Page 3 of Never Let Go (Forbidden #1)

Chapter Three

LAUREN

I got called into the dean’s office.

I’m not freaking out, you are.

Why the fuck did I get called into the dean’s office ?

I’m internally freaking out while Sydney’s lounging on the sofa, clearly nonplussed by my meltdown. I’m an A grade student, I never get into any trouble—well, not since being at college, anyway—I work, I pay my taxes. What. The. Fuck?

Not bothering to glance up from her laptop Sydney says, “Babe, you’re gonna be fine. Stop freaking out.” Her pen dangles from her mouth as she drags a hand through her hair, concentrating hard on the screen in front of her.

I gape at her incredulously. “Stop freaking out? Why the fuck am I being called into the dean’s office?” Yep, I’m hyperventilating now. The nervous sweat begins to bead along my brow and my breath starts to come in short bursts .

“Why don’t you go over there and find out, hmm? Instead of asking me the same question and getting the same answer.” She gives me a pointed look and smirks. “I know you’re not that dumb.”

Bitch.

“Fuck you and none of your help, Syd. I hope your favorite face cream stops being made,” I snark at her, trying to hold back my laughter at the look of outrage on her face.

“Get the fuck out of here,” she shouts while throwing a pillow in my direction. “I hate you. I don’t even know why I keep you around,” she grumbles but there’s no real heat in her words.

We both know we’d be lost without each other. She’s my soul sister. The one who keeps me grounded when all else fails. She’s the one I lean on the most, and who I know will always have my back, no matter what.

Blowing her a kiss, I reply, “Because you love me.” I give her a wink just for good measure, and continuing my internal freak out, lift my bag off the peg and leave, hoping and praying that everything will be okay and that I’m worrying over nothing.

As I amble across campus, I can’t help but look at Abingdon University with awe—the old buildings covered in ivy, the hustle and bustle of students racing to get to their lectures in time.

The warm autumn breeze gently blowing the trees lined on each side of the path lending it that typical American college look.

I continue my trek toward the admissions building and my impending doom.

Okay, that’s a little bit of an exaggeration but work with me here.

I’ve been here for the last two years, studying English.

Someone I went to high school with had dyslexia.

I saw how much she struggled, how much she was constantly told she wasn’t good enough and it broke my heart.

I wanted to help, to show others that having dyslexia doesn’t mean they’re stupid, or they can’t do what everyone else can, it just means they need a bit more TLC.

What school I’ll end up at is still a mystery to me, one I’ll look more into toward the end of the school year.

Walking into the admissions building, I take a deep breath and try settling my nerves. The receptionist looks up from behind her desk—an aging older woman with gray hair and a questionable fashion sense.

“Hello, dear. How can I help you?” she asks with a kind smile.

Okay, I take it back… she has a lovely fashion sense and I’m just being a terrible person.

“Uh, hi. I’m Lauren Taylor. Dean Williams wanted to see me?”

Dammit why am I acting like I stole cookies from the cookie jar? Man up, woman!

“Ah yes, he’s expecting you. Go on through, dear.” She gestures to the door in front of her, her smile never leaving her face.

Into the lion’s den I go , I think trying to put my big girl panties on. Slowly walking up to the door, I knock, entering when I hear a voice call out, “Come in.”

The dean’s office is nice; spacious and filled with light, the floor to ceiling windows giving it that light and airy feel.

Bookcases line an entire wall to my right, I can’t see the titles from here but they don’t look like anything I’d read.

Casting my gaze to his desk I notice a framed photo—the two point two quintessential all-American family, mom, dad, son and daughter.

A throat clears and I whip my head up to meet the gaze of Dean Williams, his eyes cold and calculating as he peruses me, sending an unpleasant shiver down my spine. He’s sitting behind his desk and I’ve never, in this moment, been more thankful to be farther away from him .

“Miss Taylor. Come in, take a seat,” he says, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. His eyes never leave me as I sit, and I can feel a line of sweat moving down my spine. Shifting uncomfortably in the chair, he continues to stare at me, not saying a word.

Is it me or is it hot in here?

Finally, he leans forward, saying, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called you in?

