15. Pearl
Pearl
“He’s actually a total asshole!”
“It’s so cringe that he’s trying to act all cool and shit. Just teach us and get it over with.”
I cranked up the volume on my headphones, letting calming jazz music filter out the noise of the library. I didn't want anyone to sit next to me, so I’d found a small desk partly hidden by a bookshelf.
The library used to be one of my favorite places, but now, with the threat of midterms upon me and the constant buzzing of students gossiping just a few feet away, I was finding out I much rather preferred Emerson's apartment.
It was even worse that it was a student from my class.
I particularly liked our professor, so I didn't like hearing people talk shit about him all the time. But I was a little biased, given that he had been the first one to welcome me back with open arms after everything that happened.
He didn't hover or fuss too much, though. He just checked on me periodically before or after class, but for the most part, he left me to myself.
That's what I enjoyed about it.
Even though I was embarrassed he knew, his easygoing personality made me comfortable.
I tried to focus on my computer screen as I went through last week’s lecture notes for the fifth time, but none of it really stuck. My mind was too busy focusing on other things.
Emerson.
We hadn't talked much since my… admission. Well, unless you counted the dirty talk while we fucked.
Since that night, she hadn't mentioned my stalker either. We fell back into our rhythm of working, going home together, fucking, and starting it all over again the following day.
My days passed by in a blur. Maybe it was because of how busy I was, or maybe it was because finally, even with the threat of my stalker coming back hanging over my head, everything was coming together.
But still, there was one lingering thing that bothered me.
She didn't actually say it out loud.
I mean, she said I was hers. She said I didn’t have to be jealous. That I was the only woman on her mind. It was even implied in the way she was wearing the bracelet I’d made, but I still wished she had said… more.
When I told Emerson I liked her, I couldn't tell if she was happy about it until she kissed me. Her face had been blank, her usual tells gone. I had been scared that she would reject me.
Do you understand what I'm saying, Pearl?
I did. I really did. I knew Emerson wasn't the type of person to confess she was in love with me just like that, though that didn't stop me from hoping she would. It was the romantic in me.
You told her you liked her. That’s not very romantic either.
I guessed we both had some issues to work through, and mine were probably related to never having felt loved growing up.
My guilty pleasure throughout school had been reading romance books of any kind.
Anything I could check out of the library, I would.
I loved seeing two people fall for each other and what they were willing to do for each other.
The yearning. The way that they were able to accept the other person, no matter their flaws.
It made me believe it was out there, but it also made me… sad in a way. Because a part of me truly believed that I would never find something like that for myself. That I would only get to live through the characters in those books.
I ran my hand over my face, tiredness weighing on me.
Maybe I should just give up. I’m getting nowhere with these notes.
I grabbed my phone and paused my music, only to regret it immediately when voices filtered back through.
“No, I swear it's her. My sister was in a class with her last time.”
“Do you think she had him do it for her and cried wolf at the end?”
A giggle at the end of the sentence had my blood running cold.
They’re talking about me.
“There's this rumor that he was a teacher’s aide, and that she went to him to ask for help in taking out the competition. Apparently, she was on some type of scholarship or something that required her to be at the top of the class.”
I closed my eyes, wanting to leave, but I was mortified. I couldn't move from my seat, especially since I would have to pass the coworking space where they were.
“So it was really like a fucked-up, romantic murder spree?”
I fought the urge to hide my face in my hands. I had heard all the rumors. Creative as they might have been, they’d also been wrong.
First off, my scholarship said that I had to maintain a 3.6 GPA, not be at the top of the class. Second, I didn't even know who he was until he cornered me in a classroom with a bloody knife.
I wanted to scream it at them. If they thought it was fucking romantic, I’d happily trade places with them. And the more I sat there, the more they whispered about it, and the less I could take it.
Emerson wouldn't allow anyone to talk like this to her. She would walk through the space with her head held high. She’d probably even spill a drink or something on the girls’ heads for being annoying.
That brought a smile to my face, and like I had conjured her up, my phone buzzed.
Emerson: I'm hungry and off work. Dinner?
As I checked the time, I realized I hadn't been there for two hours. I had been there for almost four.
I grabbed my stuff hastily, putting it inside my bag with two words in my mind as I prepared to walk past them.
Fuck it.
I felt like the whole library quieted down as I passed. I knew my face was bright red, but I didn't care. I held my head high and didn’t even acknowledge them.
That was the Emerson way. Truth be told, she would make them pay, but this would do for now.
I faked it until I made it all the way out of the library, and I didn't stop until I reached the drop-off zone, where Emerson, of course, was already waiting for me.
She never waited inside the car. She always got out and leaned against the passenger door, almost as if she wanted me to talk to her before going in.
I gave her my best forced smile.
“What's for dinner?” I asked.
She didn't respond at first, analyzing me the way she always did.
I tried not to show any of my unhappiness, but I knew she could probably tell something was off.
She hadn't been kidding when she said she could see me.
There was nothing I could hide from Emerson, and after the stalker, there was nothing to hide anymore anyway.
But for the first time, she didn't poke me about it.
“Sushi,” she replied as she opened the car door for me.
There was a small gasp behind me. Apparently, the two girls who had been talking about me found it necessary to follow me out of the library.
“I'm going to guess and assume those are not friends of yours,” Emerson deadpanned.
“No.” I lifted my chin. “They were actually talking shit about me. They know about the incident.”
When I turned back to look at Emerson, my heart skipped a beat in my chest.
She was staring at them like she could kill them with her eyes only. There was malice and hatred there, more than I had ever seen from her. And I had seen her stare at her piece-of-shit father as punches rained down on her.
It was… comforting in a way to know that she was ready to go to bat for me.
I touched her arm.
“Let's go get dinner.”
