4. Ticktock
TICKTOCK
Fisher’s fingertips tapped an irregular beat against his pant leg as he checked the ancient clock for the hundredth time.
The summer session had finally wrapped up, and Drie had just returned for her fall semester the previous week.
Sometimes, she would swing by the library between classes to sneak a visit.
He knew it was still far too early in the day, and yet, no matter how hard he tried to focus, he couldn’t keep his eyes from the clock.
Watching as the hands marched forward with their steady ticktocks, driving him closer to the moment when Drie would return…
and closer to the moment when she’d walk away for good.
It was a constant push and pull, a perpetual dichotomous pit of hope and despair, wreaking newfound havoc on his mind with every second that ticked by.
The door to the library opened, but Fisher kept his head down at the desk, determined not to check.
It wasn’t her. He knew it wasn’t. If he looked, he’d just be disappointed.
Then his eyes would return to the clock, as they always did, serving only to raise his blood pressure as anxiety pooled in his gut.
For weeks, Drie had been telling him that she loved him.
Weeks. How could she possibly know? She never seemed to care that he didn’t respond in kind, for she said it as if it were as easy as telling him the time of the day, or the weather forecast. Drie said it with the same nonchalance with which she would tell him how she liked his new shoes.
But worse than that, worse than the ease in which the words passed over her lips, was how confident she was in them.
Ticktock.
She wasn’t telling him to get a response or prompt a confession. She simply…meant the words. It was so much worse to know the depth of her feelings, to see them reflected in the translucent pools of her blue eyes, and know how little he had to offer in return.
Fisher’s fingers tightened around the pencil he held poised over a fresh sheet of paper, cataloging numbers of missing books, though his eyes stared straight through the counter beneath it. He was so fucking weak.
He couldn’t spend every minute of his life sitting around and waiting. She deserved better, and he knew it, so why couldn’t he give it to her? He couldn’t love her. He couldn’t leave her. He was trapped exactly where he wanted to be—a place he didn’t deserve to be.
Ticktock.
Those three little words had sprung to his tongue a dozen times, ready to be spilled—but he couldn’t. It would be a lie. He needed to feel it, to know, like the way he had always felt so sure with—
“Hello, Fisher.” Rena’s voice was so unexpected that he jerked, sending papers flying in either direction.
“Shit,” he said, before dropping to a crouch behind the counter under the guise of cleaning up his mess. What the hell is she doing here? He took a moment to gather his thoughts, to fix his face, then he stood.
Her brows were cut in a curious slant as she held out the stack she’d gathered from her side, a pleased smirk tilting up one corner of her mouth. She no doubt thought he was flustered over her presence. Which, to be fair, he was—just not for the reasons she assumed.
Rena was beautiful in a bold, striking manner. Her long, ebony hair contrasted sharply against her fair skin—a contrast she only accentuated further with smoky eyes and ruby lips. It culminated in a fairytale-esque image that had always reminded him of a modern-day Snow White.
“Why are you here?”
“Well, then.” She dropped the papers on the counter with a huff, crossing her arms. “It’s great to see you too.”
He sighed. “Rena, I’m dealing with a lot right now. I don’t want to play games today.”
Her arms fell to her sides as she tilted her head, pursing her lips as she considered him.
There was genuine concern in her narrowed eyes.
It was one of the reasons they’d always ended up back together during the on-and-off roller-coaster of ups and downs that summed up their relationship.
Despite the way she dolled herself up in the same manner in which a knight would adorn his armor, despite the fiery way she reacted with her waspish temper, despite their chronic inability to have a civil conversation, he knew she cared.
Fisher recognized the same depth within her that he saw in all his family, underneath the sarcasm and exaggerated behavior.
He could hear her worries when she was raging, the concern escaping through the heated words and ultimatums. And even though Fisher thought she was crazy at times, he could see every emotion she felt, for she wore them proudly, out on her sleeve for the world to see.
And despite it all, despite how toxic they were together, he knew that deep down, she was still a good person.
“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping right up to the edge of the counter. She scanned his expression, her gaze hardening. “Is the mysterious girlfriend giving you problems?”
“Wha—no…No. She’s fine. We—We’re fine.”
“Right,” she said. “You sure sound fine.”
“Why are you here, Rena?”
She threw up her hands. “To make you see reason.”
“I’m sorry?” He stepped back, his eyes widening.
She smiled, slow and sweet and…predatory, like a lioness closing in for the kill. “You’ll never love her like you love me,” she crooned, her eyes locked on his. “Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?”
Ticktock.
Fisher stepped through the door of Drie’s apartment, his hands reaching forward to cup her face before the door had even swung shut behind him. His mind was spiraling, his heart beating out of his chest. He needed to think—just for a moment.
Her eyes were wide when he brought them together, his lips hard on hers as he took what he needed for the first time in their relationship. And also for the very first time, it didn’t work.
She was right there with him, her breath mingling with his as her hands crept around the hem of his shirt, tunneling beneath the soft fabric to splay across his back, but he couldn’t relax. He couldn’t make the thoughts leave. Couldn’t fucking breathe.
