Page 103 of Autumn on My Mind

He speaks again—and I fall, headfirst, into a raging, swirling vortex.

“You didn’t get a ninety,” he says. “You got an eighty-nine. I changed your grade.”

It starts with as a faint ringing in my ears that grows, escalating into a dull roar, until I’m questioning what I’ve heard.

“What?”

And that’s when the mask drops.

The version of Dominic I’ve been seeing for the last month, the smiles and laughs that weren’t quite genuine—everything is stripped away as I look into his eyes now and find nothing but pain.

Horrible, terrible guilt, with a self-loathing that makes me want to cry. And he’s speaking again, his lips are moving, but the words are coming slowly to my ears.

“I changed your grade”—he looks like he doesn’t even know who he is—“just enough for you to keep your A”—tears pricking my eyes from sheer mental overload—“your scholarship”—what’s happening right now?—“you knew it when we studied together”—and everything is collapsing, a dying star about to explode—“just missed it on the test⁠—”

I wave my hands at him, backing up absently until my legs hit the couch. I sink down on the arm of the sofa as my brain tries to process. “You changed⁠—”

“Your grade. I changed it. I changed your grade.” Over and over again he says it, bewildered, like he can’t believe it.

I can’t believe it.

What’s happening right now?

The words must leave my mouth, even though I don’t realize I’m saying them, because Dominic strides closer and rests his hands on my shoulders.

“I changed your grade,” he says. “I’m your TA and I dated you.” Then he steps away and runs his hands through his hair again.

“What—” I break off, swallow. “What are we going to do?”

His shoulders slump further, which I wouldn’t have thought possible. I’ve never seen him like this, and it’s horrible to witness—especially as the panic leaves his eyes, only to be replaced by nothingness.

“I turned myself in,” he says dully. “I told Professor Sallow.”

And the living room is stupidly still, completely stagnant—the fake flowers in the vase by the window are just propped there, doing nothing, while a bomb is exploding⁠—

“So—what?” I say as question after question presents itself, all of them promising pain. “We—what? Are you⁠—”

My pointless stuttering and stammering die, because I don’t know where to send them or what to say. The roaring sound in my ears is growing louder, panic clawing up my sternum, climbing my ribs like a ladder, and the bright, golden future I hold in my heart begins to wither.

“I told him you didn’t know,” Dom says. “But…” His shoulders lift into a weak, helpless shrug, and his gaze is still staring but unseeing.

I wish I could focus, perform mental triage, but my thoughts are too frightened, too scattered. A roulette wheel of new fears, new issues, new possibilities, and the only one that emerges above the rest for long enough to grasp is that I’m losing him.

Right in front of my eyes, I’m losing Dominic, the only person I’ve ever fallen in love with, the one who makes me feel like I’m not alone. Because for so long I’ve been so lonely, even surrounded by people who come and go, but he’s the one who helps me feel the sun—and he’s vanishing, disappearing, and he’s going to take that light with him.

I have to keep him. I need to keep him. How can I stop him from leaving?

My eyes widen as an idea occurs to me, absurd to say out loud. Wild to even be thinking, in fact. But I can’t deny it’s been on my mind; putting words to the thought is only one step further.

So I look at Dominic, and when I speak, I can hear the breathless panic in my voice. “We should get married.”

His already still body freezes completely, and then he pulls his gaze from the floor to look up at me. My heart falls when I see his expression—furrowed brows and faint confusion, like he can’t have heard me right. “What?”

That’s okay. I can explain. “Let’s get married!” I nod and get off the arm of the sofa, grasping his arm tight. “Marry me. Please, Dom. Marry me.”

His eyes widen and flood with an emotion I can’t name, a light that vanishes almost immediately. The furrow between his brows returns, and the question in his eyes turns to something like incredulity.

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