8
“So, where is my gun?”I whispered as Ezrah the prick sat beside me in the Finance class, squashing me in against the wall so no one could sit beside me.
“You’re not getting it back, sweetheart,” he stated confidently as his hand landed on my thigh and lay my hand over it, giving him the false impression that I enjoyed it.
“I’ll find it,” I said self-assuredly, even though I wasn’t sure how I would find it in a minefield of frat boys in the Lud and their stinky underwear.
“No, you won’t.” His hand squeezed my thigh, but I caught a glimmer of fear in his face for the second time in thirty minutes, and I knew this man had many dark and devious secrets.
As his hand squeezed tighter, I dug my fingernails into his skin, deliberately targeting a vein, and even though his gaze was focused on the front of the class, where the finance tutor, Dean, was talking about our latest assignment, he flinched in pain. But he refused to move his hand away until I pinched his skin between my fingers and dug my fingernails in until he snatched his hand away from my thigh.
“I want my gun back,” I said softly, pretending to peruse my finance textbook as Dean glanced in our direction.
“You're not getting it,” he breathed, rubbing the reddened area of his hand where my fingernails just were.
“And my knife. I want my knife back,” I stated as I pursed my lips and blew on my fingernails as if they were a smoking gun.
“Too bad,” he shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m not asking,” I abruptly educated him. “I don’t need to askyoufor my property back. I will take them back whether you say so or not.”
He snorted, and Dean glanced up at him. “Something funny?” he pressed, sounding annoyed. “Would you like to share what’s so funny about finance?”
“Nothing is funny about finance,” Ezrah answered wryly, and I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.
Dean turned away and continued to outline the assignment and what was expected of us. A few minutes later, when the focus was away from us, Ezrah leaned in and whispered, “Now that your father is dead, you don’t need to study finance anymore, do you? I mean…who is going to take over his business? It won’t be you, will it?”
His comment annoyed me because it was plaguing my mind. The sole reason that I went to college to study business was thedeal I made with my father. Once I achieved my diploma, he’d reward me with a senior position in his company.
“Why won't it be me?” I hissed back at him.
“Too young. Too inexperienced,” he said softly as so many scenarios circled in my mind of how it could work and how it couldn’t. But the one obstacle was Leslie. “Too reckless.”
“Too reckless?” I questioned, then opened my mouth to argue that point, but he interrupted by asking, “Have you seen your father’s will?”
“No. He only just died. How…” I swallowed hard over the lump in my throat as emotions swelled in my chest and stomach, and hot tears burned in my eyes again. I breathed through the emotional pain to ease the tears away, but I couldn’t focus on what Dean was talking about as the room seemed to swirl around me.
With an impending panic attack, I couldn’t stay in this state, so I swiped off my note app on my phone and closed my finance textbooks to leave quietly. But Ezrah had other ideas and shook his head, quietly, grabbed my wrist, “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m ab…,” my breath felt trapped in my chest, and my head was about to explode. “P-p-panic attack.”
I leaned over my desk as the blood drained from my cheeks and my head grew light and dizzy.
“A what?” he pressed, confused. “Are you faking, Adina?”
I shook my head, unable to answer, clutching my chest because I couldn’t breathe, but I didn't want to attract the attention of the students and tutor.
I tried to stand up to leave, but that would have required me to go to the front of the class, past the tutor, and be on display, and I couldn’t move. It was as if someone was sitting on my chest and an invisible pillow was suffocating me.
I felt a hand sweep my hair from my eyes as Ezrah leaned in to inspect my face, “Are you having a panic attack?” he whispered, and all I could do was nod. Then I heard him say to Dean, “Ignore us. Carry on with the tutorial.”
“Do you want me to call a medic?” Dean’s voice nearby.
“No. I’ll sort it,” Ezrah assured him, and I gripped his forearm to imply that I did want help, but not from him. I didn’t trust him, and even at this moment of panic, I felt he had something to do with it. Did he drug me again? Asshole.
Ezrah glanced at the students behind us and snarled, “The front of the class is that way,” demanding that the students stop looking at me. Then he wrapped his arms tightly around my body and began rocking me as my head grew lighter, but I had no strength to fight him. I longed to bite and kick him, and imagined a gun in my hand, and squeezed the trigger.
“Shhh,” he whispered as he stroked my hair, warm breath gracing my cheek. “Don’t fight it, Adina, don’t fight it.”
