16. It’s Me, Not You
IT’S ME, NOT YOU
Qiang’s POV
I’ve barely left my room for anything other than classes for the last two days. Unhealthy, I know. Possibly a bit unnecessary too, since I’ve survived one more session of that class that Kingston’s in now, since that first run-in with him earlier this week.
It helped that he sat as far on the opposite end of the room as possible, and it was easy to keep him out of my line of sight. I would have almost forgotten he was there at all if it weren’t for the uneasy prickle in my stomach.
Although the biggest reason I got through it unscathed was the series of funny animal reels Qi sent during that class, along with the rather alarming torture methods Natasha sent.
I know they both did it to help keep my mind off of Kingston being in my sphere, and Qi’s videos were the perfect combination of sweet and hilarious to keep that prickle in my stomach from turning into a full-on ripple.
Natasha’s, on the other hand, while the milder ones were amusing to imagine happening to Kingston, the less mild ones were physically painful to watch, even though I wasn’t the one they were directed at.
They were definitely distracting and one of the firmest reminders of how thankful I am that she is my friend, along with all the reasons why I will never, ever cross that slightly sweet, mostly quirky, and thinly veiled evil woman.
The fact that I’ve managed relatively decently enough to survive his presence, not once, but twice now, doesn’t mean either encounter was with ease. The first time, I held my own until I could find a safe place to crumble to pieces. The second time was almost exactly the same.
Between the distance and the distractions, I was able to focus enough to follow along with the professor and make it out of that room as though Kingston’s presence there hadn’t registered at all.
If there’s any superpower I can claim, it’s the ability to hyperfocus on something and drown out everything else, no matter how loud or emotionally upsetting it is.
That doesn’t mean the trauma doesn’t make me spiral later when everything is calm, and I have nothing to focus on to drown it out, but the ability is definitely useful to survive the trauma in the moment.
My stomach was twisted up in knots, and I knew I was gonna have to find a bathroom the second I walked out of the room, but Natasha, waiting just outside the door when class ended, helped override the tumultuous queasiness.
Her chirpy chatter from that moment until Qi and Tristan showed up after practice was enough to keep me simmered down.
I’m thankful to have them; they are helping keep things manageable. But ever since I learned Kingston was here, it just feels like there’s a ball in my stomach that is just waiting for the chance to explode.
Everyone is keeping it at bay, but not enough for me to ignore it entirely.
Part of me just wants to stay in this stupid limbo, hovering over the line between just enough and too much, but the reality is I know it’s not going to go away until I let it explode.
I’m just absolutely terrified it’ll obliterate me to the point that I’ll never come back if I let it.
It doesn’t help that there’s now a bit of an impasse between Qi and me because I know he wants me to go to therapy, and he’s finding new ways to sneak reputable therapists’ names and numbers in my stuff for me to find, but I’m still reeling from everything.
I’m saving the names and numbers, which is already progress. I haven’t actually made any calls yet, but I’m thinking really hard about it.
I know he’s worried and he cares, but there’s now a light ripple of disappointment that I always felt should have been there all along.
Now that it’s there like I’ve always expected and been so surprised it wasn’t, I want it gone, obliterated.
Expecting him to be disappointed in me, and agreeing that he very much should be disappointed in me, were so wholly better as concepts than the actual reality of it.
It’s wanting to climb the barrier my lies have built more than anything that has me agreeing to go to a frat party with him, Tristan, and Marcus.
I’m not up to going at all, but the more I alienate myself, the more worried Qi is gonna be, and the more worried Qi is, the more they’re gonna focus on the therapy thing.
It’s something I’m working my way up to fixing; I’m not avoiding it, but I’m not fully ready either. In the meantime, the more of my normal self I can be around Qi, the more he’ll ease up, and maybe that wall will come back down.
With all that in mind, I take another look in the mirror to make sure I’m satisfied with my appearance.
It’s one thing to feel shitty on the inside, and a whole other thing to look shitty on the outside.
