Page 42 of Stranger to Love

What the actual fuck.

The mark on my neck was a deep, angry purple. I don’t get hickeys. I give them. I do not deal with the visible, humiliating consequences of someone else’s mouth on my skin. And this wasn't even a consequence of my own choices. She hadn't asked. There had been no warning, no subtle negotiation. She had simply claimed my skin under the pretence of a deterrent. Granted, it worked—Ali had cleared off—but a verbal threat would have achieved the exact same result. No, she had chosen to make my insides combust instead.

I couldn't decide if I wanted to be her, or be completely pinned beneath her. Who was I kidding? Both.

I aggressively ruffled my hair, letting the long strands fall forward over my shoulder to shroud the bruise. I couldn’t be arsed to spend twenty minutes painting it over with concealer. I headed downstairs to secure a caffeine fix before the bus arrived.

My Mum was already in the kitchen, pouring a fresh mug as I walked in.

“Happy birthday, love!” she beamed, looking remarkably bright and preppy for a Friday morning.

I took the mug, a genuine smile cracking through my exhaustion. “Thanks, Mum.”

“Your Dad picked up your favourites from the butcher,” she said, her eyes crinkling. “How about we do a big lunch together tomorrow before you have to head into your evening shift?”

“I’d love that. Thank you.”

I knew exactly what that meant: pancakes, thick-cut bacon, and sausages. A proper birthday feast. We didn't do presents or cards in our house; it was a financial luxury my parents couldn't always guarantee, so we replaced materialism with a tradition of indulgence. We sat down, we ate well, and we existed together. That was more than enough for me.

Back when my maternal grandparents were alive, they were the ones who handled the traditional gifts. They’d invested heavily in my independence, paying for my driving lessons and eventually my test. I wasn't exactly utilising it now—there was no earthly way a student budget could accommodate buying a car, let alone financing petrol every week—but they believed driving was a fundamental life skill. I agreed with them, even if my license was currently rotting in my purse.

Mum handed me a neatly wrapped packed lunch, and I chuckled, shoving it into the depths of my backpack. “I’m going to head straight to the library after my lectures today, so I’ll go to work from there tonight.”

“Okay, love.” Mum stepped in, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. “I'm so proud of you, Alex.”

A familiar, tight flutter bloomed in my chest. Whenever my parents voiced their pride, it twisted something deep inside me—a heavy reminder of what was at stake. “Thanks, Mum,” I murmured, draining the last of my coffee.

When I arrived at the university, I headed straight for the main auditorium: Business Management. Fucking Hubbard. The only silver lining was that his monotony made it remarkably easy to tune him out.

The major module coursework was due next week. I’d already finished my draft, but I was planning to spend my afternoon in the library using the fierce structural feedback Dr. Carter had given me on my Economics paper to ruthlessly edit this one. There was no earthly universe in which I would ask a knobhead like Hubbard for academic guidance.

I briefly considered flagging down Blondie but quickly thought better of it. My ego couldn’t take the hit of her correcting my grammar when I’d rather have her moaning in my ear. We’d seen each other a few times since that afternoon in her office; the dynamic was entirely relaxed, full of easy smiles and casual seminar chatter. No heavy strings, no loaded glances. It was perfect. I didn't do dating, I didn't do feelings, and I certainly didn't do complicated. She was an immaculate vibe—someone fun to fluster and, occasionally, fuck. That was it.

I found Holly sitting halfway up the lecture hall tiers. She looked remarkably put together, having completely bounced back from her mid-week hangover. Her blonde curls were bouncy, and her smile was radiant.

“Hey!” she chirped happily as I slid into the plastic seat beside her. Like the rest of the room, she had a slick laptop open to a blank Word document.

I pulled out my worn notebook and clicked my pen. “Hey.”

“I’m so glad we only have back-to-back sessions today,” Holly sighed, leaning back. “I actually wish they were earlier so I could secure a massive nap before heading out tonight.”

“Where are you drinking?” I asked, an involuntary spike of protectiveness hitting my chest as I recalled how plastered she’d been a few nights prior.

She smirked triumphantly. “We’re doing pre-drinks at the flat, obviously, but a friend of mine works at The Dam, so we’re heading there.”

I let out a low laugh, shaking my head. “Well, sweetheart, you’re in luck. That friend of yours is on the clock tonight.”

Holly squeaked with delight just as Mr. Hubbard clapped his hands together at the front of the room, demanding our collective compliance. He began flicking through his PowerPoint presentation, quite literally reading the text slide by boring slide. It was agonising. Every third slide featured a massive photograph of him shaking hands with some unfortunate corporate executive, as if to broadcast his managerial prowess. The executives always looked like they were being held at gunpoint. Since he was only covering the structural basics of the upcoming assessment, I checked out completely.

Instead, my eyes drifted toward the side entrance where our blonde TA had just slipped in, guiding a student who required extra academic adjustments. Fuck me, she looked edible. She was wearing a tight grey pencil skirt and a tailored blouse that did criminal things for her chest. I watched her tuck a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear as she focused on the student’s screen. She caught me staring, of course she did, and a subtle, private flush coloured her cheeks.

Finally, the lecture dissolved, and the hall filled with the collective groans of a hundred students stretching their limbs. I drifted outside into the biting winter air, finding an isolated wooden bench. I pulled my jacket tighter around my chest and dug into my packed lunch. It was absolutely freezing, but I knew I’d be chained indoors for the remainder of the day—another heavy lecture, a gruelling library session, and then straight to the suffocating, humid chaos of the club. I needed the crisp, cold oxygen while I could still get it.

An hour later, I met back up with Holly as we filed into the steep tier of the Economics lecture hall.

My pulse began to quicken, a nervous, erratic rhythm taking over my chest. Seeing Dr. Carter today felt bizarre, like trying to reconcile a fever dream with reality. The ghost of her mouth on my skin felt incredibly loud; the localised soreness on my neck was a constant tactile reminder of the way her tongue had moved in slow, deliberate circles before her teeth had grazed the bruise. Fuck, her mouth. Seriously—could someone put me out of my misery and let me taste it? If she was that devastatingly precise on a bar stool, she would be lethal in a bed.

The sharp, rhythmic click of stiletto heels echoed through the corridor, growing louder until Dr. Carter strode past the rows of seats toward the podium.