My choking fit disappears as quickly as it started. Fresh air floods my lungs.
If I didn’t know it was impossible, I would think he had something to do with it. Not just the choking but the stopping of it, as well.
But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. The whole idea is absurd.
Knowing that doesn’t keep me from turning around and watching him walk away, even though it’s the worst thing I can do—for my sanity and my reputation—if the snark and giggles behind me are any indication.
He doesn’t look back. In fact, he doesn’t look at anyone as he walks along the edges of the buffet table, surveying its bounty. Doesn’t so much as glance up as he eventually swipes one large, perfect strawberry from a bowl.
I expect him to pop it in his mouth then and there, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he walks to the center of the room—and the huge red velvet wingback chair positioned under the chandelier like a throne, with several other chairs in a half circle in front of it. Once there, he slouches down into the chair, legs spread out in front of him as he says something to the five guys—all dark, all gorgeous, all stunning—sitting in the other chairs.
It’s the first time I realize there’s anyone in those chairs.
By now, nearly everyone in the room is watching Jaxon, trying to catch his eye. But he ignores them all, deliberately studying the strawberry he is pinching between his thumb and index finger.
Eventually he lifts his gaze and looks straight at me. Then he raises the strawberry to his lips—and bites it clean in half.
It’s a warning if I’ve ever seen one—and a violent one at that—as a drop of red juice hangs for a second on his bottom lip.
I know I should stay, know I should face him down. But as his tongue darts out and licks up the strawberry juice in a very obvious screw you to Flint and me and everyone else in the room, I do the only thing I can.
I turn to Flint and blurt out, “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
And then I head for the doors in as close to a run as I can manage without looking even more pathetic, desperate to get away before I shatter beneath the weight of Jaxon’s obvious contempt.
Because one thing is certain—that little show was meant to underscore just how insignificant I really am to every single person in that room. I just wish I knew why…
11
In the Library,
No One Can
Hear You Scream
Once I get outside the room, I start to run, desperate to put as much space between Jaxon and myself as I can manage. I have no idea where I’m running, and I don’t think it would matter even if I did. Not when I don’t have a clue where anything is in this place.
I take a left at the end of the hallway, operating on pure instinct. On my complete desperation to be anywhere but at that party.
I have no idea what I did to make Jaxon so mad, have no idea why he blows so hot and cold with me. I’ve run into him four times since I got to this frozen hellhole, and each time has been a different experience. Douchey the first time, blank the second, intense the third, and furious the fourth. His moods change more quickly than my BFF’s Insta feed.
I get to another dead end, and this time I take a right. Seconds later, I come upon a staircase, this one as plain and un-fantastic as the main one is grand and ornate. I race down one flight and then another and another to the second floor. Once there, I take another right and don’t stop until I run out of hallway.
I’m also out of breath and a little queasy, thanks to the altitude sickness that I just can’t seem to shake. I stop a minute and let myself breathe. As I do, the embarrassment finally recedes enough that my rational mind can take over.
Suddenly, I feel like a total moron for freaking out and an even bigger one for running away from Jaxon, who performed the very scary act of biting into a strawberry while looking at me.
Deep inside, I know it’s more than that. It’s the look on his face, the indolence of his body language, the very obvious fuck you in his eyes as he stared directly at me. But still, fleeing the way I did seems absurd now.
Not absurd enough to make me go back to that ridiculously uncomfortable party, but more than absurd enough to make me embarrassed by my actions.
As I straighten and try to figure out what I’m going to do—heading back to my dorm room for more Advil and then some sleep is pretty much top of the list—I realize I’m standing in front of the school’s library. And since I’ve never met a library I didn’t like, I can’t resist opening the door and walking inside.
The moment I do, I get hit with the oddest feeling. Dread pools in my stomach, and everything inside tells me to turn around, to go back the way I came. It’s the strangest feeling I’ve ever had in my life, and for a second I think about giving in to it. But I’ve already done more than enough running for the day, so I ignore the pressure in my lungs and the uneasy churning in my stomach and keep walking forward until I’m standing in front of the checkout desk.