Page 72 of Almost Rotten

Mercer

She canceled on me.

I expected it, given the sharp decline in communication this week.

Yet when the email came through, it took massive amounts of control to resist the urge to throw my monitor across my office.

Today is the day. The one-week deadline. By now, she should have reasoned with the man-child hockey player, and we should be free to continue with our relationship.

None of that can happen if she keeps avoiding me, though.

I’m angry with myself for even agreeing to such a preposterous solution.

I’m angry with the boy. I’m angry with the whole damn situation.

For a week, I’ve let this charade go on. I’ve allowed her to struggle like this when I should have been supporting her and suffering the consequences of the fallout myself.

She and I are both in that fucking video.

I should have never allowed her to attempt to handle this on her own.

She won’t look at me. Hasn’t lifted her gaze once since walking through the doors, despite my glare. She feels it. I know she does, yet her focus remains on the laptop in front of her.

It’s ten, yet I can’t focus clearly enough to begin class. Not until I know she’s okay.

“Ms. Davvies.”

The students quiet and take their seats.

Sawyer lifts her head slightly, though she still doesn’t make eye contact.

“A word.”

Hockey boy sits up straighter, his gaze boring into my skull with an intensity that would make me shudder if he wasn’t such a pathetic excuse for a human.

I force myself to focus only on Sawyer.

She rises slowly, her movements timid. Her body language is off, her spirit shrouded by a sinister aura.

My chest cracks open once she’s within arm’s reach.

I want to hug her. Hold her. Wrap her in my arms and take care of her until the fire I adore returns to her.

The tightness in my throat makes it hard to swallow. The constricting palpitations in my chest make it impossible to take in a full breath.

“I’d like to speak to you in the hall,” I tell her evenly. Without waiting for a response, I look up and clear my throat. “Break intopairs and discuss the case study featured in this week’s assigned reading. Ms. Davvies and I will be back momentarily.”

I march toward the hall without a glance back. Now that the whole class expects her to follow me, she has no choice.

Is this what our relationship has come to? Forced interactions and stolen moments?

Once I ensure the hallway is empty, I grab her hand and duck into an alcove of vending machines.

When I’m certain we’re alone, I lace our fingers. “Sawyer, the week is up, and I—”

She pulls away, jolting, and peers over her shoulder.

Pain ricochets off my chest cavity. What the fuck has got her so spooked?