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When I told him about the appointment, he’d given me one of those hugs I was still getting used to and promised to give me a ride. It made me realise I should probably learn to drive at some point. I’d spent my childhood with personal drivers, and at the University it was like its own little town with everything I needed within walking distance. I’d never needed to learn. Living here on the edge of the Whisper Woods, it feels like more of a necessity.
I look back at the laptop and phone and take an exaggerated deep breath. If I've learnt anything over the past few months, it’s that I can do hard things. Even if Ireallydon’t want to. So, with that thought to bolster my confidence, I throw back the covers and drag my no longer scrawny butt up and across the room, scratching at my belly above my boxers.
I’ve been working so hard, I’ve actually developed some muscle definition and started bulking up. I wasn’t at all mad about having to go buy new underwear when my old ones had gotten a little tight on my growing ass.
It takes a moment for the laptop to come to life, but once it does it doesn’t take too long to sort through the literal hundreds of emails. Without even one iota of regret I delete a good ninety-percent without reading them.
I save the one from the woman who was effectively my boss. It’s dated after Tor’s trip to the city and is surprisingly sincere, expressing genuine sadness about not only what had happened to me but also that I was leaving the University. She promisesthe door is always open for me to return should I be willing and able.
Considering that washighlyunlikely I type a quick reply, thanking her for her well wishes and everything she had done for me over the years. In another email, I contact the staff housing administrator and let them know I am not returning. All the furniture came standard with the apartment, but I include that they can keep, toss, or pass on any personal items that remain. Tor had taken all of my important personal possessions on his visit. Anything there couldn’t be overly important, and in all honesty, it feels like they belonged to another person entirely anyway.
After that, I email a handful of professors and researchers I’d worked with, using a copy and paste message to tell them that, because of personal reasons, I will not be returning to the University or my research and direct them to the directory of all of my relevant files.
Sitting back in the hard wooden chair, still only in my boxers with sleep in my eyes, I realise it’s done. There is no one left to contact.
A rush of emotions ploughs into me as I shut the lid to my laptop, like the seal on a chapter of my life. While I am more than ready to walk away from it and am definite in my decision, the sudden welling oftoo many feelingsinside me leaves me off kilter. The tips of my fingers and toes tingle, and suddenly I can’t sit still anymore.
I throw myself out of my chair and pace the room for a moment, shaking my hands to try to get rid of the pins and needles there. My phone catches my eye, and I pick it up. When my hand hits the button on the side, the black screen lights up, and I see the alerts filling the screen.
How embarrassing is it that I have disappeared from my life for over three months and the most notifications on my phone are appointment reminders for classes?
Pathetic.
I clear them quickly, taking half a second to turn off notifications on my calendar app until I can find the energy to clear all my Uni commitments. Once they are all finally clear, I see the missed calls and texts.
There must be over a hundred of them. All of them, every single one, is from Darius.
All in the first three weeks of my disappearance.
My already nauseous stomach clenches hard, and I stalk to the tall, ornately carved wardrobe on the other side of the room, yanking the bottom drawer that holds the spare blankets so hard it cracks into my shins. I hiss at the pain, blinking back the tears and shove the phone as far into the drawer as I can, burying it under the thick pile. I slam the drawer shut like it has mortally offended me.
With it hidden and gone, I manage to claw back some of my sanity, the sudden, absurd panic burning my throat receding. I slump back on my ass as hysterical laughter sweeps over me, and I wipe my face with my hand, before running it through my sleep-tangled curls, tugging on them hard enough to feel a sharp sting.
A knock on my bedroom door finally distracts me from whatever insanity has just overtaken me.
“Theo, you in there? It’s Roan.”
I glance at the clock on the mantle—it’s only quarter past ten, basically dawn for him.
Emotionally spent and suddenly exhausted again, I haul myself awkwardly to my feet, my arms and legs heavy from the surge of adrenaline, and make my way across the small room to swing the door open.
When Roan’s dark grey eyes go comically wide, fixed at a point over my shoulder with a jaw so tense I’m a little concerned he’s cracked a tooth, I remember I am still only in my small white boxer briefs that I’d been asleep in. Whoops.
This morning’s been too much of a rollercoaster to get myself worked up over this little blip, so I lean against the door frame, folding my arms across my chest. Roan’s eyes flick down, just for the briefest of moments, and I greedily note the way his throat works as he swallows hard.
“What can I do for you, Boss Man?” I’d started the nickname because calling him Daddy or Sir at work to get a rise out of him was kind of a dick move to everyone around us. Especially if he gotthatkinda rise too.
He shifts on his feet, his heavy boots thudding on the waxed floors of the hall. He is back in the shorts that he favours when we work on the cottage. They are my favourite, too—on just the safe side of indecent, the thick cotton grips his tattooed, meaty thighs like they are clinging on for their life, and I completely understand the sentiment.
I realise, just moments before disaster, that I probably shouldn’t be salivating over his legs whilst in my own skimpy underwear and divert my eyes back up to him. He’s still refusing to look at me, and that small detail makes my heart skip a beat in a giddy thrill.
“Uh, well, I wanted to show you something.” I love bossy and commanding Roan. And sassing back at bossy and commanding Roan. But I also kinda love when he gets all flustered and awkward. Adds a lustre of imperfection to a man who stands a little too high on the pedestal.
Just to be a shit, and because teasing and playing with Roan gives me back a little bit of the calm I lost this morning, I drag my eyes down his body, past the faded navy tee shirt straining across his chest to the bulge between his legs.
“Really?” I draw the word out slowly, letting it roll around my mouth, biting my lip and flexing slightly for a bit more flair.
He’s looking at me now, a flat and exasperated look on his face, but I can see the smile tugging at his lips under his beard. I even find the audacity to wink at him, and he finally rolls his eyes.