I may not be able to hide the shitstorm from myself, but I’m the master at putting up a gorgeous ‘devil may care’ front, and tonight is no different.
My hair is down, slightly curled, and fanning around my face.
My liner is a bit more intricate, with an emerald eyeshadow that’s much more vibrant than my normal vibe, along with a bright sapphire on my lips.
It’s a bit more dramatic than I’m used to, but I feel it’s safe to say I’m using the vibrant makeup and perfect styling to hide behind.
After recent events, I think that’s completely fair usage.
I’m wearing a sheer sapphire top to match my lips, with a deep scoop in the front that leaves little to the imagination.
Adding to the ‘hiding in plain sight’ effect is the distracting assortment of chains and scarves around my neck, some short enough to be chokers, others long enough to reach my navel.
To cap the look, I’ve got a long, poofy emerald skirt with pickups that end everywhere from high thigh to midcalf, along with my favorite pair of black boots.
Tristan, Marcus, and Qi are waiting for me when I finally come down. Marcus’s eyes take me in with appreciation, like they always do, and I can’t help but take him in too.
He’s ridiculously handsome in a tight-fitting black shirt that’s tucked into a pair of low-riding jeans and topped off with a cream-colored button-up that he’s left undone.
He’s got his dreads pulled back from his face, his shirt hugging the curve of his muscles blatantly, and his jeans showing off his gorgeous ass.
For a minute, my brain goes on a rather dangerous detour while taking in the obvious curve of his perfect ass. He once made a comment about not caring who penetrates who, and I wonder if he actually meant that. I can’t even imagine how amazing an ass like that would feel on my dick.
I’ve always been a vers, but with my size and sense of style, people have always just assumed that I’m a bottom.
Which, don’t get me wrong, I love to bottom.
But the assumption is that I’m only a bottom.
I never really understood it either because I’ve disappeared in a bedroom with just as many women as I have men, which means my dick is as often a penetrator as my ass is a penetratee.
I mean, I guess there’s pegging too, and it’s not like I haven’t been with women who are into that as well, but still, I feel like the assumption that my dick likes to get into the action shouldn’t be as quickly discarded as it is.
And honestly, when all things are said and done, my dick tends to get more action with girls anyway, because dick-in-ass action usually takes too much time, trust, and prep for most hook-ups.
Obviously, it happens sometimes, but it’s more for the pre-planned hook-ups I find through apps, rather than for randomly sneaking into a back bedroom at a frat party hook-up.
Not that I’ve done any of that for months now anyway.
And none of these thoughts should exist anywhere in my mind, especially with what I know I have to say to him tonight.
I’d almost whine at how gorgeous he’d have to look right before shooting any chance between us down, but then again, is there ever a time when he isn’t naturally gorgeous?
“Was it your intention?” Marcus asks, his words drawing my attention away from his mouthwatering ass and up to his bright eyes.
“Was what my intention?” I ask, the words fighting their way up through the desert of my dry throat. He makes me so damn thirsty, but he’s the absolute last person who needs to know that.
“To make my heart race so fast it stopped,” he lays down the corniest line with a straight face. His words, corny as fuck as they are, hit their target with unerring precision.
Tristan lets out an amused scoff and shakes his head as he turns towards Qi, who lets out a small giggle at Marcus’s shameless line. And me? I don’t think I’ve ever had to fight so hard to hold back a smile.
It’s so ridiculously cheesy that I don’t know how he has the gall to say things like that out loud, with his whole chest, and with that unwaveringly confident smile on his face.
Even more puzzling is that despite the cheesiness, it never fails to make my heart thump so forcefully in my chest that I can feel the vibration all the way down to my toes.
The last few days, I’ve been cold and aloof around Marcus. I’ve spent most of it in my room or in classes; the few times I’ve seen him at all, I’ve just shuffled around him lifelessly until I could justify disappearing back into my cave.
I haven’t offered him any information, and he hasn’t said much beyond just making sure I’m okay and letting me know that he’s there if I need anything. And I know he means that; I can feel his eyes on me. His concern is always there up front and center, and I want that.