The afternoon sun warms my cheeks as I lie under an oak tree, my bag tucked under my head, diary in hand. Students whizz past, enjoying their lunch hour before the second part of the day locks us back inside.
The soft murmur of conversations makes focusing on the memories scrawled over these pages nearly impossible. I didn’t write about the one where Alex makes me suck his dick. Not only because it made me feel ashamed, but also because when I woke up in the morning, I couldn’t decide if it was a genuine flashback or just a nightmare.
Even without that, since my chat with the dean last Monday, I’ve spent my days rereading every word I’ve written, searching for… I don’t really know what.
Something.
It’s either that or plotting a prison break. The campus is huge, but knowing I can’t leave feels as suffocating as these new memories of Alex.
I’m now more than certain we were a couple, though for the life of me, I don’t understand why. All I remember is his anger. His raised voice, annoyance, and how he looked at me as if I were in his way…
Instead of slapping his face, I clamored for his scraps of attention, and apparently let him use me for sexual favors. It’s fucking pathetic and drives me mad.
Even more so because in most flashbacks, Alex brings up that other girl. I don’t have her name yet, but when he talks about her, he’s a different man. The anger fades, replaced by a love and awe so pure it’s blinding.
And yet, the past version of me seems oblivious.
My fingers find my necklace, mechanically tracing the ridge of the heart pendant. I don’t know why, but it helps calm me. I still don’t know whether or not it was a gift.
“You looked like you could use one.” Nash’s deep voice snaps me out of my head.
Butterflies flutter in my tummy when my dream replays before my eyes. Why did Alex have to ruin that? I swear Nash was about to kiss me.
Now, he’s right beside me, holding out a cup of steaming coffee. I take it, a little dumbstruck because we haven’t shared a word for over a week, not since he left me outside my room after our stationery-shopping trip.
“Or two,” I sigh, gathering myself into a seated position, smiling down at the cup where a double shot of espresso sloshes from side to side. “I need an extra shot of caffeine before afternoon classes.”
“I noticed.” He sinks onto the grass, close enough for his heady cologne to invade my nose.
“You’re stalking me?” I chuckle, taking a sip.
He looks out of place on the ground, but somehow still commands the space. We’re outside. The campus sprawls every which way, the huge lake glistening in the sun, yet Nash is the centerpiece. He could hide among the largest crowd and, within seconds, I’d be drawn to the magnetic pull he emanates.
“You tipped a double espresso over me in the cafeteria, but when we went to the café, you ordered a latte.”
“You’re very observant.”
“Obviously. Have you filled that diary yet?”
“Not yet.” I take a sip from the cup, the bitterness making me smile. “Even if I fill it in, I’m not allowed to go shopping again,” I mutter, keeping the conversation going. Now that he’s here, I want him to stay. “I’m grounded on my father’s orders.”
“Grounded? Sounds dramatic. You’re not a child, Hailey, spare me the pouting.”
I purposely fold my arms over my chest, stiffening at his crude tone. “I think I’ve earned the right to some dramatics, considering I’m under lock and key.”
“People usually have reasons for the things they do. Maybe he’s protecting you.”
“From what? You saw that town as well as I did. It’s a glorified village. There’s nothing there, Nash.”
“Did you eat today? You’re unusually cranky.” His gaze narrows, the weight of his stare making me shift uncomfortably. Even when he’s relaxed, there’s a raw power to him that makes me feel like a trapped animal. “Stop acting clueless. You’re here to heal, aren’t you? I’m sure your father believes leaving campus is an unnecessary risk.”
“I wish that’s all there was to it, but there’s more and I deserve to know what’s happening.”
“Sometimes, ignorance is a blessing.”
“I don’t need cryptic advice.” I roll my eyes, toying with the takeout cup lid. “I need answers.”
Nash grips my chin, turning my head his way, his unexpected touch making me gasp.
“I fucking told you not to do that, Hailey,” he seethes, his tone stern but heavy, making my stomach leap.
The heat of his fingers sends a fit of mini-cramps down my abdomen. I’m painfully aware how close he is, his breath sighing against my skin.
I’m caught in his grasp, not only physically but mentally. He’s… intimidating and intoxicating at the same time. His fingers are rough against my chin, but his hold is gentle, careful, and the tension between us is as taut as a cello string.
I have no clever retort.
“Let go,” I whisper without conviction.
Part of me, the reckless part, hopes he won’t. It hopes he’ll lean in closer. That he’ll seal the gap and kiss me, then drag me onto his lap and carry on until our lips turn numb.
The confusing swirl of anger, annoyance, and undeniable attraction leaves me off balance as I realize I’ve missed him this week. His dark, penetrating eyes roam my face, committing every detail to memory.
There’s a hunger in that look which mirrors my own.
“I get why you’re annoyed.” He drags his fingers down my jawline until they meet under my chin. “Sulking won’t help you understand what happened.” A softness flickers in his eyes, swiftly masked by that ever-present caution. “Focus on your memories, pretty girl.”
He releases me and the sudden absence of his touch is almost as startling as its presence. I take a deep breath, regaining my composure, my fingers unconsciously brushing the spot where his were. It tingles.
Everything fucking tingles.
Nash is a puzzle, a blend of rough edges and soft touches. And right now, all the pieces draw me closer.
“How can you be so sure?” I ask.
“I pay attention to what you say… and what you don’t.” He motions at my diary. “Does it help?” He closes his full lips around the paper rim, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
Why is that so sexy?
“Writing the memories down,” he adds like I don’t know what he’s asking.
“It’s as therapeutic as it is traumatic.”
“Traumatic?” His eyes drill into mine, curious and… I don’t know what the emotion clouding his features is, but it spikes a fever in my blood. “Bad memories?”
“So far, mostly bad. My doctor says bad memories carry a higher emotional load, which might be why they come first.”
I asked Dad to talk to Dr. Phillips about this, hoping he’d give me some magic pill that’ll bring on the good stuff, but no. No magic pills.
“I get flashbacks, write them down, then read them every day… it’s not easy, especially when nothing makes sense. Not what I see and not my reaction. I barely recognize the girl in these memories.” I grip my cup with both hands, dragging my nails up and down the sides. “They don’t come back in order, so I can’t piece together a timeline, but at least the theme’s consistent.”
“Why don’t you recognize yourself?” he asks.
“I’m… weak. I let Alex yell and don’t stand up for myself.”
I’ve been thinking about what might have caused my sudden spinelessness every waking minute. Other than grief I can’t find anything that’d justify why I let Alex walk all over me.
Maybe it is grief. Maybe I was so depressed after Mom died, I craved human contact. While Alex was an asshole, he talked to me. He spent time with me, keeping me sane.
“I guess that’s the theme…? Alex and you acting different than you’d expect?”
“That and my mother dying at the hospital. I’m tired of reliving her death over and over again.”
I don’t know why I’m telling him this. He sets my nerves on edge but he also soothes me. Against all reason, the big bad wolf in him makes me feel safe… like I unconsciously know that wolf will protect, not hurt me.
Ugh, sleep deprivation makes me weird. I try and keep myself awake, dreading the nightmares and the sleep paralysis they trigger. I don’t last long enough.
My mind drags me under and I dream.
Then, I panic.
And I cry.
I shove my diary in the bag when students start rushing every which way, the urgency of their steps letting me know afternoon classes are starting soon.
“Come on,” I say. “Time for three hours with Rhys.”
