Page 66 of Almost Rotten

Ty:You’re going, end of discussion. We’ll ride together. Make sure you’re not scheduled to work. I’ll go to Cam about it myself if I have to.

Three little dots appear, disappear, then reappear on my screen.

But no text ever comes through.

Fuckin’ A.

I always get it fucking wrong with her.

Stashing my phone in my hoodie, I trudge back across campus.

Chapter twenty-four

Sawyer

Ignaw on the end of my pen, not giving a shit if I crack a tooth or chomp through it. I should care. The Sharpie S-Gel is my favorite. But it could also very well be toxic.

Story of my life.

Although if I get ink poisoning, then I won’t have to show up to class tomorrow.

With a sigh, I sit back, squinting against the orange glow of the setting sun as it streams in through the library windows.

The seventh floor is my favorite for studying. It’s typically pretty quiet, without students hanging around and socializinglike on the lower floors, and there are no group study rooms, so fewer people come and go throughout the day.

Though I typically enjoy my Sunday ritual of catching up on schoolwork and getting myself set up for the week, it doesn’t feel like self-care today.

Today, I feel like I’m a fish in a bowl that’s far too small.

Tytus is here, and despite not declaring his intentions, I know he’s watching my every move.

My nerves are on edge, and I’m stressed to the max about the looming deadline tomorrow.

I have no freaking clue what I’m going to say to Mercer. Or Noah.

Noah has texted me every day since I was out at the orchard. I’ve replied, though my messages are woefully short and mostly full of excuses. I picked up a shift on Friday before the game, then picked up a double shift on Saturday. When I told Noah, he seemed to understand.

Mercer is the one I’ve basically ghosted at this point.

He’s contacted me countless times and in countless ways.

But I’ve run out of reasonable excuses to give him, so I’ve just stopped responding.

The last email he sent included a laundry list of topics for us to discuss during our regular update tomorrow. Nothing about the email was out of the ordinary. Except the PS at the end.

Those two words are branded into my mind:Time’s up.

I told him I needed a week.

I was wrong.

If anything, Ty has only wrapped me up tighter in this complicated, twisted, codependent situation over the last six days.

At the beginning of the week, I was sure I could resist. I was set on letting him cool off, certain life would return to normal after a few days.

Instead, I’ve woken up wrapped around him for the last three mornings, and I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s made me come.

My mind is a mess of conflicting feelings and raging anxiety. Nothing is going according to plan, but I’m too far gone to just pump the brakes with Ty and pretend like nothing happened.