Chapter 19 #3
I headed for the door, my jaw set so tight it hurt.
I was going home, and I was going to forget the way her skin felt.
I had to. I fucking had to. Stupid fucking feelings.
I went to grab the front door handle and groaned; of course it was fucking locked.
Of course. It was locked. This woman locked me in everywhere.
I was still rattling the handle when I heard the click of her heels on the hardwood. I froze, my back to her, my forehead resting against the cool grain of the door.
"The deadbolt requires a key, Alex," she said quietly. Her voice wasn't cold, but it had that terrifying, composed stillness that usually made me want to shrink into the floor.
Fucking idiot.
I spun around, my backpack sliding down my shoulder. "Right. The key. Of course." I tried to sound casual, but my voice cracked on the last word. "If you could just let me out, I’ll be on my way. I don't want to trouble you for a ride, I'll just find the bus stop."
Dr. Carter didn't move toward the door. She stayed a few feet back, her hands clasped loosely in front of her white blouse. She looked like the personification of authority, but her eyes—those dark, flecked eyes—were boring into mine with an intensity that made my skin itch.
"There isn't a bus for another forty minutes, and the nearest stop is a two-mile walk in the damp," she stated matter-of-factly.
"I like walking," I snapped, the frustration finally bubbling over. "I like the damp. I just... I need to go, Dr. Carter.”
She flinched slightly. It was barely visible, just a tightening around her mouth, but I saw it. The silence stretched between us, thick and jagged, until she finally spoke, her voice dropping to that low, velvet register that had destroyed me last night.
"Are you really going to leave like this? After everything?"
"Everything?" I laughed, a harsh, jagged sound.
"You mean the wine and the movies? The indulgence? Because that’s what this was, right?
A long weekend. A glitch in the system." I shifted my bag higher, my knuckles white as I gripped the strap.
"You made it pretty clear in the kitchen that the walls are back up. So let me out. Please."
She took a slow step forward, closing the gap until she was standing directly in my space.
She didn't reach for the lock. Instead, she reached out and took hold of the strap of my bag, her fingers brushing my shoulder. I held her gaze because I felt fucking fuming and I didn’t want her to think she intimidated me.
"I don't know how to do this, Alex," she whispered, the confession sounding like it was being torn out of her. "I don't know how to walk into a lecture hall tomorrow and look at you after... after this. We’re supposed to be playing a game, Alex.”
She looked up at me, the formidable professor gone, replaced by the woman who had kissed me until my head spun. "But I don't want you to walk to a bus stop in the rain."
I straightened my spine, forcing my shoulders back and my expression to go cold.
I needed to find the version of me that had existed before this weekend—the one who didn’t give a shit, the one who didn’t catch feelings.
This was exactly why I didn’t do the "morning after.
" This was exactly why I never fucking stayed over.
Softness was a liability, and right then, it was making me feel like I was bleeding out in her hallway.
"It’s fine," I said, my voice clipped and devoid of the warmth we had shared just an hour ago. "I told you, I don’t mind the walk."
Dr. Carter’s hand, which had been inches from my shoulder, jerked back as if I had burned her. I saw her jaw tighten, her teeth biting into the inside of her cheek as she processed the dismissal. The vulnerability I had seen a second ago vanished, replaced by a steel-cold mask that rivalled my own.
"Fine," she said, the word a sharp, icy blade.
She reached into her pocket, pulled out a silver key, and thrust it into the deadbolt. The click of the lock sounded like a gunshot in the silent house. She pulled the door open, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over my shoulder, refusing to look me in the eye.
I didn't give her a second glance. I didn't say goodbye. I just stormed out, my boots hitting the pavement with a redirected fury.
As I reached the end of her long driveway, the damp morning air hit my face, and I pulled my jacket tighter around me. I was fucking livid. Pissed at her for being so hot and cold, but mostly pissed at myself for being stupid enough to let her in.
But as the house disappeared behind the bend in the road, my pace slowed.
I couldn't stop thinking about the look in her eyes right before I had turned my back—that brief, fractured moment where she had looked like I was actually breaking her heart.
My own heart thudded painfully against my ribs, heavy and hollow.
The anger was still there, but it was shifting into a sickening realisation. I wasn’t just pissed that I had caught feelings. I was pissed at myself for leaving. Fuck.