Without another word, I slipped into the passenger seat. She hesitated for a moment, still staring at the girls as they nervously turned around to head back to the library. Only when they were gone did she close the door and make her way to the driver’s seat.
“I can deal with them if you want,” Emerson said, the sudden hiss of her words causing me to jump while sipping the hot tea, burning my lips.
When Emerson said sushi, she hadn’t meant one of those cheap conveyor belt places that I had grown to love during my time in New York. I always thought it tasted just fine—in fact, I preferred it because I could pick my own pace.
She took me to an extravagant private dining space that overlooked the city. There was no menu, given that the chef was a few feet away cooking for only the two of us. We had already had three different plates before she decided to engage in any type of conversation.
I didn't mind. I had a lot on my mind with the midterms and trying to do the mental math on how low I could get without failing the class.
Also, while there was nothing about GPA in the new scholarship, I would still need to go back and reread everything to make sure that if I flunked this class, I wouldn't lose it.
“And how would you deal with them?” I asked, unable to stop the small giggle that fell from my lips as I envisioned Emerson as some sort of mob boss.
She would look good sitting behind a desk, ordering her minions to murder anyone who dares touch me. It made me swoon to even think about it.
“Is there something funny about that?”
“I was just…” I let out a small laugh. “Imagining you as a mafia don ordering someone to take them out.”
I was still laughing when I looked back at her, but her expression had changed to serious.
"I don't like it when people hurt what's mine,” she said. “So if that's what you want, let me know and I'll figure it out.”
I supposed maybe I should be afraid. Maybe I should be seeing Emerson in a new light or be scared of making the wrong move, especially given my past history.
But there were two big differences between her and him.
Emerson would never hurt me. And Emerson calls me hers because I actually am hers.
At that thought, my breath caught. Heat blossomed inside me.
We were handed a few more plates, but I didn't care about them.
I didn’t know how fucked-up it made me to actually like the idea of Emerson doing the impossible just to protect me. But at this point there was no going back. The door had been opened to every single dirty, convoluted desire I had. Including a fantasy where Emerson protected me any way it took.
Is it wrong for me to hope she would take me up on it?
“Being yours,” I murmured and grabbed my chopsticks for the next bite. “I’m not sure what that means.”
She raised a brow at me. “I thought I was clear. You told me you understood.”
“I mean… Contractually, I am…”
I trailed off, pushing it, waiting for her to correct me. Her face twisted in anger, and for some reason, I liked it.
There must have been something in the air that day because I could have sworn that I wanted to make her angry.
“Are you having second thoughts, Pearl?”
“No,” I said and looked down at my plate.
“Good, because you are mine. Whether there’s a piece of paper stating it or not. I asked you last time if you understood, so this time tell me the truth. Do you? Because you can’t go on saying you like me and then—”
“I do like you. I told you I always have,” I interrupted with a confidence that surprised even me. And while it sounded childish, I followed it with, “What I want to know is if you like me back. I want to hear you say it, Emerson.”
Her hand gripped the teacup. I didn’t think I’d ever been this direct with Emerson. When her jaw tensed, I knew she was holding herself back.
Yes, Emerson, I see you too. And I like what I see.
“Unless you’re scared,” I added after a moment.
I am playing with fire, and I’m more than happy to feel the burn.
“Leave us,” she ordered, not even turning to look at the chef.
He didn’t even hesitate. He put down his knife and left the room without another word.
“Am I going to get punished for that?” I asked, my body buzzing to life.
She stood and slowly walked around the table, but instead of stopping behind me, she grabbed my hand and led me to the floor-to-ceiling window.
“Safe word. Remind me of it.”
I swallowed thickly and shifted my thighs together.
“Bonfire,” I breathed. “You know, the night you took me home.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I was pushed against the window. I gasped as my face hit the coldness of the glass.
Her hand was on my neck, pinning me in place, her lips at my ear.
“Let me ask you,” she whispered. “If I had something to confess, does my whore think she’s worthy of it?”
The words turned me on as one of her hands ran up my thigh and the other slipped into my shirt, spreading across my stomach.
At the same time, they hurt because they hit a deeper part of me.
No, I wanted to say. I’d never been worthy. Not of her love or anyone else’s. That was what I was so afraid of—that my life would never be like the love stories I loved to read.
Tears pricked my eyes. If I had known provoking her would have made me a sobbing mess, I wouldn’t have gone for it.
“Answer me,” she growled, barely concealing her anger.
She left my stomach to move up to my breast, her fingers coming to trace circles around my nipples. They reacted immediately.
“No,” I gasped as the tears started falling. “I’m not worthy of love… I never have been.”
The last part came as a whisper. The room changed. The erotically charged tension changed to something darker.
She froze and pulled her hands away, moving back from me.
“Bonfire.”
But I wasn’t the one who used the safe word.
Emerson did.
I turned, but by the time I was facing her, her front was to the door, and I couldn’t make out the expression on her face.
“You’ve always been worthy of love, Pearl. It’s the stupid fucked-up universe that could never give it to you.”
She didn’t even turn as she said it. She’s trying to shut me out.
“Your love?” I asked, taking a shaky step forward.
I watched as her body tensed up and her hands balled up into fists.
Say it. Answer me, my mind pleaded. There was no stopping the tears now. I pushed down a sob that built up in my chest.
The longer she stayed there, not saying anything, the more my heart broke.
“Please,” I whispered. It was barely audible, but I was sure she heard it because she just started walking to the door.
“We’re leaving. Get your stuff.”
She left the room without another word while I stayed there for a few moments, trying to collect myself.
I dabbed my tears away, cursing myself for pushing her so hard.
I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way.
What hurt the worst wasn’t her walking out on me, but her saying that I of all people was worthy of love.
Just maybe not hers.