Chapter 25 Sebastian
The storm was drawing near, literally. I read the forecast and saw that a blizzard was moving in as I waited for Marfil to finish getting ready to go to class.
It had been a week since we’d returned from that disaster of a spring break.
So much had happened at Alejandro Cortés’s house.
Even though it didn’t surprise me, having run into an asshole like Marcus Kozel, I never could’ve imagined being intimate with Marfil in that abandoned barn.
I tried every day to act like it had never occurred, employing all my willpower to keep from falling for her, to keep my hands and my body as far away from her as possible.
I’d even kept my cool as that moron Kozel continued accosting her daily with flowers, trying not to let my old self rear his ugly head once again.
I had already let Marfil see much more of me than I’d ever wanted to show her.
The encounter with Samara was the worst thing that could’ve happened, and I’d totally lost it, furious with myself for being so stupid.
Marfil came into the kitchen and smiled, radiant as ever in a miniskirt, leggings, and a wide sweatshirt that left her shoulder exposed when she moved.
I couldn’t help but feel that, despite our situation, Marfil Cortés belonged to me and no one else.
One look at her, and a strong urge to kiss her came over me.
The fact that I couldn’t touch her left me in a foul mood, and I often took it out on her.
“It’s thirty-seven degrees outside,” I said, looking sullenly at her outfit.
“Now you’re a weatherman?” she replied, sharp as always, but with a smile on her face. She didn’t wear much makeup, although her lips always had a layer of gloss that made it look like she’d just licked them.
“I’m the man who’s not leaving here until you put on a coat,” I answered, taking my cell phone out of my pocket and looking at the screen in order to keep from staring at her.
“Sometimes you’re even worse than my father,” she said, turning around and walking back to her pigsty of a bedroom.
If you only knew… I thought to myself.
She stepped out a minute later, wearing a pink wool hat, matching scarf, and a leather jacket.
“Happy?”
I didn’t answer. I simply walked to the door and held it open for her. As she passed, she paused for a second beside me.
“Thanks for your concern over my well-being,” she said, standing on her tiptoes and giving me a kiss on the cheek.
I felt my body tense at that innocent contact.
That was another thing—Marfil now took certain liberties, leaving me constantly anxious.
I was incapable of rejecting those seemingly harmless gestures, even though we both knew that she was playing games with me.
But a brief touch, a caress, a kiss on the cheek was nothing, right?
I grunted in response, and as always, she continued on as if nothing had happened.
In the car, I turned on the heat and the radio to listen to the news. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one worried about the imminent snowstorm. Temperatures had dropped dramatically in just a few hours, something unusual considering it was almost April.
“This weather is crazy,” Marfil said with a worried expression. She took out her cell phone and began typing rapidly. I would’ve liked to ask her who she was texting, but I kept quiet and continued driving.
We reached campus, and it came time to separate since she still didn’t want anyone to think there was anything between us. I observed her from a distance, sitting at the back of her classes, admiring her wit, her constant smile, the way she was so feminine yet so tough at the same time.
She’d been arguing with her professor for the past ten minutes about how to proceed during an economic crisis, and how the mistakes made during the last recession could’ve been easily avoided.
“The problem is greed, and the fact that the country’s largest banking institutions took on too much risk without a big enough financial cushion to support them.”
The professor, a former banker himself, looked fed up with her.
Luckily, it was time for class to end, and he dismissed us before I had to intervene to defend her.
Marfil gathered her books, put them in her Prada bag, and waved goodbye at the classmate seated next to her.
As I leaned against the wall outside the classroom, waiting for her, a small group of female students stood glancing at me and whispering.
Over half of them had already introduced themselves to me, their intentions obvious, but my monosyllabic responses were enough to keep them from trying again.
Marfil exited the classroom, and just as she’d been doing every day for the past week, she stopped to talk to me as if we were friends.
“How’d you like the lecture today?”
“Very educational,” I said, looking ahead, checking every doorway and dark corner, eyeing anyone who looked suspicious.
“Professor Benet is a tight-ass, like you, but deep down he knows I’m right.”
