I don’t like asking Dereck for help, especially with that strange growing interest he has in me. But this time, I do it.
"Listen, I wanted to ask if you could walk with me tomorrow. I finish my lectures really late, they end at 8:30 pm, and Professor Martin heads in a different direction."
Dereck bites his lip. "You know, if they want to attack you, I won’t be able to protect you. I’m not an alpha, I can’t take them on," he admits with a twisted grimace.
He’s right, but I ask him anyway.
"Please, even so, at least you could run and call security…"
Dereck steps toward me again, lifts his hand, and lightly brushes my arm.
"I wish I could help, protect you. You’re so small."
I stare at him. He must notice how tense I get, because he backs off again. Gosh, it becomes more and more uncomfortable.
Dereck bites his lip and finally nods. "I’ll do what I can, but you know, if I were you, I’d contact campus security. This situation really doesn’t look good."
Of course I can’t count on my mysterious protector watching me around the clock and showing up exactly when I need him. Besides, it’s been almost twelve months since I last saw him, maybe he has changed jobs. Being a vigilante is a dangerous hobby after all.
Dereck is right. The Hansons aren’t like the Tanners, they’re real criminals, they won’t get scared off by a broken arm.
"I’ll do it," I mutter, planning to leave the kitchen.
Dereck bites his lip and says, "Want a beer? I’ve got a six-pack."
Oh, that surprises me. I never drink and he knows that, so what’s he after?
I shake my head and go back to my room, feeling waves of stress roll through my whole body.
I curl up on the bed in my ugly little nest. I stare at my phone, at Bay’s number.
There have been thousands of times I wanted to call him, hear his voice…
That green button is all that separates us, so many miles I could cross in a second, hear him, forget the fear, feel safe again…
I just stare at it, lost in the fantasy of finally pressing it.
Then I slowly reach into my nightstand and take out Bay’s diary. Of course. I do it almost every day. I glued it together perfectly, every piece back in its place. I run my fingers across the smooth pink surface and touch the little packet with the dried flower I gave him, a sigh escaping me.
Oh, how I love reading it. I lose myself in his words about loving me, about hope, about happiness.
Now I read the last poem he wrote, the one he never showed me.
Its last line,
"Nothing can come between
Us,"
hits me right in the eyes, painfully sharp, like a willow switch snapping across my skin.
Everything stands between us now, I want to scream. A fucking abyss!
I close my eyes, drifting into visions of us recording his songs together, retakes, rehearsals, laughter, the bloopers we used to watch while we giggled like idiots…
Knock, knock.
"Dereck?" I mumble, startled. I glance at my phone.
