Antimatter
The soul came to being at the same time as the sky.
—PLATO
ORION
As the sun falls behind darkened clouds that keep Stonehurst shrouded in a perpetual melancholic gloom, the stream of students begins to dwindle. Clusters of them split off through the colonnade, making their way to the library and professor office hours, while I wait for the one person who will ruin my day.
From where I’m parked, I have a clear view of the West Quad. In the center, a scattering of burnt-orange leaves dusts the ground around a dramatic concrete fountain of Urania.
Every evening like clockwork, Collins crosses through this courtyard. The anticipation to catch a glimpse of her hasn’t only derailed my routine for the past two weeks, it’s consumed my every waking moment as she incessantly invades my thoughts.
Reflexively, I curl my hand into a fist, inflaming the healing first-degree rope burn. Triggering the pain has become a compulsion to offset the torment of reliving that fragment of time where I lifted her into my arms, experiencing the feel of her body against mine.
The obsessive loops are a consequence of my defective gray matter. A glitch I’ve learned to coexist with. Yet this is the first time I want to take a surgical saw to my own damn brain and cut her out like an infectious disease to make the compulsive thoughts of her cease.
When I see her emerge from the arched walkway, I’m rewarded with the sweetest hit of relief. Like craving a drug for too torturously long, and finally getting that fix.
“Fuck me,” I mutter beneath my breath, scrubbing a hand over my face. She’s so beautiful, it physically hurts. She’s wearing a sexy, tight skirt, scarf and stockings. My black umbrella swings from her wrist, which sends another shot of satisfaction through me.
I keep waiting for the sight of her to become less startling, like if I subject myself to the torture enough, I’ll build up a tolerance—but I’d rather just mainline her straight into my vein.
It’s not enough.
Expelling the ache from my lungs, I cradle my helmet against me and crank my Triumph, drowning out the notes of her agonizing tune.
The loud rumble grabs her attention, evident by the little jump of her shoulders, and I can’t help the smirk stealing across my face as our eyes clash. I’ve been caught watching her, and I have no desire to stop.
While I’ve yet to confront Leo, I have zero intentions of participating in his bullshit assessment scheme.
I was sure Collins received this message when I failed to show in her office. But then there she was once again this afternoon, seated in the back row of my hall, a defiant smile twisting her pretty lips in challenge.
Stopping my fucking heart.
Watching me with those fierce eyes, absently licking those lips as if she’s oblivious to the havoc she wreaks. Her mere presence exerting a gravitational pull over me to affect the trajectory of my lectures, my thoughts.
Inescapable.
Balancing my weight on the bike, I shove the helmet over my head and knock the kickstand back, my gaze locked on Collins as she crosses the courtyard amid the stragglers of students.
I squeeze the clutch and shift into first, giving the engine a hard rev before I start to ease out of the spot. From my peripheral, I watch her abandon the sidewalk and stalk my way.
An unwanted warmth unfurls deep inside my chest. Pulse thundering, I kill the engine and lower the kickstand, the vibration of the motorcycle lingering in my veins.
“You never showed for our session,” she accuses as she reaches me.
I leave the tinted visor down. “I assumed saving your life earned me enough points to call this farce off.”
A trace of guilt touches her eyes before she blinks the emotion away. “And again, thank you,” she says. “But I thought we had an understanding. I can only be patient for so long. One way or another, I’m getting the evaluation done, which leaves me no choice but to attend your classes?—”
“You’re beautiful.”
Her mouth parts, and I revel in the way her expression opens, wavering between stunned and offended, as though she’s battling which to feel.
“What I mean is…you’re a distraction, in my lectures,” I say, but my confession lacks the utter truth burning through me. How a fucking quasar now pales compared to the bright bands I glimpsein her eyes. How I’ve never, not once in my existence, been rendered speechless until I met those beautiful, starry eyes across my lecture hall.
“You really have no filter.”
