Chapter 4
chapter four
The fluorescent lights hum above us, sterile and unforgiving. I tap my pen against my notebook, a rhythmic counterpoint to Alec's silent typing. The library is a graveyard of ambition at this hour, just us and the ghosts of deadlines past. It’s been three weeks since Professor Harlow gave his fateful decree that Alec and I would be partners for the project. We’ve been meeting twice a week ever since to make this thing shine.
"I think we can give a better explanation here," I say, pointing at his screen as I read over his shoulder.
"Only idiots wouldn’t understand,” he retorts, jaw clenching as he leans back in his chair to appraise the offending sentence.
"You’re using too specific of wording. You need to clarify," I insist, meeting his icy gaze with a challenge.
"And what do you suggest?” he growls.
Biting my lower lip, I make a bold decision and take the laptop from him. My fingers fly as I type out two new paragraphs, the words spilling out of my mind at rapid pace.
“Fuck, do you know how annoying it is that you’ve actually improved it?” Alec asks with reflection on said annoyance.
"Brilliant, I think you mean," I gloat with a grin. We're like two soldiers in a trench, begrudging respect growing amidst the mud and blood of academic warfare.
It always happens to me. Time slips by without my notice when I’m focused on school work. Suddenly, my stomach growls and Alec looks over at me with an amused smirk.
“Maybe we should call it a day?” he suggests.
“I don’t think so,” I say with an annoyed scowl. “We still haven’t nailed the ending. I don’t know about you, but I’m not leaving until it’s perfect.”
"Fuck, Winters, don't you ever get tired?" Alec says as he leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes as if to scrub away fatigue.
"Exhaustion is a luxury I can't afford," I shoot back, my fingers pausing above the keys. But there's no venom in it, just the truth of a girl who's fought for every scrap of her future.
"Same," he mutters, almost to himself. And there it is—a chip in the wall of hatred that I’ve thrown up between he and I. What is that supposed to mean? “You want some coffee?”
My brows furrow and I sit up a little straighter at his shocking offer. But he’s apparently too tired to cover up his levelheaded question with our usual shit-slinging. He walks toward the coffee bar as if nothing unusual has happened.
“Sure,” I say hesitantly as he goes. “Thanks.”
He returns a few minutes later, setting a cup in front of me. And we fall back into the rhythm we've carved out for ourselves, a dance of debate and concession that molds our project into something neither of us could have created alone. His shocking creative view sharpens my arguments; my insights give life to his approach. We're an unlikely duo, fire and ice, somehow burning brighter together.
"Okay, wait, what if we approach it as a social service?" Alec leans over, his breath warm on my cheek as he points to a graph I've been wrestling with. “Not only is there money to be made, but they’re making the world a better place at the same time?”
"Could work," I admit, tilting my head to consider his suggestion. "If you pitch it the right way. And I think the research is there to prove the concept."
And somehow, another hour passes in the blink of an eye. Sitting here with Alec, well, if someone had asked me two weeks ago, I would have said that sounded miserable. But to my shock, it isn’t. In fact, I feel… electric. Working with someone who challenges, like, actually challenges me, is pretty damn invigorating. And the fact that he smells like a damn wet dream…
Whoa, Salem. Cool your jets.
But I can’t help but notice every time his arm brushes mine with every other keystroke.
And for half a second, I forget to breathe.
"Seems promising," Alec finally says after I finish dropping some images into our presentation. “I think we need some outside eyes on it though.”
"Promising doesn't cut it. It has to be bulletproof." My voice doesn't waver, my focus ironclad. “I’ll run it by Josh.”
"Always aiming high, aren't you?" There's a smirk playing on his lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes. They're serious, intense even, reflecting a drive that matches my own.
"Josh is really good at this stuff,” I bite back. “We’d be lucky to have him give us some thoughts.”
I don’t expect it, but Alec’s eyes narrow and I can see his thoughts darken. But why? As far as I know, Alec and Josh have no interactions and Alec has no reason to dislike Josh. “I’ll ask Ava to look it over as well. She’s also pretty damn good at this shit.”
Ew. Why does that instantly give me the ick?
“What’s wrong, Winters?” Alec asks, and oh, I want to smack the smirk right off his face. “We’d be lucky to have Ava give us some thoughts.”
“Of course we would,” I snarl. Alec only smiles smugly. And I hate it.
Showered, hair brushed, pajamas on, I crash into bed in my dorm room. Benefits of being a senior, this year I get a private room with a private bathroom. It’s pushing midnight, and I really should get some sleep. It’s going to be an early morning as I study for a test. But I’m so damn tired in an entirely different way.
Sometimes what we need is mind numbing nothingness. Knowing I’m stealing from my sleep time, I pull out my phone and open my favorite video watching app.
Video after video, each one is a fleeting moment of distraction. One I need so damn bad. The soft glow of the screen casts a gentle light on my face, illuminating the faint furrow of concentration between my brows.
My thumb pauses mid-swipe when a particular video catches my eye. I lick my lips and a smile curls on my face.
I’ve seen his videos before. He simply goes by the username Vice. He always, always wears this beautiful skull mask that somehow looks like a 3D printed mask of the most expert ever face paint job. His face is painted black beneath, so it’s impossible to tell what he really looks like. But damn… Over the last few months I’ve learned that masks do something for me.
Somehow, Vice’s two minute long videos can turn into ten, fifteen minutes. The masked figure on the screen exudes an effortless confidence that both intrigues and intimidates me. It’s a transition video. He starts out dressed all nerdy, acting insecure. And then the beat of the song drops. The lights switch to a deep red, and suddenly the masked man is shirtless. The camera angle changes and let’s just say I’m suddenly flat on my back staring up into that skull mask as he does a very impressive and steady rhythm.
A spark of jealousy ignites in the pit of my stomach as I watch. I wish I could be this bold, this confident. The man just owns the camera. He likes that hordes of people are watching. He isn’t self-conscious about a single inch of his body. He unapologetically embraces it, and his own desires.
As the video ends, leaving a lingering heat in its wake, I find myself falling into the pit of my own mind.
Embracing the fact that I have sexual desires and fantasies is something I’ve never been able to do. Why? Probably a thousand factors. The world telling me that if I act a certain way, I’ll be labeled a whore. Maybe it has something to do with my very religious grandmother who always told me to press it so far down, it most certainly doesn’t exist. Maybe it was the two boyfriends I’ve ever had who seemed completely oblivious to how a woman’s body works and the fact that a man has never brought me to orgasm. Or maybe it’s just an overall lack of confidence. I’ve always been the academic one who had to prove herself with snark and sharp wit. Leaning into my feminine side was a sign of weakness. So allowing that to come through in the bedroom?
I don’t even know how.
How liberating it must be to shed inhibitions and reveal oneself without fear or reservation.
I watch Vice’s video again. And something stirs in me. I want that. I want to be able to show someone myself without shame or fear of judgement. I want to lean into my desires and just revel in the moment.
But I don’t have a clue, or the guts, to even take that first step.