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I suck in a breath, unable to stop thinking about the fact thatOliveris my partner for this project and to finish it, I’ll need his help. We’re long past deciding on what to photograph, however. While he’d suggested candid pictures of unsuspecting and unaware people downtown, I’d been adamant about wanting to do something different.
I want to photograph a cemetery.
Looking back, it definitely feels a little macabre, especially given the new circumstances of my relationship with him. It’s unfortunate, as well, since more than anything I’d been excited to do it. Though… I drum my fingers silently on the table as our professor warns that not turning it in is an automatic failure. Do I really have to give up on this idea? There are some truly amazing cemeteries in St. Augustine, with interesting historiesthat have fascinated me for years. Why do I need to give up on it at all?
Just because Oliver is my partner, it doesn’t mean he has to do the work with me. Especially since he’s just auditing the class, not actually taking it. His working with me was a formality anyway, so that I wouldn’t be doing it alone. At the time, it had been an extra way for me to spend time with him.
But I’m not afraid of hard work. Not in the slightest. I’ll do it alone, enjoy it, and turn it in alone if I have to. If Oliver wants his name on it, I don’t care.
“You’re dismissed.” Rook’s voice is a long, disappointed sigh that drags me out of my thoughts. I’ve missed a lot of his lecture today, thanks to my own muddled thoughts that have brought me down like a whirlpool. From what I do remember, it was mostly group presentation details.
Which I definitely needed to hear.
Shit.
A notebook suddenly slides my way gently, and I can feel Oliver’s eyes on me as I see that he's written down all of what’s been said today in his neat penmanship, and even gone so far as to highlight certain parts of it.
I can’t help it. I look up at him, eyes wide in surprise, and he offers me the smallest, sweetest grin known to man.
I also can’t help the way it feels like some icy barrier around my heart is melting, just the tiniest bit, when he looks at me like that. But God, I wish it wouldn’t. It’s easier to hate him for what he is, than to accept it and roll with the details of him. Ofbothof them, really. Since it’s now obvious that the two of them come as a package deal.
For a moment, I can’t help but think of it. Images of having both of them pressed against me, kissing my throat and my mouth, flicker through my brain like a wavering candle flame. Imaginary touches stroke against my skin as I look at him, and Ifinally shove the inappropriate thoughts away as Oliver starts to speak.
“Professor Solomon said you weren’t coming,” he admits quietly, tapping a knuckle on the page. “I had these written out anyway, but I took them for you again. I wasn’t going to, but then I noticed you weren’t taking any.” He looks down, pointedly, at my notebook that’s still mostly blank. “So I thought you might need them.”
He’s so, so careful. Is he worried that he’s hurt my feelings? Does he think I’ll forgive him for what he’s done? Or I suppose, if I’m being more realistic about the situation, what hehasn’tdone. After all, if he didn’t like me, then he probably wouldn’t be taking his anger out on Juniper's proxies, instead of her. He would’ve hurt her by now, or killed her.
But that doesn’t make his murders okay, no matter how I look at it.
“Love.” It’s amazing that he always manages to sound so disappointed when he calls my name, and I tear my gaze away from Oliver’s face to glare at our professor. It’s a look he returns, and I see him roll his eyes while the others leave. “Stay. I need to talk to you about your project.”
A nervous thrill flutters through my stomach like a bird seeking freedom, and I glance back at Oliver for safety. “Why?” I ask, not moving. Except when Oliver stands, I do the same, backpack slung over my shoulder with my notes and his.
“Because I said so.” His voice holds just as much disdain as normal. No more, no less. But this isn’tnormal.
“Well, Oliver’s my partner,” I remind him, finding that I’m all but blocking the door from the brunet at my side so he can’t leave. It’s probably laughable that the spree killer is more of an ally to me than the controlled, seasoned murderer, but I can’t help it. Oliver has never hurt me, exactly, and seems a lot more genuine and easy to read than Rook. “So he should stay too.”
The last students leave, and Rook looks up to pin me with a glare. “No, he shouldn’t,” he says slowly, lifting a hand to crook his fingers in my direction. “It’s not a death sentence, Love,” he adds, glaring at two students who have the audacity to walk close to the door. “I literally just need to talk to you about your project.”
I could run. He can’t stop me, if I really tried to. This isn’t their house. If I scream, then everyone is going to hear me.
“But”—he glances at the clock, calculating—”in my office, not here. Come on.” It doesn’t seem to occur to him for even a second that he won’t be obeyed, and he sweeps out of the classroom and down the hall, long legs taking him to his office in less than twenty strides.
“He’s not going to eat you,” Oliver remarks, his shoulder brushing mine as I follow after him like a lost puppy.
“Can you come with me?” I ask, just as we reach his door as well.
“He just told you no,” Oliver points out, a friendly and supportive grin stretching across his full lips.
“So? You disobey him all the time!” I hiss, my face feeling warm all of a sudden. “Why is now the time you suddenly decide to obey him without question?”
“Actually, he obeys me without question a lot.” Rook’s voice is just loud enough to carry to our ears, and he sits down at his desk, elbows coming down hard on top of it, and sighs. “It’s only when he’s very obsessed or wants me to play with him his way that he’s not so sweet. Today’s not either of those days, is it?” He pins Oliver with a look, and the younger man just shakes his head.
“It’s not,” he admits to me, sighing almost happily. “But seriously, it’s fine. You’re fine,” he assures me, clapping a hand to my shoulder.
“I could leave,” I remind both of them. “I didn’t even have to come today.” Suddenly the doorframe is more interesting than either of their faces, and I study it with fervor. “I don’t have to go into your office. And if I scream—”
“If you’re screaming, then it’s because I’m going to fail you. Which, I’m not,” Professor Solomon remarks. “You can either go home and take points off of your group project, or come in here and present the proposal to me.”
