Page 3 of Run For Me (Until You’re Mine Duet #1)

Chapter Three

Him

The classroom is empty as I make my way out of it. I prefer to take my time as I leave, or as I do anything, really. I see no point in rushing around and think it’s crazy that so many people allow themselves to be bossed around by a man-made thing.

Time.

As I reach the top steps of the auditorium, something catches my eye. I crouch to get a better look. Just beneath the end seat is a pink notebook. I pick it up, thinking nothing of it, and open up to the first page to look for the owner’s information.

That is not what I find.

The page is thin and worn, and on the top right corner is a date from over six years ago. Below that, is a journal entry written in feminine handwriting.

None of this is fair. I shouldn’t have to grow up without my daddy. My mom shouldn’t have to raise me by herself. She told me grammy and grampy are going to help, and even thought of moving in with us, but they shouldn’t have to do that either.

Why does God have to be so mean? Why did he have to take away my daddy? He did nothing wrong, and neither did I.

Mom bought me this journal because she said it will help me. It’s easier for me to share my feelings when writing or drawing. I don’t want to use this, but I think it will make Mom happy, so that’s why I’m doing it.

I grunt to myself as I flip through the pages, trying to find a name or number, but that’s not here.

Just a bunch of journal entries. Great. But it seems important, and I’d like to get it back to its owner.

I know how important your most private thoughts can be, and having them out there for anyone to read could be detrimental to someone’s mental health—something I care about, despite what people think about me.

I skip to the very end to see how recent the entries are. If this person has kept up with journaling, then perhaps something in those pages will give me a clue as to who this belongs to.

I read the last entry and there’s nothing there that will help me figure out who the owner is. It’s just a long rant about how nervous they are about starting a new school. So, likely this belongs to a freshman, which hardly narrows down the numbers.

“Hey, handsome.”

I snap the book shut and look up at the sultry voice. I raise a brow.

“Mindy,” I greet in an even but bored tone.

“I didn’t know you were here this period,” she says, taking a step closer.

Her expensive perfume lingers around her, and even though it smells good, I ignore it because she is not good.

And I don’t mean as in a bad person, but she’s not good in bed, therefore not worth my time.

I’m far from wanting a serious relationship, and even though she’s fine with just being fucked, she’s definitely not what I’m looking for.

Mindy is becoming too clingy for my liking.

“I was just leaving,” I say as I step around her.

She spins with me, and I keep my eyes on her, watching the pout form on her filled lips. The image of those full lips wrapped around my dick has it twitching in my pants, but I push it away immediately.

She’s not worth getting a stalker, my friend. Not worth it at all.

“What’s that?” she asks, pointing to the journal in my hand. Her tone makes the jealousy obvious, and this is the main reason I need to keep this girl far away from me.

I hold it up, grinning. “My new notebook.”

She glares. “It’s pink.”

I lean in close. “Get with the times, Mindy. Boys like pink.”

She scoffs, hooking her thumbs into her thin, bright yellow backpack straps.

“You don’t like pink.”

“Stop acting like you know me. I have to go; I have class.”

“Call me later!” she shouts after me, and I glance over my shoulder, frowning. She covers her mouth, her eyes widening in a mock oops.

I growl under my breath and step out of the auditorium.

I don’t go far, just around the corner to open the journal again. I have a short time before my next class, so I may as well read more. After all, what is more enjoyable than reading someone’s most private thoughts?

I flip through the pages and stop when one page in particular catches my eye. The writing is not as neat as all the others, it’s scratchy and quick, like it was written in a rush or the person writing it was nervous while doing so.

I turn the page over to get to the beginning, and boy, am I glad when I do.

The date is from six months ago.

I don’t know why I have these thoughts in my head. I wish they would go away.

Sam is such a nice guy. He’s been there for me through everything, so why isn’t he enough?

Why aren’t the nice words he says to me enough? Why don’t they give me butterflies and make me giddy, or high on life? Why don’t they make me want to meet him, and have him hold me the way he promises he will?

Why is it every time I think of sex, it leads to THESE thoughts?

Why can’t I just be normal?

Normal people don’t think of these things. They don’t think of—my god I can’t even write them on paper! But I have to. I have to get them out or else they’re going to drive me crazy. So here goes.

Choking

Biting

Spanking

Okay, that’s a good start, but that’s not all of it. There’s more, so much more, but it’s hard to put it into short words, but I’m scared that if I write it in too much detail then… I don’t know.

Being tied up… deprived of my senses… being chased.

Hunted

Caught

Watched

Oh my god this is so embarrassing. I can’t believe I wrote them down.

If I hadn’t promised myself I wouldn’t destroy this book, this page would be gone. I’d rip it out and burn it.

Okay, I took a small break from this. I made dinner and listened to music. I feel a little better that I wrote my thoughts down, but I can’t go back and read it. It’s too much. I can’t help that I have these thoughts. I just wish I knew why they were there!

Why am I thinking like this?

I stop there, unable to read any more.

My dick is so hard I feel like it’s going to erupt right here in the middle of the hallway. I grip the journal tightly, gritting my teeth as I take off my backpack and shove it inside.

I plan to get this back to its rightful owner—I just need to read more first.