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His eyes go to my twitching hands and he takes it in, my anxious, obsessive habit. And the moment he does, I snap my arms back. I hide my fingers from him.
He jerks his eyes up and before he can say anything or comment on what he saw, I blurt out, “Yes.” Though I can’t help but add, “Although you didn’t have to put it that way.”
He sweeps his eyes over my features, making me blush, which I don’t like, before saying, “How else do you want me to put it?”
“A bit nicely, maybe,” I tell him. “Instead of being so… rude about it.”
He keeps studying me before murmuring, “Point taken.” A sigh, then, “Now if there’s nothing else, I’d like to leave. Nicely.”
He begins to turn around then, and I blurt out, “What are you doing? You can’t leave. We aren’t done talking.”
“Yes, we are.”
“No, we’re not.” I take a step toward him. “Are you purposely trying to make this difficult? I just told you I need you to tutor me and —”
“I’m not tutoring you,” he says, grabbing his messenger bag and getting ready to head out.
“Why not?” I ask, enraged.
He gives me a final look. “Good luck.”
That’s it.
That’s all he says before he starts walking out and I stand there, watching him leave. I watch his long steps, strides really, his broad back, his strong forearm clutching his heavy messenger bag.
I watch and watch in shock until he disappears from view.
Which is what gets me out of my stupor, and I take off after him.
I see him navigating the crowded hallway with a confidence that I still find irresistible. He walks with such authority, such power. Like he can’t help but exude strength because there’s so much of it inside him.
So much that he can maintain a 4.0 grade point average, all set to get into Harvard med school on scholarship, and carry a girl after she’s had a panic attack.
Yeah, Atlas West is kind of famous for being a genius on campus and I’m running after him because I know there’s no one better to tutor me than him.
And that’s why I asked him and that’s why when I catch up to him, I reach out and grab his sleeve.
Effectively bringing him to a halt.
Not to mention bringing his eyes to me.
To my hands specifically, my fingers where they’re clutching onto his shirt. My skin heats up under his scrutiny and despite everything, I rub my knuckles against his muscles. As if to… remember him.
Remember these very arms carrying me.
Making sure that I didn’t imagine his strength, his warmth.
His safety.
He watches me do that, rub my knuckles, and I’m so embarrassed that I speak just to snatch his attention away. “Why can’t you tutor me?”
He looks up. “There are a lot of other tutors on campus.”
“Yes. But I want you.”
I blush as soon as I say it and his gaze captures my embarrassment as he asks, “Yeah, why?”
“Because you’re the best,” I manage to say.
Strangely, he isn’t pleased by my answer. “Let go of me.”
“Not until you say yes.”
“I’m not going to say yes.”
“Why not? You tutor other students. What’s wrong with tutoring me?”
Shit.
I shouldn’t have asked that.
It just came out of my mouth.
In truth, there are a lot of things wrong with tutoring me. There are a lot of things wrong with me.
Okay, so I understand and accept myself. As hard as it has been for me.
I accept that what happened last year wasn’t my fault. What I did and how I behaved and how I broke down, all those things have nothing to do with me per se. They have to do with my illness.
My mental illness.
Which I suffer from.
But.
Not everyone thinks that. That’s why after last year, people stay away from me. They don’t talk to me or look at me. They don’t include me in things except when it’s obligatory, like in labs or group projects.
But I thought…
I thought he’d be different.
I’ve got you…
That’s another reason why — as much as I didn’t want to do this in the first place — I asked him instead of someone else.
Feeling stupidly dejected, I let go of his shirt and step back. “It’s fine. Y-you don’t have to…” I duck my head down, looking away from his intense stare. “You don’t have to answer that. It was a stupid plan anyway. I’m —”
“I want something,” he says, cutting me off.
His jaw is ticking as he stares down at me. I’m not sure why but I have a feeling that the reason behind it isn’t very pleasant. Even so, I can’t help but ask, “You want something?”
“In exchange for tutoring you.”
My eyes circle wide then. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Yes. Whatever you want.”
His exhale is long and audible. “Tomorrow at seven, then.”
I can’t help it; my smile breaks out. A relieved smile. A happy smile even. And I eagerly say, “Okay.”
