions I have, that’s the first thing that comes out of my mouth? Kill me now.
Dylan tries to keep the smile going. “Ah, yeah. Derek told me.”
I stare at her. Derek told her about me? Why? When? Was it that night? While she was kneeling for him? Oh my god, are theyherthings in the apartment?
Her cheeks start to go pink, then she takes a deep breath before coming around to my side of the desk. She’s dressed in comfortable clothing—jeans and a loose tee, sneakers. Actually, our outfits are pretty similar. And now that I’m looking at her a little more closely, she looks to be a few years older than me. Derek certainly has a type.
My insides are clenched at her close proximity.
