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LUCAS
I’m on my laptop when she comes in—and immediately, the sense of her being in a hell of a mood envelopes the apartment. It isn’t that she says anything to give me that impression. It’s that she doesn’t. Not a word comes out of her between the time she enters and the time she closes the door to the guest room.
Right away, I call out, “No closed doors. Not unless I’m the one who closed them.” And locked them.
The door swings open, but Delilah makes a point of not showing herself. Things have been tense since I fucked her on my desk. Not because I did it, but because I didn’t make her come after. I’m pretty sure she is mad. Either that, or she’s still pouting because I wouldn’t let her and her little friend stay in class together. Who the fuck knows with girls this age? It could be hormones, for that matter. I don’t have the first clue how to manage that, so I won’t bother.
I’m satisfied with going back to my work. She doesn’t feel like talking and would rather do her studying in there? So much the better. Sometimes the sound of her voice grates on my last nerve. Still, I keep one ear tuned to whatever’s going on.
For a long time, there’s nothing but silence punctuated by the occasional turning of a page. I need to stop thinking about her so much. She’s a distraction from the things that truly matter, such as reviewing student evaluations. It’s easy to forget at times that I have an actual job to perform around here when I’m consumed with every move that girl makes.
It’s not until we sit down to dinner—pasta again, since my range of specialties isn’t very broad—that I know this mood of hers isn’t some passing fluke. I watch, torn between amusement and irritation, as she stabs a noodle like it insulted her mother. I suppose she’d have to first have a relationship with the woman to care very much, but then she’s never spoken of her. I can only assume there’s no love lost.
“What’s on your mind?” It’s the first thing either of us has said to the other outside the heads-up that dinner was ready.
She attempts a half-hearted shrug. “Nothing.”
Is this tonight’s game? Running around in circles? “You sure about that? Because it’s seemed since you came in that there’s something wrong. You’ve been very quiet.”
“So I don’t always want to talk. Is that a crime now?”
“Last I checked? No.”
“Then what’s the problem?” She still hasn’t looked at me.
“I don’t appreciate the silent hostility.”
“Who’s being hostile?” Finally, she pries her gaze from the plate, and there’s a world of accusations in her green eyes. The girl isn’t hostile. She’s hateful.
“You look like you’d enjoy sinking the bread knife into my chest.”
She snorts. “But what else is new?”
I watch her from the corner of my eye while continuing to eat. Could it be Quinton? If it is, he’s gone over and above his usual treatment. She doesn’t normally bring her frustration with him back to the apartment. I’m sure I would never have known he was rough with her the other day if it hadn’t been for him coming to my office. She’s a pro when it comes to concealing that sort of thing.
“Did somebody give you shit today?” I offer.
“Besides you? What would it matter if they did?” Now she laughs briefly, bitterly. “What, would you stop them? I’m sure.”
“Where is this coming from?”
“Oh, stop trying to gaslight me. You know, that’s really fucked up. After the way you and everybody else have treated me, now you’re going to sit here and act like I owe you something? Like I have no reason to ever be angry or upset. I’m surprised you even let me go to the library.”
Funny she should mention that since that’s what I wanted to ask her about. “Did something happen there?”
She rolls her eyes and makes a sour face. “Please. Like Brittney didn’t give you a full report.”
She did, naturally. How could I not use every pair of eyes at my disposal? “You know that’s part of the deal.”
“The deal where I can’t ever have even a minute of freedom.”
“The deal where I’ll allow you to use the facilities so long as someone is watching at all times.”
“Very generous,” she mutters.
“Is that what this is about? You don’t like feeling observed? I hate to tell you, but that’s not changing anytime soon.”
“You don’t hate to tell me that.”