” No shit, Sherlock. “You only have one major, and you need another alongside it to pass this semester. I have taken the liberty of placing you in an undergrad class with Professor Anderson. You have excellent grades, Miss Taylor, but in order to pass you must take this extra class,” he explains.

The feeling of discomfort the longer I’m with him continues, I mean it could be his British accent—they all sound weird to me. The leering look on his face, almost like he’s checking me out could also be another reason. Unfortunately for him, I don’t do older men, especially teachers. Ew.

I swallow and exhale slowly. “Okay, thank you. When do I start?” I inquire.

Dean Williams steeples his fingers together. “Monday morning. The class has been added to your schedule and Professor Anderson’s TA, Brad, I think his name was, will ensure you have everything you need to get you started.” With that he gives me a smile and nods toward the door dismissing me.

Leaving his office, I take a slow walk back to my dorm room.

Sydney’s at class so I let myself in and flop down on my bed, trying to shake the gross feeling of Dean William’s gaze on me.

I mean, is he allowed to act like that with students?

All leery and weird. Or was it just me reading the room wrong?

I rub a hand over my eyes, a headache forming .

My phone starts buzzing in my pocket, all thoughts of Dean Williams and his creepiness fleeing my brain as I shift around on the bed like a fish out of water—whose idea was it to make skinny jeans so tight ?—I finally manage to slide my phone out and I unlock it to see a message from Sapphire:

Sapphire

I need you to work Saturday night. Big bachelor party, so all hands on deck - S x

Ah, fuck! There goes my quiet weekend. I’d asked for the weekend off to catch up on assignments.

I have a photographic memory—it’s kinda the main reason why I was able to get into such a good university and keep up my 4.

0 GPA, without breaking a sweat. But I’m still like every other college student—I get caught up binge watching TV shows, I work—so sometimes I fall behind and need to catch up.

It’s a weird and not altogether pleasant experience, if I’m being honest. I can vividly recall every single memory I have, almost like looking at a picture and seeing everything—names and faces, dates, everything .

I only need to meet or see something once and it’s there, stuck.

The downside is I can be triggered easily—music, nightmares—if there’s a memory attached to it.

I’ve learnt over the years to control it but it’s still hard.

I quickly message Sapphire back knowing I don’t have any other options:

Fine, but you owe me double time and another weekend off.

She replies instantly:

Sapphire

Done .

Setting my phone down, I lug out my books and walk to the living room—the lighting’s always been better out here—and get to work.

I don’t know how many hours pass before Sydney comes barreling through the door. “Oooooh girl, I am exhausted ,” she exclaims as she throws herself down next to me. “Are we ordering in tonight because there ain’t no way I’m cooking.”

“Only if we can order Chinese, I swear I had a bad stomach after eating from Bill’s Pizzeria,” I groan, remembering the discomfort.

“Sure,” Sydney laughs. “I’ll change and then order. Same as usual?” she asks, already stripping off her top as she walks into her room. The girl has no shame.

“Yeah, please. I’ll just finish this off and tidy up.”

We sit and watch a film while we’re eating. Spending quality time with Syd is few and far between, our schedules being so busy, so I enjoy it where I can.

“I thought we could go out Saturday night? We haven’t been out in ages,” Sydney says around a mouthful of chicken chow mein.

“Can’t. Sapphire called me in, apparently, they have a big bachelor party coming and I’m needed.” I cringe at the thought. I love my job, I really do, but bachelor parties are no fun. Fights get started, drinks get spilt, and someone always ends up either puking or crying—no thanks.

Sydney pouts. “Boo. You’re no fun anymore.”

“I know,” I sigh. “She promised me another weekend off though, so we’ll do something then, okay?” At this point I’m giving her the puppy dog eyes so she doesn’t turn this into one of her dramathons.

“Ugh, whatever.” She points her fork at me. “Drinks are on you though.” The devilish glint in her eyes means I’m in for one hell of a bill at the end of the night .

“Love you,” I sing as I walk to the kitchen and place the empty containers in the bin. “I’m heading off to bed.”

She waves her hand at me, too engrossed in Henry Cavill. “Night, bitch,” she says.

“Night, asshole.”

I showered and changed earlier so all I have to do is crawl into bed and hope sleep claims me quickly.