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The way she smiles when she thinks no-one’s watching. The ways her eyes glimmered under the bright lights of the club. The way they stare right through me. The way they stare at me. Right now.
I swear under my breath as I finish the rest of the bottle, but the girl in front of me doesn’t react. She only slides closer to me, hands running up the side of my body sending goosebumps across my skin.
I should have known she would have showed up here when I’m trying my best to forget about her. My not-so-sober brain tries to catch up with this recent discovery, but I struggle to make sense of anything. The only thing that makes sense is the look of anger on her face. Or is it indifference? She turns and disappears into the crowd.
Pushing the other girl’s hands off me without another word, I follow Eden. I’m focused on the way her hips sway, her dark brown hair that’s tied up, exposing the back of her neck. I need to talk to her. To see her. To make sure she’s okay. She stops in front of some people that I don’t recognise, which should have been the first red flag. When I call her name and she doesn’t turn around, that’s the second.
“Eden?”
“Sorry?” The girl looks up at me. Her glasses frames are too dark, her nose is a bit too straight. There’s no freckles smattered across her cheeks, and her blue eyes have an element of confusion to them.
“Oh! I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else.” Shaking my head, I retreat back to Ben and Michelle, rubbing a hand across my face.
Walking back outside to the balcony, Ben greets me with a wave and offers me another beer, which I decline.
“I thought I saw Eden,” I say, which makes Michelle sit up from her cosy position on Ben’s side, her glassy eyes suddenly becoming razor-focused.
“What?”
“Yeah,” I shrug, shame heating my face. “Inside.”
Ben shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink. “Impossible. She’s not out tonight.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Why would she be?” Ben shrugs. “Exams are in…what? One week? Two? She’s not that type of girl, Ollie. We both know that.”
My stomach turns, and it’s not just from the alcohol. Was I so desperate to be in her presence that my brain conjured her up in front of me? Am I meant to live the rest of my life with only the memory of her?
“I need to go home.” Even I can hear the tense edge to my voice that I don’t often have. Ben and Michelle exchange a look between them before Ben speaks up.
“Is everything okay?”
I rub my face, sighing. “I just need to leave.”
“Alright, buddy. Let’s get you home.”
22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Eden.
“Trust me. This always makes me feel better.”
Gemma is standing in the middle of a forgotten art studio tucked away towards the back of campus, bag in hand. As a final-year student she gets the privilege of access whenever she needs. Following her through the door, I take a moment to look around me. It’s not often that I’m on this side of campus and a weight seems to leave my shoulders. It’s unfamiliar. Oliver and I haven’t been here together, so memories don’t seem to assault me as hard as they do back in the lab or the library.
Ivy creeps up the outside of the window, casting dappled sunlight across the floor. There’s multiple easels and desks set up around the room, each with their own unique pattern of light. It’s small, dark, and cramped, but it has a certain cosiness to it that can only be compared to a cottage in the woods. I can see why the artists like it here. It’s gorgeous. And very different from the stark white clinical labs I’m used to.
Gemma clears her throat, drawing my attention back to her. “Clay or paint?” She asks, like I’ve made her repeat the question.
“Paint.”
Gemma nods and begins to collect the equipment. When she asked me to come down and keep her company while she worked on her final piece, I certainly did not expect to be creating something of my own. Although I am grateful for the break from the final exam grind. At least it keeps my mind off him.
It’s been a few days and the look in his eyes still haunts me, his last words ringing in my ears. But— as I roll my shoulders back— all I can think about is my Honours Scholarship application. Or my lack thereof.
He was too much of a distraction. I can see my place in the honours program, my PhD prospects, being torn from my grasp, all in his hands. If only I didn’t invite him to the farm, if only I didn’t spend all that time with him.
