Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I try to let the music sink inside of me, but I can’t even keep my eyes closed long enough to let the song vibrate through my body. I watch as my roommate scrunches her nose at the taste of whatever is in her cup.
She didn’t come here tonight with me, but I overheard her on the phone with someone earlier, all giddy about one of the track guys asking her to meet him here. She sank into college life a lot quicker than I guessed she would.
I drop my eyes to the floor, moving as best I can to the music, but I’m running into the same problem I had several nights ago. I can’t feel the music the way I want to. It doesn’t become a part of me. I know alcohol or one of the party favors from the weird guy standing in the corner would put me in the right headspace. I also know I’m fighting a losing battle. I can only come to so many parties before I give in. Avoiding them is out of the question though. I feel like I’m going insane, sitting through classes all day and waiting for darkness just so I can breathe a little easier.
It has bothered me so much that I made an appointment with the campus therapist through student services. Since the little quiz they gave me didn’t classify me as an emergent case, I have an appointment for the Tuesday after spring break. I laughed when the lady at the front desk gave me the card, but all she did was tell me to give her a call if my situation changed.
I've done my best not to think of him. I was less than a passing blip on his radar, and losing sleep or wasting time on him is fruitless. All it does is sour my mood, and that isn’t exactly conducive for this attempt to get lost in the music.
Still, I can’t unwind.
A guy with a nice yet crooked smile steps up to me. He places his hands on my hips, and it helps some, letting his body lead mine in the movements.
He doesn’t speak. Hell, he doesn’t even look me in the eye like most guys would. When the song is over, he nods at me, something I translate as a thanks for the dance, and then he simply walks away.
I allow a little smile on my lips because it was one of the more cordial dances I’ve ever had on campus. He didn’t try to run his hand over my ass or push his chest against my tits. He didn’t lean in and whisper dirty shit in my ear. I look over my shoulder, trying to see where he walked off to, but I can’t spot his orange shirt anywhere.
Another warm body presses to my back halfway through the next song. This guy does lean in closer, his warm breath on my neck.
“I remember you from last year,” he says, his breath coated in the scent of hard liquor.
“Just fucking dance and shut up or fuck completely off,” I growl.
He huffs in annoyance, but then he walks away.
It doesn’t take long before I’m enveloped in more heat at my back. This guy doesn’t speak, but it doesn’t stop one of his hands from flattening on my lower belly and pulling until our bodies are flush with each other.
A light smile spreads across my face before I can stop it, but it starts to feel wrong when he curls his fingers, one directly on my skin under the edge of my sweater.
I try to pull away, the touch too intimate for the secret I’m sheltering directly under his palm.
He moves his head, allowing me a little more room to breathe. Instead of walking away like I know I should, I roll my hips, imagining Donavan in the shadows, clenching his fists and getting madder and madder until he’s so angry he can’t help but step forward and make his presence known.
The song changes, and with the switch in music, that edge of wrongness I was seeking transforms from something I want into something I’ll regret.
I try to take a step forward but the hands on my waist grip me tighter. My heart races at the trouble I start to picture myself in. I know someone here will step in if I make a scene. Too many witnesses has a tendency to make people think they should be heroes. They’re more likely to do something with witnesses.
My mood shifts immediately when he grabs me a second time. Before I can think things through, I spin to face him, my hand moving to slap his face before I can even fully evaluate the situation.
Angry yet familiar brown eyes stare back at me.
Donavan.
I slap him a second time just for good measure. The growl that erupts from his mouth is loud enough for the people dancing around us to take a step back and stare in our direction.