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As I carry my drinks to the second floor, I spot an empty table in the far corner of the room, my lips curling into a grin as I think about all the shit Darin gave me during my shift tonight. He busted on me for doing little except class, work, and fucking Irelynn every chance I got.
Sex with her isn’t just sex. It goes far deeper than that. We connect on an emotional, intellectual, experiential, and spiritual level. Last weekend, we deepened our experiential connection by taking a trip on my motorcycle to Redwood Lake, which neither of us has been to, but always wanted to see. It was breathtaking with all the brilliant autumn colors lighting up the forest in a blaze of various reds, oranges, and yellows. Irelynn was mesmerized by it. Then we rode to Bridgewater Mansion, once a private residence about seventy-five years ago, but now is maintained as a state park. They were offering free tours of the mansion and gardens and Irelynn squealed with joy, her eyes sparkling, as she wove tales on what their lives must have been like to live in such a place. We stayed until the sun set, and she sat between my legs on the patio wall, her blonde hair a prism of brilliant reds and purples that blanketed over us as we marveled at the phenomenon. It was a spiritual intimacy I’d never experienced with anyone before.
I’ve completely fallen for her, barely able to spend a night away from her. When I’m not working or in class, I’m with her. And on the occasions I’m not with her, she dominates my thoughts. I’m practically unable to focus on anything besides her. During those moments, I brood, longing to be with her, counting down the minutes until I see her again.
But I’ve been too much of a coward to tell her, because I’m still nervous my past will chase her away.
My breath hitches as pain lances through my chest. Pausing, my hand rubs over my chest, feeling the raised rough edges of the scar beneath my shirt. Fear travels up my spine, my limbs shaky. The last time I felt like this was that horrible night… I wince, my head pounding.
I can’t think about that.
Opening my laptop, I glance at the time. 7:00 p.m. I would have been here sooner, but I needed something more substantial in my stomach. I worked up quite an appetite earlier in Irelynn’s bedroom.
Her beautiful face flits through my head, and all I can think of is her.
Someone drops a book, startling me from my thoughts. Shaking my head, I admonish myself to get my shit together and get to work. How ironic that before starting college, I was singularly focused on my goals, having zero desire to even date someone, let alone fall head over heels for anyone. Now, I can’t stop thinking about the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, unable to focus on little else except her.
One hour later, I have various journal articles open on my laptop and books spread all over the table, searching through them to determine if the information contains valid research and information to support my thesis statement. This is a heavy topic, pulling from personal experiences and research. I’m combining aspects of social psychology with the effects of addiction that can result in criminal behavior.
Anguish rolls through my body and I rub the back of my neck as I grind my teeth together. Involuntary flashes of that horrific night roll through my brain and I can’t turn it off. Clenching my jaw, I wince, nausea swirling in my stomach. The screams, the blood, the lifeless bodies… Pushing back from the table, I spring from my chair, rushing to the restroom.
Once inside, I lean over the sink, my hands clenching the countertop. I breathe deeply until the nausea subsides. Turning on the cold water, I freeze when I catch a glimpse of my exhausted, anguished face in the mirror. My complexion is pallid and there are dark circles under my eyes. I bend over the sink, my hands cupping the cold water that flows from the faucet, splashing my face, over and over, before I stand, water dripping onto my shirt and the floor around me. Grabbing paper towels, I dry my face.
My phone beeps, indicating I have a text from my girl. Pulling it from my back pocket, I grin as I read it. Longing slams through me, replacing the anguish that tormented me just moments ago. I wish that I could see her and wrap my arms around her.
Irelynn is going to have questions when she reads my paper. I know I need to tell her about my past before she does. Although I hate talking about it, she deserves to know. I’ve been too worried that she would judge me and think I’m unworthy of her, but the more I’m around her and witness how empathetic and caring she is, the more I’ve come to realize I need to tell her.
As I push through the restroom doors, heading back to my table, another yawn engulfs me. My limbs are heavy as I move in slow motion, sitting back in my chair and downing the last sip of my coffee. Tossing the cup in the trash, I rub my fists over my scratchy eyes, my vision blurry. I blink several times, clearing it, staring at the journal articles and books in front of me.
Shaking my head, I take a deep breath, forcing myself to concentrate. The words swim beneath my gaze, and frustration sets in.
Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I check my messages, but there is nothing new from Irelynn. Setting my phone on the table, I decide to give myself thirty more minutes to gather my sources, then I’ll head to her apartment.
I shift in my seat, cracking my neck. Something digs into my leg. Reaching inside my pocket, I pull out Irelynn’s key to the front door of her apartment.Shit. I stuck it in there when I was leaning in her doorway earlier.I’ll make sure I return it to her tonight.
Shoving it back inside the pocket of my jeans, I pull a book in front of me. I wish I didn’t need two sources from a book and could just use all journal articles, but Dr. Gregory wants at least five sources. Two of them must be from books.
Making a concerted effort to focus, I make it through three pages before I realize I’m reading the same sentence over and over, not comprehending it. The urge to lie my head on the table and close my eyes is overwhelming. My eyes are gritty again, so I rub them. Blinking several times, my vision is still blurry.
Maybe I need to lay my head in my arms and close my eyes for a few minutes.
A loud noise makes me jump and I blink, looking around the room. It takes me a few minutes to realize I’m in the library.
Fuck, I must have fallen asleep.
Reaching for my phone to look at the time, my brows draw in as the realization sinks in that it’s not where I remember setting it.
Did I really set it on the table?Who knows? I was so fucking tired.
Shoving my hand in my back pocket, I come up empty handed. I search my other back pocket, both my front pockets, and begin moving the books on the table, as well as my open laptop, but it’s nowhere to be found.
Grabbing my backpack, I search through it, panic building inside my chest. It’s not in my backpack either.
My eyes gravitate to the clock on the wall.Shit. It’s 10:00 p.m.I wanted to leave for Irelynn’s at 9:00 p.m. Hurriedly closing my laptop, I return the books to the cart to be re-shelved, then scan the floor around the table where I was sitting. But there’s no sign of my phone.
I remember going to the restroom, so I retrace my steps, checking there. It’s not in there, either.
A bad feeling swirls in my gut, as though something is terribly wrong. My heart thunders in my chest, my pulse pounding in my ears. I feel like I’m standing, frozen in place, on a railroad track with a train barreling full speed in my direction.
