Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
Kinsley
The email from West, cloaked in professional concern, is a fresh stab of insidious control.
It drives me further into myself, intensifying the battle between my fear and that horrifying, undeniable pull.
I try to ignore him, but his presence is a constant, suffocating hum beneath the surface of my consciousness.
Every passing glimpse of him on campus, every hushed mention of his name, sends a jolt through me.
I bury myself in my studies, in the precise, logical world of chemistry.
But even there, he intrudes. I see his name on the lab schedule, I hear students in the hallway talking about the “legendary West Monroe” and his impressive skills.
I catch glimpses of him across campus, walking with a group of friends, intense in conversation, or alone, a dark, magnetic figure.
Every time, my breath hitches. Every time, that unwelcome current jolts through me.
Chloe, bless her oblivious heart, is no help. “He's just being a good TA, Kins! He probably felt bad after you yelled at him. See? He's not so bad.” She thinks the email is an olive branch. I know it is a noose, subtly tightening around my neck.
The tension builds, a pressure cooker inside my skull.
The hypomanic energy, which usually channels into productivity is now a frantic, desperate need for release.
I can't sleep. My thoughts race, replaying every encounter, every word, every touch.
Dissecting it for clues, for weaknesses, for an escape route.
But there is no escape. Not from him, not from myself.
The yearning, the forbidden pull becomes almost unbearable, a constant ache beneath my skin.
On Friday afternoon, Chloe bursts into my room, practically vibrating with excitement. “Kins! Guess what? The hockey team just annihilated State, and West—yes, that West—is hosting the victory party at his penthouse! Everyone's going! It's going to be epic!”
My stomach drops. “His penthouse? Chloe, no. Absolutely not.” The thought of willingly entering his domain, his lair sends a fresh wave of dread through me.
“Oh, come on!” she pleads, already pulling clothes from my closet.
“It's a huge deal! He's practically a campus legend, and his parties are supposed to be insane.
Besides, you need to get out! Stop brooding over that email.
Maybe you'll even get to see him in a non-TA capacity and realize he's just a normal, hot guy.” She gives me a knowing look.
“And who knows, maybe this is your chance to show him you're not just a bookworm.”
I try to argue, to explain the suffocating dread that seizes me at the mere thought of being in his personal space.
How can I explain that his “crush” is my personal nightmare?
How can I articulate the terrifying intimacy of his whisper, the way my body betrays me?
My anxiety medicine, a single clonazepam is tucked into the small, zippered pocket of my jeans, a silent promise of calm I am desperate to claim. I just need quiet.
Chloe, misinterpreting my silence and hesitation as typical Kinsley-resistance, just shakes her head. “Nonsense! You're coming. Think of it as exposure therapy. Plus, free food, and probably some delicious eye candy. You'll thank me later.”
My first instinct is to refuse. Parties are sensory overload. Too many people, too much noise, too many unpredictable variables. It is the last place I want to be when my mind feels like it is teetering on the edge.
But then a different thought sparks. A desperate, reckless impulse.
Anonymity. Chaos. A place where I can lose myself, if only for a few hours.
A place where I can feel something other than this suffocating blend of fear and forbidden yearning.
In the sheer overwhelming noise, I can drown out the screaming in my head.
“Fine,” I say, the word a desperate gasp for air. “Let's go.”
Chloe grins, oblivious to the storm raging behind my eyes.
“That's the spirit! Now, what are we going to put you in?
Something that screams 'untouchable but intriguing'...” She rummages through my closet, pulling out a sleek, black dress I bought on a whim and never wear, along with my knee-high boots. “Perfect!”
I let her dress me. The taxi ride to the prestigious high-rise feels like a journey to another planet—his penthouse. The very idea is intimidating.