32. MADDIE

CHAPTER 32

MADDIE

I feel like I'm going to die for real this time.

Every time my period's early, it feels worse. As if my uterus thinks it's my freaking fault that it is bleeding ahead of schedule.

"Just because you're graduating soon doesn't mean your conduct should deteriorate. Do you understand me?" Melinda says, tapping her finger at the phone screen where she just played a video of Aran and me making out that I know was leaked by Lori; she said so herself at the infamous party. Or maybe she sent it to Aran's ex. I don't know.

Slowly, I nod. "Yes, ma'am."

She leans back in her chair and folds her arms. For a good moment, all she does is regard me like she's intending to paint my portrait. Finally, she smirks a little.

"Now, not as your boss or as a staff member of this illustrious institution… you go, girl. Get it."

"Huh?" My head's spinning, vacillating between confusion and sheer, self-destructive pain.

"I thought you were a goodie two-shoes, but va-va-voom."

I can't believe I have the capacity to blush in these circumstances, but here I am. My face is so hot I could melt an iceberg.

Well, apparently not "the Iceberg." That one doesn't see me as va-va-voom enough, I guess.

Whatever.

"So, um. Am I going to get reprimanded or… or fired?" I ask in a shaky voice.

She snorts. "Of course not. Your private life is your business. Just, next time, keep it behind closed doors."

"Thanks?"

"Now, I know you have a student to tutor in"—she checks the massive decorative clock on the wall that only she can read—"eighteen minutes, so I suggest you get going."

That might not even be enough to make it to the library in time, with how slowly I'm moving. As I stand, it takes Herculean effort to stifle the groan threatening to spill out of my mouth at the stab of pain in my nether regions. I sway a little and grab the back of the chair.

"'Kay, see you later, Melinda."

"Bye, kiddo." Her attention goes back to her computer screen, and I'm dismissed.

Approximately ten years later, I manage to walk out of her office. Outside, I find Wyatt sipping gross coffee from a paper cup.

"Isn't it great?" Wyatt chirps as he joins me. "We're just a month and a half away from graduation. And even better, just two weeks from your book debut."

"Yay, so exciting."

I wince with every step away from the student center. Oh, how I wish I had a golf cart to take me all the way to the library. Or better yet, that I could teleport there. Or even better still, teleport into a life where I'm not such a loser. Wouldn't that be sweet?

"Why don't you look excited, though?"

Maybe because I have two aliens trying to tear my body apart from the inside. One is obvious. The other one is my heart. This excruciating pain today is nothing compared to how I've felt since…

I sniffle. No, I don't want to cry in public. Again. Today.

I thought I caught a glimpse of Aran earlier this morning. But the buzz cut was longer than usual and the guy had a bit of a beard. Similar build, though. And just a millisecond of wondering is it him? was enough to activate my tear glands. It made eating alone in the cafeteria very awkward.

The worst part is that I can't write. It was so much easier to work on a romance book while my heart was still in one piece. And I hate that he took that joy from me. I wish I could sock him a good one—and then hug him so tight he can't let go of me.

What has Aran Rodriguez done to me?

Wyatt still chatters beside me as we head to the library, and I make an effort to focus on his words. Whatever he's saying has to be better than my thoughts.

"—taking him to the book launch?"

"What? Sorry, I zoned out."

He takes a deep breath. "I said, are you taking your make-out partner to the book launch?"

Nope. Never mind. My thoughts were safer.

I try to go the safe route by saying, "I don't need to take a date to my book launch."

"So, were you dating him?" He nudges me, and I'm too weak to avoid it.

"Would you look at that. At this pace, I'm going to be late. See you later!" But my traitorous body can't go any faster.

"Hmm." He falls quiet, and it makes the trip to the library more bearable. But when we get to the building and he opens the door for me, I see something in his expression I don't like. Pity. And it's not just in my head, because he says, "If you need a rebound, just let me know. One of my friends is interested."

"What?"

"Apparently, he saw you dancing at some party, and voilà, instant crush."

I grunt. The only party I danced at was the one that crushed my heart. I don't need any reminders of that night.

Wyatt chuckles. "Whoda thunk our little Maddie was such a femme fatale?"