He broke away and turned, his hands gripping his hair as he paced across the tiled floor.
“Fisher…” Drie’s voice was cautious. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“It doesn’t sound very serious.”
He just needed to trigger it, that was all. The emotion had always felt real with Rena when they were fighting, when the truth was spilling out between them in heat and anger.
“I—I’m—” He turned, throwing a hand wide as his eyes searched the room, looking for something—anything. His eyes landed on her anatomy book, lying on the counter. “I think you should find a new team for your project.”
“I’m…sorry?” She blinked, caught off guard.
“I don’t like it being three guys.” He nodded, as if confirming his own made-up complaint.
Her mouth opened and closed, then opened once more. “I didn’t know it bothered you.” She frowned. “I didn’t choose them. It was just alphabetical.”
“You could still ask the professor for a new team.”
Drie’s lips pursed, her gaze thoughtful, then she turned for the kitchen, her quizzical voice trailing back over her shoulder. “Are you just worried for my safety? Or are you feeling jealous?”
He followed, hot on her heels, confusion making his nose scrunch.
Fisher had never really considered either possibility.
He trusted Drie. And she was smart. He knew she’d never put herself in danger.
The thoughts her words inspired, however, left a bad taste in his mouth.
And the calm tone in which she asked made him feel utterly unbalanced.
How is she not angry over the demands I just made? Does she not care? Is she not insulted that I’d even bring up the idea? Why is she not defensive? Why is she not screaming at me to quit being a dick?
“B—Both?” he stuttered, unsure how to continue.
“Hmmm.” Drie nodded, her hands busy as she puttered around the tight space like a hummingbird caught in a cage. Then she approached, her eyes wary, and held out a mug. His eyes fell to the steam rising from the surface of the cup. It smelled like jasmine.
She’d made him tea.
She’d made him fucking tea.
“Your little emotional support girlfriend.”
He couldn’t say a word as she steered him toward the couch. He simply followed as if in a trance, settling into a cushion at her side as he breathed in the fruity, calming scent of the steam.
“Fisher, I already know my professor isn’t going to change our teams. She’s a real hard-ass, and I need a good grade in this class.
However, I don’t want you stressing about me.
I’ve already told the guys that I’m only willing to meet on campus, and I always make sure that it’s during the day, in a place with lots of witnesses.
” She smiled up at him. “And for the second issue, I don’t think you’d be as concerned if you met them.
I could have them come to the library one day so you can see for yourself.
One of them is engaged and quite devoted to his fiancé.
She’s all he ever talks about. The second one is sweet, but he’s not a concern.
” She smirked. “He’d be more likely to hit on you than on me.
And as for the third, well, Maverick doesn’t really talk all that much, if I’m being honest. He just keeps his head down and does the work.
But truly, none of it matters. Do you know why? ”
Fisher shook his head, chagrined.
“Because I love you. Only you. You have nothing to worry about.”
“You’ll never love her like you love me.”
He met her gaze, feeling like his soul was ripping itself in half, right there on the couch where they’d shared so many perfect memories.
I have to tell her, he thought. Right now.
The ticking grew louder in his mind. His gaze flicked to the clock that hung beside the television, and he wondered when the device had become so damn loud.
He set the mug down on the living room table and wiped his sweaty palms on his knees, turning to face her fully.
Just say you need time to figure things out. Say you’re confused. Just say something already.
“I-I have to—well, I need to tell you something,” he finished in a rush. His hands stretched forward to grab hers, and he squeezed them gently.
This is wrong. It’s wrong. She’s perfect. Worthless shit. It’s all fucking wrong.
Fisher couldn’t make sense of a single thought.
He couldn’t break things off. He couldn’t keep pretending.
But what if she tells me to get out? What if she doesn’t want to see me again?
He couldn’t risk it. Not until he’d thought it through.
They had a date tomorrow. Fisher would make a plan, and he would tell her then.
But she was staring at him. Her hands gripped his gently in return, her brilliant blue eyes wide and trusting.
It was worse than being broken apart, having her right there and not being able to respond in kind.
With every smile, every touch, every lingering look, she’d chipped away pieces of him until he was left with nothing but the loneliest, weakest parts of his being.
He had to tell her something.
Just tell her something true.
Fisher swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he ran his thumb over the back of her hand.
“You’re my best friend, Drie,” he said, the words ringing with the simplest but greatest truth of them all.
“Do you know that? You’re the very best person in my life, and I genuinely don’t think I can live without you. Do you understand?”
Her lips pressed together as one corner of her mouth curved up in a shy smile, her eyes softening at his words. Her gaze lowered to his mouth, and she moved to draw closer, but he jolted to his feet, scrambling back out of reach. He couldn’t.
This is wrong.
“I’m not feeling well. I-I need to go.”
Fisher didn’t wait for her to respond, to ask him to stay so that she could nurse him to health as she would undoubtedly want to do. He simply pressed a kiss to the top of her head, turned on his heel, and fled.
Ticktock.