“I know, but really, it’s okay. Thank you for sticking up for me.” I place my hand over Memphis’ and pull a little to get him to release his grip, and thankfully, he does.
“See? She’s fine. We wouldn’t hurt her.” Oswald walks around Gwen and stands closer to Memphis and me.
“Yeah, because forcing a girl to talk to you and then chasing her down when she tries to walk away is so normal.” She looks directly at me. “Red flag, girl. I can get the cops over here and make them leave you alone.”
“I promise I’m okay. It’s better if we talk, but thank you again,” I tell her in earnest. She probably thinks I’m senseless, and I can’t even blame her for it.
Gwen jerks up her phone, and I’m pretty sure she snaps a picture of all three of us. “If she ends up missing, I’m sending the cops straight for you two,Oz Gravlin.” She puts an ominous note on his name, as if she wanted to prove she knows who he is.
I don’t have time to formulate words before she spins and walks away, but I do mutter, “I’ll tell her you guys aren’t serial killers next time I see her.”
“I doubt she would believe you, but I don’t really care,” Oswald says, then turns so he’s facing me. It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him since I saw the pictures. My throat feels tight, and my mouth feels so dry, I don’t even think I could swallow.
Something must register on my face, because I watch as his expression shifts to one of distress, his lips curl down in a slight frown, and the set of his shoulders shifts. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”
I don’t think that phrase has ever been said and proven true. It’s always what it looks like or worse. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he doesn’t owe me an explanation, but I can’t make my mouth work, nor is it really how I feel.
“It was a setup,” he continues when I don’t say anything in response to his proclamation.
“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Memphis interjects. I get that standing in the middle of campus isn’t the best idea, but I’m not inviting them back to my house. I’m not that weak.I hope.
“Um…”
“Please let me explain.” Oswald steps forward like I might bolt again.
“Do you want to meet up at a coffee shop or something?” I offer, trying to set some boundaries. Oswald shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, causing his shoulders to hunch and curl. Somehow it makes him seem smaller or less sure.
“We can go to my place,” Memphis offers.
“Is that a good idea?” I hedge. I know I dropped the class, but I don’t want him to have an issue.
“I’ll text you the address. Where did you park?”
“I’m not on campus,” I share, like he might reprimand me if I was.
“Oswald can walk you to your car. I’ll pick him up, then we’ll follow you to our place.” Memphis pauses for a slight second and adds, “If that’s okay with you.” It feels wrong in so many ways. Memphis doesn’t ask for permission, not with stuff like this. It makes me feel a little off-kilter, like I’m not sure what to expect from him when he’s not being his normal self, bossing me around. I must be messed up because it kind of makes me sad.
“I have GPS,” I offer so they don’t need to waste time following me.
Memphis closes his eyes, then slits them open very slowly as he takes a rather deep breath. “I can meet you at the apartment.” His words come out half strangled.
“Okay,” I mumble softly, unable to meet his eyes.
“It shouldn’t take any longer than ten minutes,” he warns, and I feel like it might be his way of telling me he doesn’t think I’m going to show.
“See you in a minute,” Oswald tells me, then jogs after his brother, who has already walked away.
RESETTLING
Waylynn
My phone vibrates,and I actually check the message this time. The only thing listed is a simple address and an apartment number. Somehow, I feel like I’m the one who has done something wrong as I wander back to my car.
When I pull into the small dirt lot to park, Memphis strides forward and reaches for the door handle of my car. I glance at him through the window. His face looks a little more relaxed, but I still can’t hold his stare for more than a second. Does he know I dropped the class? Will he think I’m being too dramatic?
My hands shake as I push my backpack into the backseat and slip the strap of my purse over my shoulder, so I have a few extra seconds before getting out. It should allow him time to step back after opening my door, but he doesn’t. Even my heart is beating too fast, making me feel like I’m panting, which is embarrassing.
I eventually slip out of the car, trying to keep some distance between us, but he makes it nearly impossible as he stands in the doorjamb. I pretend not to notice how close he is and keep my eyes down. There’s a jolt of awareness that passes through me when my arm touches his chest, not only the physical feel of him, but a heavy sense of frustration too.
