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If only I didn’t send that first message to him, all those weeks ago.

That thought sends an uncomfortable shot of pain through my heart. Do I really want that? It wasn’t his fault I misread the date.

But it’s easier to be angry than apologetic. So angry I will be.

Gemma gets an easel and canvas set up for me before I can dive too deep into my thoughts and lays out a bunch of paints and brushes. “Don’t think, Eden. I know that’s hard for you. But just try. Turn that pretty little brain of yours off.” She gives me a soft smile before disappearing back into the storeroom. The whiteness of the blank canvas almost blinds me, and panic starts to bubble up my throat.

“Gemma?”

“Yes?” Her voice echoes throughout the room.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Anywhere!”

Anywhere. Okay. That’s fine. I can cope with a blank slate.

I pick up one of the paints aptly named Broken Promises. I snort and squeeze some of the light grey onto the palette. Taking the widest, flattest brush Gemma gave me I scoop some up and spread it across the canvas. I paint and paint from side to side until it’s almost completely covered, with only snatches of white shining through. Then, grabbing a dark blue shade, I dip my fingers into it and smear it into the still-wet grey. The paint’s cold on my fingers, cooling the heat of my body. I dip again and again until a face starts to form. Again and again until I start to recognise who it is. In an absurd sort of way.

Breathing heavily, I lean back onto my heels and face to face with Oliver.

“You need to talk about it?” Gemma’s voice over my shoulder causes me to startle.

“How long has it been?”

“Two hours.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.”

“Shit.” I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, careful not to smear paint on myself before going to wash my hands in the sink. It’s far enough away from the painting that it gives me time to slow my breathing and my rapid heart rate. “How is your piece going?” I ask because I do care, but I also don’t want to deal with whatever the fuck I just painted.

Gemma nods a few times. “Good. Just got to fire it in the kiln, paint, and glaze.” She looks back at the canvas with a critical eye, but a smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

“What?”

She shakes her head, a grin starting to form. “You two are impossible.”

* * *

I’m nose-deep in a textbook when my phone starts that insufferable buzzing I’ve become accustomed to ignoring. Whoever wants me wants me badly, and for the life of me I can’t think of someone who would.

Gemma knows where I am and has the foresight to stay far away from me in my current state. Exams are too soon, too close. They consume every waking moment of my life. And—as much as I don’t want to admit it—also my dreams. When they don’t revolve around Oliver. And I know for a fact that it won’t be him calling me.

The Chemistry Building has to be my favourite on campus, and that’s where I find myself now. Although the outside remains the same as when it was built in the 1800’s, the inside has been decked out with state-of-the-art technology.

The current nook I’ve tucked myself away in is close enough to the mass spectrometry machine room that I can duck in and check on the progress of my final experiments, but quiet enough that I can focus uninterrupted. Libraries often have too many people talking, even in quiet zones.

The research project I’ve been a part of only expects my final contributions after exams, thankfully. But it’s still good to get the last round of samples going to give myself time to analyse results.

My phone buzzes once more, drawing me out of my thoughts. I flip it over. Jake. I sigh as I click accept.

“What do you want?”

“You look like shit.” Never one to mince words, Jake’s concerned face peers at me through the screen. “When was the last time you slept? Or showered? I’ve been calling all morning.”

I rub my face across my face, wincing. “It’s been a long week. Exams are stressing me out.”