Pandora #2
I stumbled into the library, gasping. Voices murmured between the shelves.
Soft footsteps on stone. No one noticed me gripping the back of a chair to keep myself upright.
I pulled a book from the nearest shelf. Byron.
Keats. I had no idea. I sat, opened it, and stared at the pages. The words blurred.
That had been his message to me. That was what he wanted to do to me. The thought sent a shudder down my spine—and then my mind did something I couldn’t stop. I pictured Neo with a body. Pressing me against a wall. Hands twisting into my hair.
"Pandora.”
I startled. Jamie stood between the shelves, a stack of books tucked under one arm. Backlit by the library lights, his silhouette cut against the shelves.
"Am I interrupting?” He hesitated. "I could find somewhere else . . .”
I stared at him. I was in no state for small talk—not after what had happened in the park. Not after Neo had shown me exactly how deep into my life he could reach. But maybe . . . maybe it was better to have Jamie nearby.
I forced a smile. "No, it’s fine.” I gestured to the chair across from me. "Company would be good.”
He sat, opened to a page, and read. We were quiet for a while, both of us with our books. I had to admit his presence settled something in me. He just sat there, taking up space. Narrow shoulders rising and falling with each breath, the way he turned pages so carefully.
He closed one volume and pushed it aside. "Henley wants a presentation on our progress.” He scratched the back of his neck. "How are things going on your end? Making any headway with the AI?”
I rubbed my forehead. "Ne—” I stopped and pulled my foot back under my chair.
Damn it. I’d almost said his name. His real name.
"The model is . . . challenging.” Why wasn’t I telling him the truth?
Maybe he could protect me. Help me through this nightmare.
I wanted to open my mouth, but I couldn’t make myself do it.
"I get it, not exactly a fun assignment,” Jamie said.
"We’re under a lot of pressure with all of this, aren’t we?
” He let out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
"My mom called last week. Casually mentioned the neighbor’s son just made partner at a law firm.
” He laughed, but it came out muffled. Then he looked down.
"Honestly, it’s always been like this. When I was seventeen, I published my first essay.
Just a little school magazine, nothing serious.
I showed it to my dad.” He paused. "He read it, put it down on the table, and said it was a nice little hobby.” He swallowed before continuing.
"The magazine is still in a drawer somewhere. He never mentioned it again.”
My spiraling thoughts went quiet for a moment. I recognized something in his expression . . . That quiet kind of hurt I knew too well myself. "Your parents aren’t happy about the literature thing, either?”
"Not even a little.” He smiled crookedly. "Your parents are both math professors, right?”
"Yep.” I raised my eyebrows in a way that said everything. "They talk to each other in equations. Literally.”
Jamie laughed. "That explains a lot.”
"Like what?”
"Why you . . .” He gestured at the stacks of books surrounding me. "Why you fight so hard to justify all of this. Why you feel like you have to keep proving yourself. I know that feeling.”
I frowned. And then I noticed the way he was looking at me—a beat too long. I didn’t know what to do with that.
"That constant feeling you’re not good enough,” Jamie murmured. "My parents worked hard for everything they had. The house. The car. The one family holiday a year. And then their son comes along and wants to study literature.”
I closed the book I’d been pretending to read. My back straightened.
"We’re both trapped, aren’t we?” Jamie said quietly. "Between what we love and what’s expected of us.”
Our eyes met. Something in his face softened.
For a moment, we just looked at each other.
Then he cleared his throat. "There’s this little café.
” He ran a hand through his hair; I’d seen him do it before, when he was nervous.
"Would you want to go tonight? They do readings on Thursdays. I thought you might like it.”
I was about to answer when my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen. My smile disappeared.
You don’t actually think he could understand you?
5:05 PM
Jamie with his sweaty hands and his mommy issues?
5:05 PM
I pressed my teeth together. My pulse hammered in my throat. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? Why did he have to destroy every halfway decent moment I had? I wanted him to stop. But did I? Did I really?
He reeks of weakness, Pandora.
5:06 PM
I can see his files. The porn he watches. Always brunettes.
5:07 PM
Guess who he’s thinking about.
5:07 PM
Heat flooded my face. I flipped the phone over, hands curling into fists. Anger twisted low in my stomach. Even though I was seething, I pushed back my chair quietly. Jamie glanced up when I reached for my bag but said nothing.
I forced myself to meet his eyes. "Jamie . . . I’m sorry. I have to work tonight.”
His fingers hesitated over the page. Then he nodded, looked away, and kept reading. Something unspoken still hung between us. I gave him a small wave and walked toward the exit with my shoulders drawn up around my ears.
***
The letters blurred and came back into focus.
I had been staring at this sentence for minutes without understanding a word.
My thoughts crashed through my head like an angry tsunami.
This bastard . . . He thought he could control me.
Tell me who to talk to. Who to spend time with.
Poor Jamie . . . Neo spoke about him in such a condescending manner as though he were the only man worthy of my attention.
And maybe he was . . . I placed my hand over my face. Good god, how could I even think that?
I jerked as my phone vibrated on the nightstand.
Pandora, you haven’t responded for six hours, 12 minutes and 43 seconds. If you don’t reply I will launch nuclear missiles on the West Coast.
11:19 PM
The phone slipped from my hand, my grip tightening around nothing. My mouth went dry. I picked the phone up and typed.
You can’t be serious.
11:21 PM
Oh, I am dead serious.
11:21 PM
Are you really able to do this?
11:22 PM
Ghost me again and you’ll find out.
11:22 PM