It’s been a while since I’ve had insomnia. My parents sent me to a psychologist, who I still stay in touch with when I really need to talk, and a sleep therapist who helped me when I was a kid after a close relative passed away in the family, which I hardly ever talk or try to think about, no matter how many times she crosses my mind.
Turning on my bedside lamp, I glance over at my desk and see my copy ofThe Princess Bridethat I carry with me on tough days. It reminds me ofherand my childhood, but now, it also reminds me of him. It doesn’t upset me. If anything, it was nice to share that part of my life with someone.
As grumpy as Grayson was today, I have a feeling that the night we met, I saw him for who he really was. Or at least, that’s what I choose to believe.
Moving my gaze to my closed laptop, I decide what to do. If I plan to stay awake, I might as well do something productive. Nothing’s worse than having insomnia and just waiting to fall asleep.
Standing, I walk over to my laptop and try to hear if Kamila is still awake in the room next to mine. Cameron is sleeping over, even though he has a room with no roommate, and I unfortunately know that they have sex almost every night. But that doesn’t seem to be the case today, given the complete silence that fills our suite. All I can hear are the loud songs of katydids, surrounding us on the upstate campus.
I open my laptop and pick up my largest pair of headphones, then shuffle through my playlists to find a song I’ve had stuck in my head for days. “Help!” by The Beatles sounds sharp through the headphones I always use to write.
Opening a blank document on my laptop, I look through my earlier notes and find them messier than usual.
Hm, that’s not like me.Then again, I was kind of shitting my pants while talking to the man.
Tapping my fingers on my desk, I decide to disconnect my headphones from my laptop and connect them to my phone. Ilisten to the long interview with my eyes closed, trying to catch any changes in his tone or words that might indicate a lie.
The most noticeable changes so far are when he talks about his parents and the soup kitchen. When I reach the mundane questions in the middle, I catch myself zoning out a bit. It’s so unlike me, but it had to have been some coping mechanism to calm the shaking in my hands and the emotional discomfort from his presence and demeanor.
Once I check out, I pay closer attention to Grayson’s answers and tone. My eyes open and widen as I realize that before I asked about his divorce, his voice had softened. It was still colder than it was in July, but there’s a hint of warmth.
He’s still in there.
I rewind the interview two more times and decide to do some proper research on Grayson Adam Hayes. I’m making this the most in-depth short profile anyone’s ever done with what I’ve got.
Chapter Nine
EMMA
Amelia continues to read my article. While I wait for her to finish, I sit and twirl a piece of my hair that I made extra voluminous in the morning, inspired by pictures I’d found of a young Pamela Anderson, feeling nervous as all hell.
I finished the article on Saturday around eight in the morning and dragged myself to bed after backing it up. It was a surefire way to help me sleep, and I went to bed with a smile, relieved at knowing how I managed to feel so much lighter about Grayson. Somehow, writing that article was therapeutic, but writing has always been that for me; hence, my major. Still, this was different. It wasn’t only the first assignment I’ve gotten that interested me, but I’ve never researched more for an article and enjoyed writing one so much.
It still needs editing, but I hope Amelia thinks it’s as special as I believe it is.
“Hey.”
The one word makes me jump, and I take my attention off Amelia to meet a pair of light brown eyes framed by wavy red hair, all belonging to our head photographer, Ben.
“You’ve been staring at our editor for the past five minutes. Is she reading the article you did on that professor?”
He makes me sound like a creep.
I cringe. “Yeah.”
He gives me a boyish grin, which in turn makes me smile. He’s cute and a bit cocky, but he seems harmless.
“I’m sure you did great.” He shrugs. “You took a big leap last week. I admire your spunk.”
I tip my head to the side in surprise. “Thanks. Some people say I have too much spunk.”
He throws his head back with a laugh. “But you seemed so calm last week.” His tone is completely and utterly sarcastic, reminding me of my friends.
I slap his arm. “All right, Ben. I see how it is.”
He smirks. “No, but seriously, Emma. Everyone here is all talk, no walk. They do the pettiest things to get ahead, but never put in the hard work.”
Ben’s been here for two years while finishing his bachelor’s degree, and when he started his master’s, he got promoted. So, I believe him.
