The Secret (North Woods University 3)
Comforting myself in the confession, I sink into him even farther, letting him soak up all my fears and sorrows like a sponge. I can’t explain why, but this man makes me feel safe and I grasp on to the foreign feeling, hoping the moment won’t end… but as always, I’m disappointed.
After a short time that felt like an eternity, he pulls away, not fully, but a few inches, so he can look at my face. I can’t bring myself to look at him, to look into his eyes, so instead, I concentrate on his pink, firm lips, as they move. “Are you okay? I really didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m sorry, seriously.” His words are heartfelt, genuine.
“I’m okay,” I rasp.
“I’m such a douche bag.” He shakes his head, and for some reason, I don’t like the idea of him beating himself up over this, it’s not his fault.
“It’s okay… it’s not your fault,” I stuttered, unable to grasp onto it at that moment. It’s my least favorite thing about having anxiety, aside from having the actual anxiety. It gives me away and makes people look and act shitty toward me. It puts a target on my back.
“It is my fault though…” He expels a harsh breath, and I peered up at him, allowing myself to finally meet his gaze. Hazel eyes reflect back at me, their depth endless like a forest full of trees. I want to get lost in his eyes, forget about all the bad in my life, but even he couldn’t create that kind of magic. He might be special but he’s not capable of that.
His thick brows furrow and his lips start to move again.
“Does this happen a lot?”
“Yes,” I confess, unsure as to why I’m telling a total stranger this. “I’m okay now, really… I…I… should go back inside.”
I don’t know what just happened between us but I’m not stupid enough to believe that he can save me. No one can save me. I’m doomed, forever trapped in a world of panic, of fear.
Trembling, I tell myself that I need to get back inside before my father notices that I’m gone, before anyone notices, though I’m sure I could disappear and no one would even notice.
“Okay,” he says apprehensively, letting go of me slowly like I’m an animal that might turn around and attack him. Without his strong arms, or soothing touch, the panic starts to rise, but it’s a much more manageable feeling this time, and even though it feels like I’m detaching a part of myself from him I pull away, taking a step backward. The space between us feels like an ocean and even though I want to run back into his arms, I force my feet into the concrete.
“Thanks…” I mumble, wiping my sweaty hands over the front of my dress.
“Yeah, no problem,” he says, oozing confidence that I wish I had. He runs a hand through his brown locks, that I now notice are cut stylishly, a little longer on top and shorter on the sides. I turn on my ballet flat-covered feet and start walking toward the door. Of course fate would push me into the arms of a knight, only to pull me out of his embrace and shove me back into my nightmare of a life.
“Wait, at least tell me your name?” he calls after me.
My hand hovers on the metal door handle and I consider turning around to tell him my name, to give him at least that one memory of me, but at the last second, I choose against it and open the door, escaping inside.
With my heart galloping in my chest, and the brand of his touch forever ingrained in my mind, I retreat back to my corner, and wait for the nightmare to be over. At least if I can’t have the white knight, I can have the memories of him…
Chapter One
Clark
“I still don’t understand why this chick has to stay with us? Just make her stay in the dorms like a normal student,” I say, grumbling into the speaker of my cell. I’ve got enough chicks chasing me around, trying to get me to fuck them a second, or third time. The last thing I need is to fuck up and end up screwing some chick that has to live with me for the school year.
“Clark, I told you, she is not a normal student and I told her father that I would do this for him as a favor. I owe him big time and he needs my help now, so I’m offering it. Don’t be a spoiled prick, or so help me. I want you to welcome Emerson into our home. She is a nice girl, very kind, she just struggles a bit socially.”
I roll my eyes at my father’s words. Struggles a bit socially? What the hell does that mean? How can someone struggle socially? Either she has her nose stuck in a book and is a bitch, or maybe she’s both?