Page 48 of Love, Academically

Compunction (noun) com·punc·tion

anxiety arising from awareness of guilt

distress of mind over an anticipated action or result

a twinge of misgiving

Rhys

Rhys’s top lip fucking hurt. The bastard face paint was coming off slowly and leaving in its place a massive fucking red mark where he’d rubbed furiously at it.

It was worse than that though. He’d forgotten about the meeting. He’d missed the email, or he’d read the email and it hadn’t sunk in, he hadn’t put it in his diary, he’d just… been distracted and had completely forgotten. He had never forgotten anything as important as this. Never.

He’d sat there, bumbling through a half-prepared and half-remembered speech about what an honour and a privilege it would be to be part of the Historical Association, about his research, his planned papers, his book proposal. With a massive fucking blue moustache painted on his face.

How could Dan have let him just walk off with it on his face without saying anything?

It wasn’t Dan’s fault though. It was his own for letting Lila paint his face.

Lila’s fault for actually doing it. Why did she have to be like that?

All fluffy and insistent that he join in, be part of the ‘History Department community’ when he was quite happy by himself.

Now his chances were ruined. He would never be taken seriously with a poorly worded, rambling speech and a fucking bushy blue moustache on his face.

Fuck.

Bracing his hands on the sink he glared at himself in the mirror. This ‘informal chat’ would influence the panel and he would be a fool to think otherwise. He’d been on enough interview panels, had enough fucking experience to know that connections, relationships, networking fucking mattered.

Rhys had let his mind go. He’d been so absorbed with Lila, so loose and free with his time and mind that his focus had gone.

Slamming the bathroom door behind him, Rhys stormed back to his office. There was absolutely no way that he was going back to that stupid fucking Mexican party with warm sangria and tinny music that put his teeth on edge.

He was vibrating with anger, his hands unable to stay in his pockets, legs unable to let him sit still. All the frustration burst out of him and he smashed his fist hard into the side of the filing cabinet.

“Fuck,” he shouted.

The pain shot up his wrist into his forearm, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about the blood pooling on his knuckles, staining into his coarse, awful beige carpet.

Somehow, some way, his father would hear about this and that would be yet another negative mark against him. Turning up unprepared to what was essentially an interview with fucking face paint on. There was no way he would ever live that down.

He moved over to the window and leaned his elbows on the sill, holding his head in his hands. None of this was going to be fixed any time soon. In fact, it may have ruined his chances with the Historical Association.

Forever.

All because Lila had wanted to be in his life. All because he had wanted her to be in his life.

His door opened and the smell of vanilla wafted in.

“Not now, Lila. Not fucking now,” he growled, not turning.

“Yes, fucking now, Rhys,” she snapped. “What have you done?”

“What have I done?” he said, voice so low he nearly didn’t recognise himself.

His muscles tensed and he turned, every fibre of him shaking with control. That’s how he should have been these past months. Controlled and disciplined. Not fawning like a lovesick puppy over cookies and a pretty face.

Lila’s eyes were blazing bright with anger, spots of red high on her cheeks. If possible, her hair was even more crazed than it usually was.

“Yes, Rhys,” she said, matching his tone. “What have you done?”

“What I’ve done, Lila,” he said, pressing his hands to the desk and leaning over it, “is managed to absolutely fuck up my chances of ever being accepted into the Historical Association because you managed to screw me over.”

“Screw you over? What, with the face-paint?” she said, taking a couple of steps towards him. “You’re a grown up, you make your own decisions. Besides, it wasn’t me who let you walk out of that room with it still on your face. That was Dan.”

Another step towards his desk.

“Why did you even need reminding? It’s not like you’re a four-year-old who needs your face wiped by your mother.”

“Lila, this is my life ruined.” A warning in his voice, because she really didn’t want to push him now and he could not even begin to comprehend why she didn’t even seem to care.

Lila rolled her eyes and flapped her arms. What was she, a fucking bird?

“Don’t be so dramatic, Rhys,” she said, her voice too loud for his office. “Your life is not ruined. It wasn’t even the formal interview, and you—”

No, no way. She didn’t get to dictate this discussion, if it could even be termed as such with their voices definitely the wrong side of quiet.

