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But then there’s another Alaric.
Alaric 2.0.
He’s moody. And grumpy and even more silent than the first Alaric.
I think this is the Alaric that Mo was talking about, the unhappy one.
The one who has so many responsibilities and an extreme sense of duty.
I’ve noticed a pattern where I know that he comes out when he has to go attend all the board meetings and sit on all these councils and fulfill his familial obligations. Not to mention, they’re building another branch of St. Mary’s somewhere on the West Coast now; I noticed the files on the coffee table and after a lot of poking and prodding, Alaric told me.
He also told me that he’s taken over that project.
Which is of course typical of him.
Because it’s his family’s name and legacy, and I know very well how crazy he is about that.
On such days, when he has to chase after all these things, he hardly talks or smiles.
He’s tighter and tenser.
He’s even less approachable as he walks down the corridors and around campus.
On those days, I so wish that I could go to him during school. That I could smile at him or talk to him. I so wish that we didn’t have all these restrictions and rules to follow.
Because we do, don’t we?
Because when the world is watching we can’t be together.
Which means every day during school we behave the exact same way as we have been ever since he got here and summer school started. We don’t look at each other or talk to each other in the hallways or in the cafeteria. For all intents and purposes, I still hate my guardian turned principal and he’s still that aloof authority figure that all the girls drool about.
And as hard as it is and as jealous as it makes me, I know it’s important.
To keep our distance. To pretend that things haven’t changed.
I promised him that day at the mansion that I wouldn’t let anything happen to him and his job — even though I know he does it out of obligation — and I intend to keep it.
And he in turn intends to keep me and my future safe, so distance during the day it is.
Which means when the world is sleeping is the only time I get to be with him.
But there’s a problem of course.
Because that involves sneaking in and out of my dorm room. Which would’ve been fine in the olden days. But now with the bed checks back, it has become slightly trickier. I have to time my comings and goings. Plus I have to put pillows under the blanket, make it look like I’m sleeping under there while I’m really not.
This pisses Alaric off.
He never liked me breaking the rules anyway, but now with the new policy in place, he hates it even more.
So much so that he wanted to abolish it initially.
But I stopped him.
Because that would’ve been me and this — whatever this thing is between us — interfering with his job. And I’m not going to let that happen. I’m not going to let him make decisions based on our relationship.
It has to come from him, from within him, not because he was forced to do so by me.
To compromise, he’s asked me to carry my old phone with me so I can text him when I leave that I got back safely. Cell phones or any kind of personal technology isn’t allowed at St. Mary’s. So technically I’m breaking the rules and he’s breaking them with me, and I’m not happy about this either. But this is better than him revoking a rule completely just for me so I obey him.
So every night when I sneak out to see him, I initially meet Alaric 2.0.
But then I kiss him at the door and soften him up to bring out the first Alaric.
My Alaric.
But some nights, it’s not so easy. To bring back the first Alaric, I mean.
Some nights Alaric 2.0 takes over.
Which means that even my kisses are not enough.
Which means that on those nights, he only lets me take a few steps into the cottage before he shuts the door and shoves me against it, going for my clothes.
Not that I mind, you see.
I don’t mind him tearing open the buttons of my blouse to get at my tits or shoving aside my panties to get at my pussy. I don’t mind him lifting me up in his arms and barely having enough sense to put on a condom and shove his thick and long length inside of me, and fucking me till we both shatter around each other, no.
I don’t mind all that.
In fact once we’re done, I make him put me down so I can fall to my knees and slide that stupid condom off — I still hate it; I still hate how it keeps us apart — before taking his still hard, still frustrated length into my mouth and sucking him off, giving him another bout of relief, hoping against hope that this might make him feel better.