Yeah, right. Some femme fatale I am in my cozy cardigan with pockets shaped like bunnies' heads and a dress that could be worn by my grandma. There is no vestige of the confident Maddie of that night, the one who wore a full face of makeup and a dress that hid very little. Rather, if I could wear my fluffy blanket outside the apartment, I would. I'd stay under it until my demise.

"Thanks, but I'll pass," I mumble as we enter the quiet area at the front of the library. I'm absolutely drained from this conversation, this day, and my life, in that order.

"The offer's standing. See you later, gator."

"Bye, Wyatt." My smile is more grimace than joy.

My face stays locked like that as I make my way upstairs to the study area. I'm pretty sure my student is already waiting there and is probably docking points off my rating. He's one of those pretentious freshmen who got into this school because they're a legacy and can't face up to the fact that he's not as smart as he thought he was. Sessions with him are always a hoot—and I say that with sarcasm as thick as honey.

Sure enough, my student's there. And he's sitting all the way at the back, as if he knew making me walk the entire length of the building was the perfect punishment for me.

"You're late," he says in his snooty voice.

"Which means we don't have a second to waste, right?" I say this with a sugary smile, and it's the perfect way to cut his tirade short. He mumbles something that I probably don't want to discern.

As I settle down and take my things out of my bag, I explain how I would structure the essay he has to write. This kid needs tutoring in the same kind of thing as Aran, and it makes me wonder how it's going for the Bolts captain with his new tutor. When I canceled my remaining sessions with him, I made sure Melinda shifted him over to a guy tutor like Aran intended all along.

I hope he's freaking happy now with his hockey and his tutor-dude and?—

I shouldn't think like this. Aran didn't lead me on or treat me like crap. He even wanted to stay friends. I'm the one who can't see past her giant, flaming torch for him.

Sighing, I open my laptop and try to do some writing. I get as far as three words— He doesn't want —before my mind goes kaput. The hero of my novel is supposed to be professing his love for the heroine because he doesn't want to live without her. But she has her reservations because she's been played one too many times. It's almost like I reversed the roles without realizing it until now.

"Hey, what should I do if this happens?" my student asks, his voice grouchy.

I tear my eyes away from my screen to see what he's pointing at, but something distracts me from the corner of my eye.

It's him . The one who doesn't want me in real life.

Aran sits at the table in front of mine, facing me directly. He's drinking a green concoction like on the day we met. And like then, his eyes observe me from above the rim of his sports bottle.

My heart rate spikes. I follow my student's finger to where it's pointing at an error message on his computer. Apparently, I'm supposed to know IT now.

"Um, I don't know. Maybe try restarting?"

"I can't do that. I didn't save my work, you dolt!"

I frown. "Not my fault, and no need for name calling."

"Whatever." He smacks his computer a few times. I go back to mine.

Lies and deceit. My eyes go straight back to Aran instead of to my work.

This time his aren't on me. They're narrowed at my student as if he's plotting a dark academia book in his mind.

This is why I fell for him. Little things like this that made me feel like he cared. And maybe he did. But it really freaking sucks when the guy you like only cares for you as a friend. I don't know how other people cope, because I can't. I paw around the table until I find my favorite pen and my journal and make a note to consider the unrequited love trope for my next hockey book. Except my characters will get the happy ending I didn't. It'll be cathartic.

I pause. This is the first time I've felt inspired at all in weeks.

Dang Aran. He's both the sickness and the cure.

I bite my lip and put my hands on my keyboard. Let's focus on the words, not on the boy staring at me across the tables, not on the rude student next to me, not on the throbbing stabs of pain in my abdomen. Just the writing. Nothing else.

After that whole pep talk, I end up typing some gibberish. Instead of focusing, I peep over the edge of my laptop screen and almost jump out of my skin.

Aran is smiling at me. It's that slow, tiny smile that looks like a smirk from afar but warms his eyes until they're molten chocolate. The one that often preceded a kiss for the ages.

I can't take this anymore.

Without thinking, I spring to my feet and scamper away from the tables. Pure nerves give me the speed I lacked earlier, and I only stop when I'm behind one of the massive bookcases. I need a quiet moment alone to compose myself.

I breathe so hard that my head spins, and as I steady myself against the bookcase, I realize something's very wrong. And it's not that Aran is approaching this little nook.

No, my vision keeps swimming, and I can no longer control my limbs. My hands drop like lead, and my mind finally catches up to what's happening.

I'm about to pass out.