“Dramatic? I’m not the dramatic one in this relationship.

A relationship, I might add, that has caused me to completely ignore my responsibilities.

You have made me lose all sense of what I’m supposed to be doing, my reason for being here.

” It all became clear to him, so clear that he could see the unfocused, irresponsible, failure of a man that couldn’t make a success of anything.

The man that she had turned him into. “I’ve been with you, or thinking about you, when I should have been preparing for the Fellowship application. ”

Rhys dragged both hands through his hair.

“What the fuck have I been doing? How did I let myself get this distracted?” he muttered.

“Hang on a minute, Rhys—” Lila put her hand up and took a little step forward, but he battled on.

“And you’re so ashamed of me, so embarrassed to be with someone like me, that you couldn’t even bring yourself to tell your friends or parents that we’re even in a relationship.” That hot sting that he’d tried to douse burned extra hot in his stomach. “That’s how invested you fucking are.”

“You know that’s not true,” Lila whispered, shaking her head.

“Miss Cartwright.” She looked as if he had slapped her, but he didn’t care. “You are unwanted in my office. Get. Out.”

Rhys forced his hands into his pocket and ground his teeth together, waiting for her to leave so he could do some damage control with Professor Painter. But she didn’t go. Instead, her shoulders tensed and she took a deep breath, collecting herself.

“I don’t give a shit whether you want me here or not, Rhys Aubrey-Dallimore,” she snapped. “I am not leaving until you tell me why you interfered with my life when you promised, Rhys, you promised.”

Lila’s voice broke a little on that last word but he was too far gone to care.

“What are you talking about, Lila?” He shook his head, shaking his words out of his brain. “I have to deal with this absolute fucking shit show and I don’t have time to deal with whether your wool is all knotted or your favourite blanket has a stain on it.”

Lila’s eyes hardened and her entire body stiffened.

“I guess I was wrong.” Her voice was quiet. “You haven’t changed a single bit. You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself and I can’t believe I ever thought that you could.”

“I’ve got no idea what you are talking about and quite frankly, I don’t give a shit.

” He sat down and scanned his computer screen, waiting for the inevitable ‘I’ll get your office ready for you’ email from his father.

Because his father would know, he always knew.

Rhys wondered if his father would go so far as bugging his office.

Rhys clicked the refresh button on his email. Nothing yet.

It was silent, but there was still the sweet smell of vanilla standing in front of him.

“I can’t believe I ever thought you were different to Jason,” she whispered. “Fuck you, Rhys.”

Rhys snapped his eyes to her, confused. Like Jason? He was nothing like that absolute sweat stain. He’d think about that later.

The door slammed shut and he was left with no unread emails and fading vanilla. Heart slowing somewhat now he’d exploded, he tapped his fingers on his desk, waiting for his father. Retrieving his phone from his pocket, he lined it up next to his keyboard on the desk.

Refreshing his email again, a message from Elin’s assistant popped up asking if he and Lila would be free next Saturday for dinner. Yeah, no, he couldn’t think about that right now, not when all this Fellowship stuff was going on.

Besides, he wasn’t sure that he actually wanted to spend time with Lila right now.

“Fuck,” he whispered, because that wasn’t true.

It wasn’t true at all.

She had just been a convenient punch bag in a convenient place at a convenient time. An easy target. What had he done?

Shit.

His email updated with something from his father’s assistant, but Rhys didn’t bother to open it. He was on his feet and wrenching open his office door.

Dan, with a Taylor Swift heart around his eye, was heading in his direction, brow uncharacteristically low over his eyes.

“Dan, I can’t deal with you now,” he said, aiming to push past him. “I need to find Lila.” He needed to fix it, to apologise, to hold her.

“No, the last thing you need to do is find Lila,” Dan said, shoving him hard in the chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Rhys?” he hissed.

“Dan, I know—”

“Do you? Do you actually know? Because she’s in her office with Amanda, bawling her eyes out. Absolutely fucking distraught.” Dan shook his head in disgust. “I’ve called Jasmeet to come and get her, because she can’t even drive in this state.”

“Look, I’ll talk to her. I’ll fix it, it’s just been a bit of a shit hour and a half.”