MA

body felt heavy, my eyes dry. I laid there for a few s

back arching slightly. A soft ache pulled at my muscl

eft my place. He was turning

bed and shuffle

my eyes, and my lips were a little puffy, still kissed raw. My skin held th

ly, watching them spring back into shape. Brushing always calmed me

I neede

blossoms scattered across it. It hugged my waist just

flats. Black with gold bows. Mason had give

stunned to speak, my legs still trembling. And there they were,

l girl needs be

d of relationship. I should've said something. But I d

t they cost. But because they reminded me of how easily

ke me feel polished. Then I reached for my small gold hoops-t

I stepped back and looke

rong. Be

hispered to myself

ying those two words.

y keys and walked o

e air was crisp and cool. I breath

my car was w

gift fro

re in the driveway-shiny, black, and brand new. No note t

uestions. By the

eather-wrapped wheel. The car still smelled new. Expensive. It

*

ne of the shaded spots near the Arts courtyard. The mornin

little corner shop just outside campus. The owner always smiled at

benches, some leaning against pillars, pretending to read. Music floated

lked across the stone path, the heel

follo

ross the yard just to catch a closer look. I did

e way the breeze played with the hem of my floral

I saw

so

arved out of shadow. His shirt was open a little bit, sleeves pushed to his e

htly around his. She was the picture of polished perfection-blonde, glossy,

ates from the hockey team. Loud. Laugh

op. I didn'

n my grip. My heart? Still. Steady. I'd trained it n

e. Not once. And I

as the

shared glances. No secret smiles. Just two s

rday, whispering my name like it burned his tongue. Like he didn't pull my hair, kiss

ght it-just the tiniest flick

t line o

h. Bare

I sa

irked to

ould stand there with her, laugh with his boys, pretend

ed when he went deeper. The way I wore n

retend all

him like smo

and floor polish. I slipped inside quie

ver their laptops or scrolling through their phones. I wa

d open my notebook, smoothing the first pag

took a small sip, letting th

ull of books he wouldn't open. He was older, always wore the same tweed jacket, and spok

ty." Half marketing, half art theory. I chose it because it sounded prett

hand as he spoke. His words floated across the ro

nse, but the kind that made you feel something. T

rstood

ings were messy. Complicated. T

lowly across your ribs. Sometimes, it was a r

tes-just drawing. Little curves, jagged edges, li

. Voices turned to background noise.

oke the professor made. I didn't catch it. My