Was he always this adorable?The thought that sent me spiraling. That told me it was time to cut and run, to put as much space as possible between us before he ruins me all over again. Because,yes, he absolutely was this adorable. And charming. And cute.
Until boyish charm morphed into manly manipulation. Until he realized he had something most people only wish they had, something thatcan’t be learned or faked: magnetism. And, boy, did he use that magnetism to his advantage. How did I allow myself to forget, even for a few minutes, that nothing with Alex is ever genuine?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“At least give me your number.”
“I—” I’m about to sayI don’t own a phonewhen I realize I’m holding it in my hand. Okay. Well. Good thing I’ve never shied away from being a bitch when need calls. “I’d rather not. Bye.”
I practically sprint away, ignoring the sound of him calling my name.
I take the stairs to my room, punch my code into the keypad on the door, and make a beeline to the window. Alex is still in the same position I left him, turned away from the table and staring toward the door of the building like he’s not quite sure what to do with this.
He glances up, his focus pulled straight to my window as if by an external force.
As if he could feel my attention.
I’m rooted in place, arrested by the feeling of our eyes locked together, connecting us across the distance. I don’t know what I expect, but it certainly isn’t for him to lean back against the table on both elbows and stare up at me, a small smile slowly curling his mouth, everything about his posture and demeanor working in tandem to send the exact same message:
I can do this all day.
Unbothered. Not a worry in the world. As if things are going exactly his way.
I step back from the window. I’m not doing this. I refuse to get caught up in whatever game he thinks we’re playing. When Alex plays, he plays to win—and he’s never much cared if his wins come at the cost of everyone around him losing.
I need to shower.
That’s right. I need to take a very long, luxurious shower—as luxurious as a shower can be in a communal bathroom. Which, admittedly, is not very. Out of all the things I’ve had to adjust to back in college, using the communal bathrooms might be the worst.
Right now, those communal showers might as well be an oasis.
By the time I get out, Alex will be gone.
Unfortunately, while I might have gotten away from Alex in a physical sense, my brain refuses to comply. The whole shower, my thoughts keep returning to him. His obnoxious, self-satisfied smile. His easy confidence. The fact that I can hold all the cards, have all the foresight in the world, and still find myself sucked into his orbit.
Now that I’ve removed myself from said orbit, I kind of hate that I ran away. This ismydorm, and that should bemytable. If anyone should run away, it’s him.
It’s admittedly nice to have something other than Ellie to focus on. For the first time in days, I’m not spiraling into sadness, I’m working myself up into a rage.
It feels kind of good.
I take the time to blow-dry my hair. I put on skinny jeans and a thin black sweater—cheap polyester, like everything else I owned in 2012 apparently.
By the time I get back to my room, I’m high on my anger.
I head straight to the window. I don’t know what I expect to see more—Alex still sitting there, in the same relaxed position, staring up at me like I never left, or an empty table, Alex having vanished like a ghost, leaving me to worry if our exchange was nothing but a product of my imagination.
What I don’t expect is for him to be there but not looking at my window, his head in his book like none of it happened. I fume as I watch the ease with which he turns a page, then another. I’m about to do somethingunhinged, like bang on my window to get his attention, when he looks straight up at me and smirks. As if he’s known I was here all along.
I realize that he’s now on the opposite side of the table, perfectly positioned to glance up at me with casual indifference.
He’s fucking with me.
That’s it—
I raise my window the few inches it will actually open and yell, “Leave. Now.”
His smirk widens into a smile like he thinks my words are cute. He stands up, rounds the table, walks toward the building until he’s right under my window, and calls up to me like Romeo professing his love for Juliet.
