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I freaked. I freaked and I ran and I texted Summer in my moment of blind panic because I was too breathless from all the running to speak to her on the phone like a normal person would.
Then again, a normal person wouldn’t have bolted halfway across campus, barefoot because…because…
Why did I run?
Because he called you little dot and you liked it.
I tell myself to shut the fuck up. I swear, life was easier when it wasn’t just my own voice I was hearing in my head. I don’t like what this bitch has to say ninety percent of the time anyway.
Frowning, I consider – not for the first time – why some parts of my memory are gone while others remain. I know I heard voices in my head before the meds, but it took me a while to remember things like my favourite song or colour. It’s so odd. So selective. But thinking about it too hard just brings on migraines so I force myself to quit.
I wince as I push through the doors to the old library and consider the dirty footprints I must be leaving behind after my trek across campus. I hate things being untidy or disorderly, or even worse, noisy or dirty. It’s why I love the library so much. Peace, solace, organisation, and the unwavering certainty that the Dewey Decimal System just makes sense. It’s sacrilege not to use it. Thankfully, the amazing librarians here – surprisingly not frumpy, cat loving, octogenarians – agree with me. To hell with the Library of Congress classification system. Bleurgh.
“Are you okay, Malia?” Korina, my favourite librarian, asks as she takes in my heaving chest and bare feet. I have to resist the urge to try and hide them from her, embarrassed and ashamed that I might be making a mess of the floor.
“Erm, yes. I just need…a, um, book.”
“Well you’re in the right place. I’d ask if you need any help but you probably know these stacks better than me, so just shout if you need me.”
“I would never shout in a library,” I reply, my eyes wide at the suggestion.
Korina laughs and turns back to the trolley of returns she’s scanning and stacking.
I dive between the bookshelves and race for the work pods at the back. What’s the difference between a bookshelf and a bookcase? I need to hide until Summer reaches me.
While I wait for Summer to show, I can’t help but think back over the events of this morning. Why did I run? I’m barefoot and in my pyjamas for goodness sake! It was only a matter of time before the shit hit the fan with me today. I know this, I do, but Bhodi was just so…so…overwhelming.
First, there’s his size. He’s crazy big, tall, wide…whatever you want to call it. He’s built. He has muscles for days – I finally understand what that means now and I can relate when novels talk about heroines getting hot flushes at the sight of a thick veiny arm or a rippling shoulder.
Then there’s the ink. He’s covered in tattoos. From his jaw down, every inch of him is intricately etched in black. Terrifying. Yet…intriguing. I want to read his skin like an open book.
And there’s his expression: closed off and scowling, menacing almost, unless he’s…flirting maybe? I’m not sure of the signs, but he sure does have a nice smile when he uses it. I’m pretty sure he could get anyone to do anything with that damn smile. I sure as hell found him hard to resist. If I had, I wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.
Finally, although I’m sure if I got to know him better I’d find many more virtues, there’s the way he went into overprotective mode when that guy jostled me. I liked it. A lot. No one has ever stood up for me like that before. And although I didn’t need him to, it was nice that he seemed to want to. Why though?
So, yeah, all in all, with all of that added together in a short space of time and coupled with being out of my bedroom in no clothes or shoes, I can logically deduce that running away was…an acceptable reaction. I won’t let anyone tell me otherwise.
I wrap my arms around myself and retreat further into Bhodi’s hoodie. Why do I feel so safe in it? It smells like him, which I thought would be gross, but it’s really not. It has a fresh scent, something that’s citrus, but is more of a cologne than a laundry smell. You have to be careful with citrus I always think. There’s a fine line between refreshing and smelling like cleaning products.
Bergamot! That’s it!
After a few deep breaths my heart rate begins to return to normal, and I slip my phone from my pocket. I have a message from Cove and it has me smiling before I even open it.
Cove: Good morning gorgeous! How did you sleep? I’m craving a quadruple choc muffin from the campus cafe. Can I get you one? I can drop it off at your room between classes. I’ll drop and dash – no need to answer the door.
He’s the total opposite of Bhodi, really. Cove is so laid back and not at all pushy. Bhodi wasn’t going to leave me alone this morning until he got his own way – both in me tutoring him and getting me to go to class.
How can I like them both when they’re so different?
I quickly type back a reply.
Malia: I think you mean triple choc! And yes please. Sounds delicious.
His response is instant and my grin widens.
Cove: Oooh you don’t know about the fourth chocolate? Allow me to educate you.
A second later my phone vibrates again and a picture message comes through. A giant chocolate muffin fills the screen with four colours of chocolate chunks clearly visible.
