Chapter 14 Aftermath
Chapter fourteen
Aftermath
Marigold Belmore
I sigh as I type the final sentence for my analysis paper.
Done. Now, I can rest. My bleary eyes drift to the to-do list tab.
Almost all of the tasks are glaring red, telling me I’m behind.
Saylor set up the system for me at the beginning of the semester.
She said it helps her to see everything at a glance.
I’m not sure how being reminded of my mounting failure is helpful, but I guess Saylor is never behind like me.
I rub my face. It feels like my eyelids are made of sandpaper.
There’s a headache radiating from in between my eyebrows.
And I’m so tired that curling up on the crusty carpet of the library sounds enticing.
I blink my dry eyes open and startle when I realize Jameson is still across from me.
I’d been so focused on my paper that I’d forgotten he was there.
My brow furrows. Is he sleeping? His arms are crossed over his broad chest, making his biceps bulge.
He’s slumped down in the chair with his head tipped back, exposing the strong line of his jaw and neck.
The rise and fall of his chest is the kind of steady rhythm that only comes with sleep.
I bite my lip. This confirms my suspicions about him not sleeping well.
He’s never been prone to sleeping in public.
Even on bus rides to games, he’d text me instead of sleeping because he didn’t like the idea of not being aware of his surroundings.
I check the time and my eyes widen. The librarian is going to be making her rounds soon. She has not been my biggest fan as of late.
“Jameson,” I say, though I know doing so is pointless. He’s a deep sleeper. One time I stayed the night at his house—in the living room—and I woke up to his alarm. His room was upstairs. And it still took a few blaring rings before he woke up and cut it off.
I bite my thumb nail, watching him sleep peacefully. If the librarian comes over and sees this mess and Jameson asleep, she might kick us out for good. I’m not sure if she could actually do that, but she seems shrewd enough to try.
“Ugh,” I huff, and stand up, then walk over to Jameson’s side. I grab his shoulder and squeeze it. My mouth drops open at how firm it is. “Are you even human?” I mutter. Jameson’s face scrunches up as if he’s waking up.
Hopefully he didn’t hear that.
“Jameson,” I say, and squeeze his freakishly muscular shoulder again. “You need to wake up, before the librarian comes and strangles us with her glasses chain.”
His eyes open, but he doesn’t startle. He just smiles up at me. A sleepy smile that tugs on all my heartstrings and makes it dance like a pathetic marionette. I get the strangest urge to brush back his messy black hair from his forehead.
“Did you say strangle with her glasses chain?” he rasps. “Sounds like the answer to a game of Clue.”
I laugh, and he joins in with a low chuckle that sends tingles down my spine.
“We really should clean up our mess and go. It’s late.”
He nods, then stands and stretches his arms over his head with an exaggerated yawn. The movement pulls up the bottom of his sweatshirt. I shouldn’t be disappointed that it only reveals a white T-shirt.
I am in desperate need of sleep.
“I can tell,” Jameson says, amusement in his voice.
I blink. “I didn’t think I said that out loud.” I’m very glad nothing worse came out.
He chuckles again as he collects the trash.
“You were always funny when tired.”
I frown. “I’m not sure how to feel about that.”
Jameson’s smile is still sleepy and adorable, which is disconcerting on a man of his size and abilities. Men who can take down other giant guys while skating on literal blades should not be adorable when they smile.
“Would it help if I said you were funny in a cute way?” he asks.
I freeze with my hand on the anthology I was using earlier. I must be hallucinating. Did he just say cute?
“The library is closed,” an annoyed voice snaps from behind me. I wince at the familiar tone.
“Sorry, Mrs. Rothwood,” I say as I pack up my things faster. “We’ll be out of here soon.”
“Next time, leave before closing time,” she warns.
Across from me, Jameson’s lips are pressed together like he’s trying not to laugh. I shake my head at him, barely containing a smile of my own.
“Yes, ma’am.” I manage to get the words out without laughing at Jameson’s wide-eyed look.
The woman huffs and leaves. As soon as she’s gone, Jameson starts laughing, and I’m far too delirious not to join in.
“You weren’t kidding,” he gasps between bouts of laughter. “She wanted to strangle us for sure.”
“She must hate me. I probably deserve it, staying late as often as I do.” I sigh and throw my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll probably have to cut back, or else she might ban me.”
Jameson pulls on his backpack.
“It might be good to not stay as late. You said you’re exhausted.”
I can tell by the cadence of his voice that he knows he’s putting a foot over the boundary I’ve created.
“I’m in college. Sleep is a luxury, and I’m broke.”
Jameson gives me a disapproving look as we make our way through the library.
“You can run for a while, but eventually, it will catch up to you,” he says, and he’s just vague enough that my mind can fill in the blanks in a variety of unpleasant ways.
My heart starts to race at the thought of failing in some way.
“I’ve made it this far,” I say, but the words sound weak.
The expression Jameson wears says he noticed. I keep my eyes ahead as we step into the night.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. You can email me your portion of the article whenever you’ve got it.” I do my best to sound professional and not like I’m moments away from collapsing or crying.
“Wait,” Jameson says quickly. “Let me walk you back to your place. It’s late.”
“I’ve walked by myself probably a hundred times. I’ll be fine,” I reply with a shake of my head.
“Please, it would make me feel better.”
I sigh. I’m out of the energy to care. Tomorrow, after I’ve slept a little and had more caffeine, I’ll go back to fighting him.
“Fine, but I don’t need a bodyguard. Nothing has ever happened.”
I glance at Jameson in time to see a strange look pass over him, but it disappears before I can pinpoint the meaning.
“Thank you,” he murmurs with evident relief.
We walk the familiar path back to my apartment in silence.
It’s not quite comfortable, but not hostile either.
More awkward than anything. There were so many moments tonight that felt like we had traveled back in time.
And yet there were plenty of others that reminded me of how different things are now.
We’re marked by these events that have happened.
There was a before that night, and an after.
A pre and post betrayal. We’re living in the aftermath of a bone-rattling earthquake.
The landscape of our relationship has shifted like tectonic plates.
I’m not sure how to navigate this altered map.
It seems safer to avoid the area altogether, rather than risk hurting myself.
When we arrive at the door to my apartment, the sight of the 504 on the door startles me. It’s as though I floated here, like I dreamt most of the night. I retrieve my keys from the bottom of my bag, all too aware of Jameson’s eyes on me.
“Good night, Goldie,” he says softly.
I look up at him, feeling very much like I’m on unsteady ground.
“Good night.” I whisper my reply.
His eyes dip to my lips for a fraction of a second. So quickly that by the time I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be convinced I imagined it. Then he takes a step back, turns, and heads down the hall to the elevator.
Instead of going inside, I watch him. He twists his backpack around and digs inside before producing that black notebook I noticed earlier.
The elevator dings and he steps on, his focus still on the journal that he’s now scribbling in.
What on earth could he be writing that couldn’t wait?
His head lifts as if he can feel me staring.
We lock eyes right as the elevator doors begin to close.