I nodded, and we continued walking toward the exit, when a group of girls intercepted us.
“We’ve talked to everyone in all our classes, and you’d be surprised how many people want to participate,” one of them said.
“Excellent!” Marfil replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “The more people, the better. Did you tell them where we’re going to meet?”
“We’re going to meet on the stairs of the Met and start from there.”
“Great.” She nodded. “Don’t forget to dress warmly. If my personal weatherman is correct,” she said, glancing at me, “it’s going to get colder.”
I frowned as I listened to the conversation.
“What is it you’re planning to do, exactly?” I asked, ignoring the other girls.
“We’re going to pass out food and blankets. With the snowstorm coming, a lot of unhoused people are going to have a really awful time. Not everyone will have shelter…” she began as my frown deepened. “We’re trying to get as many people as possible to bring donations.”
This was unexpected. Even if Marfil Cortés had good intentions, however, I wasn’t going to let her walk around in those weather conditions.
But I didn’t say anything, because I knew it would cause a conflict, and I didn’t want to make a scene on campus.
As soon as we got in the car, I told her what I thought about it: “You’re not going. ”
“Of course I’m going.”
“I said no.”
“Sebastian!” she argued, slapping her legs, frustrated.
“I’m the one who organized it, I have to go.
I have experience with this kind of thing through ST. It’s what I do, direct action and fundraising, like I was trying to do the morning my car was tampered with.
I wasn’t able to help out there, but I can here. ”
“You just gave the reason why you’re not: You were trying to help out when you were almost killed. We’re not going to repeat the experience,” I answered, remaining calm.
“Don’t you get tired of always having the same fight?” she said, looking at the road and then going on without waiting for my response. “I tell you I’m going to do something, you give some single-syllable negative response, I insist, you say no again, I end up sneaking out the window, and—”
“You’re not going,” I cut her off.
I felt her eyes on me.
“Can we at least try to come to a compromise?” she asked, exasperated.
I turned brusquely onto our street. “No.”
“We can go just for the first round. It’ll still be daylight.
Tons of people are coming out; it’s basically going to be like a school field trip.
You’ll be with me the whole time, and we can both help restore a bit of humanity to society.
” She sighed. “I truly meant what I said the other night—I feel safe with you around, no fear. So, please?”
I parked the car, cut the engine, and faced her.
“One hour,” I said, angry with myself for being incapable of saying no to her, and angry with her because she always insisted on getting her way.
“One hour, Marfil, do you hear me? I don’t want you out of the house tonight in that storm. All hell’s going to break loose.”
She smiled sweetly. “That’s exactly why it’s so important to lend a hand, despite the risk.”
Two hours later, we were at Tami’s art studio surrounded by tons of people coming and going, dropping off blankets, food, gloves, umbrellas, and other warm clothing to be handed out that afternoon.
Marfil hadn’t stopped moving since we arrived.
The space was large and mostly empty, except for the artwork that lined the walls and the cans of paint stacked up in the corners.
Tami had spent the last half hour trying to organize everyone into groups while Marfil mapped the areas they were going to cover.
I moved the boxes people had left, never losing sight of the main entrance or anyone present.
A little while later, that asshole Liam arrived.
He came in emptyhanded, and after pulling Marfil aside to tell her something, she jumped into his arms, overjoyed.
He picked her up, spun her around, and then set her back down.
My entire body tensed, and an irrational rage forced me to look away, trying to control the jealousy I felt every time I saw her with him.
My eyes then fell on Tami, who was staring at Liam and Marfil from the other end of the room.
Based on her expression, I could tell she was also displeased by that public display of affection.
When she noticed that I was observing her, she immediately returned to folding blankets.
I’d had to look into Tami’s past—just like I’d checked up on everyone who was part of Marfil’s life—and I had to admit that reading the report about her had made me feel sorry for that angelic girl, seemingly so fragile.
She was now struggling with a box on a high shelf, and I decided to go over to give her a hand.
“Thanks, Sebastian,” she said, her cheeks red from the exertion. She was very small, no more than five feet tall, and I hated knowing everything she’d been through.