Chapter 17 Lev #2
She takes my grunt as agreement and drops the subject that’ll consume my entire week.
The week passes without any more issues. As it creeps closer to the weekend, there’s more conversation around campus about this party. Following her through a house with people tightly packed together will be an actual fucking nightmare. This might very be well my death.
Other than the approaching dread, we fall into a routine.
She often sits in the centre of her lecture halls, surrounded by classmates, sometimes making small talk with a few.
I always sit in the top row where I don’t have to pretend to take notes.
We alternate buying one another coffee, a pattern that has me uncertain.
Serafina’s workload is picking up, so she spends a lot of time studying in her room.
Sometimes, she’ll do it on the couch, and occasionally in the library, where silence is a welcome reprieve.
I camp out in a corner, usually skimming a book from the Computer Science shelves.
Everything I learned came from the internet and trial and error, so it’s interesting reading textbooks.
At the dorm, I work while she studies. If not working, I’m remoting into my networks to tweak things that don’t really need fixing, simply for something to do. After studying and finishing assignments, Serafina watches her shows.
Since the incident, there’s been no sign of her boyfriend, which is annoying—for me. Once getting through the party, I’ll contact Zeno about how we bring him out of hiding.
When mentioning him—his name, the possibility of them getting back together—anything that’ll help me and Zeno, Serafina avoids the conversation, strangely tight-lipped.
The dreaded day arrives, and, without classes as a distraction, I’m bored hanging around the dorm. Serafina said her friend, Amara, has returned from dealing with family issues, but instead of getting together during the day, they’re waiting until the party.
All afternoon, the normally comfortable couch hasn’t been doing it. It’s like sitting on a bed of spikes, my head thumping, body tensed to fight at any given moment. Nothing about this day is easing, every second one closer to the party that’ll be the true test.
It’s nearly as bad as all the instances Papa tossed me in prison for not being the son he wanted. It’s becoming as painful, shoving all the memories forward. Which, when bored, is not helpful.
She’s in the bathroom, showering, and minutes after the water cuts off, the door opens, and her voice floats out, abrupt, like she’s continuing a conversation we were never having.
“I was thinking about last night’s episode and how stupid they are for voting Lucy out. If she stayed, she’d have been a great shield. The rest of them hate her, so it’d be easy to use her and get rid of her another time.”
“The ones who get saved always rise to power,” I shoot back. “They made the smart decision, coming from someone who’s spent much of his life strategizing. Trust me, it was the best call.”
Towel hiked high, she exits the bathroom. After a week of living with her, this view is becoming normal, but it never stops knocking breath from my lungs. An impossible feat, based on science—a person can’t hold their breath forever—but somehow, this woman makes it so.
With a double-take, her peel of laughter distracts me from her water-kissed skin. “I knew it! You do watch the shows. I agree, by the way, Lucy had to go. It was a test to see if you were paying attention.”
They got addicting. The stupid, pointless drama people invent all in the name of love, ‘survival’— they’re not truly in danger—or money. Regardless, I’ve been watching more and more of them, downright tracking each one and almost—almost—anticipating the next.
“And?”
She shakes her head, laughing as she continues for her bedroom. “You’re no longer allowed to make fun of them.”
Once her door’s shut, I head to my room to dress in jeans and a black shirt to help me fit in like she requested.
My gun remains beneath my mattress. I’ve stopped taking it to classes, figuring if her boyfriend is Vitale and he returns, shooting him point-blank on campus isn’t what I’m here for. Zeno needs a photo, not war.
Even if shooting him sounds pretty fucking good given how he hurt Serafina.
At a party, the worst thing that’ll happen to Serafina is a drunken moron slobbering on her, or she won’t be sober enough to walk home. Both don’t require a firearm, so I leave it and grab a knife instead…just to be safe.
Living with Anastasia taught me how long women take to get ready when they want to. When my sister prepares for her performances, I swear, she’s expecting a crowd to be on the stage with her, because it makes no sense why she slathers on that much makeup when the audience isn’t close enough to see.
Two hours after the sundown, Serafina’s door cracks open, and I stand.
And nearly end up back on my ass at the sight.
She’s wearing a dress tinier than I’m aware they make; black silk clinging high on her thighs and low on her chest, her breasts close to tumbling out.
It reminds me of the kind of outfits Ana would wear on her nights out with Vanessa, but my sister never made me remotely care or pay enough attention to count the inches from top to bottom.
Whereas, if Serafina breathes too deeply, bends, or even just fucking moves, I’ll be committing murder when some fucker looks at her.
A sudden, strange thought. One driven to protect her, and for her siblings, who wouldn’t like hearing about some dick harassing her. At least, that’s how I explain the tensing of my nerves, because nothing else makes sense. Any other possibility is…confusing.
Her hair, normally left down or bound in a ponytail, is curled in gentle waves that frame her face and cause her eyes to look bigger. And those fucking eyes… A smoky shadow encompasses them, making them brighter, twinkling if that’s possible. Her lips are shiny, her lashes impossibly long.
I catalogue everything about her.
Because I have to. So I know what Serafina looks like when I’m tracking her through the party.
Turns out, I do need my gun. For her own good, of course. For Zeno’s sister. For Vanessa’s half-sister. For my job.
Not because the thought of some wasted kid placing his hands on her makes me want to remove them.
What is happening to me?
While I’m studying her, she’s doing the same to me, taking in my jeans with an arched brow. “Maybe you’ll fit in after all.”
She won’t. She’ll stand out in every way, right and wrong.
For once, my head doesn’t thump because of noise. For once, the discomfort of being near people isn’t an issue. For once, I’m not counting or tapping my finger to stay calm in any manner possible.
For once, I do nothing.
While I’m too busy staring, trying to list every reason why she’s merely an assignment, she shuffles, her fingers clutching the side of the dress assholes will dream of peeling from her body.
An image that causes my head to go staticky again.
“Do I look okay?”
Okay? She’s asking if she…looks okay? I don’t have the words to give her a half-respectable answer, one that toes the line of propriety and respect for her, for her brother, for my Pakhan.
She’s more than okay.
“You look great,” I manage, a strange tingle in the back of my throat, like I’m choking on my tongue, except that isn’t possible. Emotions that are utterly new course through me.
I’m entirely untrained to handle a situation like this.
“Thanks.” She beams, wiping away all her uncertainty. “I thought it might be too much, but Amara claims it’s perfect.”
Mute, I nod, pretending to be following.
Serafina glances at her cell. “We should go. I said we’d meet Amara in front of the library, and we’d walk from there.”
She’s talking about leaving and walking while I’m still working on breathing.
“I’ll follow.”
“Far behind,” she says with a stern voice. “Don’t make it too obvious.”
With a final smile that says more than I comprehend, she slips into the hallway and practically skips down the stairs. It’s her final expression which makes this entire night that will inevitably suck so fucking worth it.
Anything to see her smile like that.