Page 59 of Ruined Wolfsbane

When the car comes to a stop in the faculty parking lot, I fumble around for the door handle. I manage to locate it through eyes blurry with tears and yank it open. If I weren’t drowning in my grief, I’d be embarrassed about the Wyldhart brothers seeing me cry.

Hopping out of the car, I don’t think. I just run. With no destination in mind, I let my legs carry me wherever. As long as it’s away from the Wyldharts and their prying.

Each step I take has numbness settling over me like a comforting embrace. My mind starts to shut down under the weight of my sorrow. The tears gradually stop falling, my heart rate evens out, and my thoughts move in slow motion.

By the time I reach my alcove on the third floor of Wyldhart Hall, I don’t feel much of anything. My heart doesn’t feel like it’s being carved out of my chest with a rusty spoon anymore, so I’m all for this numbness.

I plop down on the blue carpet under the window and pull my legs up to my chest. Wrapping my arms around my shins, I lean my cheek on my bent knees. My eyes are open, but I don’t see anything around me. Footsteps sound to my right. I briefly consider straightening out my legs, so I don’t flash anyone my shorts. I honestly don’t care right now, so I stay where I am.

“There you are,” a familiar deep voice rumbles beside me. On autopilot, I slowly turn my head to look at Malachi. He’s kneeling next to me. Cupping my face in his hands, he gently swipes away the tears lingering on my cheeks.

Malachi’s eyes bounce between mine. I don’t know what he sees on my face, but it has the corners of his eyes tightening in concern.

“I’m sorry, baby girl,” he tells me earnestly. “I shouldn’t have said what I did, and I shouldn’t have pushed you for information on your mom. I just get so angry about anyone hurting you. But that’s no excuse. You’ll never know how sorry I am for adding to your pain instead of making it better.”

When I don’t do anything but blink at him sluggishly in response, Malachi’s lips turn downward in a frown. After a few moments of studying me, he murmurs, “Fuck it.” He puts one arm behind my back and the other under my bent knees. Malachi gently lifts me up and deposits me on his crossed legs. He positions me so I’m facing him with my legs on either side of his hips.

Banding his strong arms around me, he squeezes me tight and rests his chin on top of my head. We stay like this until his phone dings. Leaving one arm around me, he types on his phone.

Malachi digs around in his bag before offering me an earbud. “Listening to music might help.” When I don’t respond, Malachi sighs sadly. He gently puts an earbud in my left ear. “Take it out if you want. Just do something,” Malachi begs me. His quiet pleading almost breaks through my numbness, but it’s not enough to get me to leave my cocoon of apathy.

I don’t know how long we sit there listening to his music with his hand gently rubbing my back. Eventually the fog in my mind starts to dissipate, leaving in its place only pain. It feels like my heart is being pulverized, so I try to focus on the music Malachi’s playing to distract me.

After a few moments, I tell him, “I like your music.” My voice is hoarse from crying. Talking scratches my tender throat, making me wince slightly.

I’m sure I look like a disaster right now, with puffy eyes, a red nose, and my face streaked with tears. Good thing I didn’t put on mascara this morning, or I’d look even worse. Score one for being inept at makeup. It should be illegal to be as bad at makeup as I am.

Malachi snaps his head up from his phone and looks at me with relief shining in his eyes. He clears his throat before replying in a voice husky with emotion, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I haven’t heard any of the songs before, but I dig the storytelling.

“How are you feeling, baby girl?” Malachi asks softly, like he’s worried he’ll spook me. His hand is still rubbing small circles on my back. I have to fight the urge to close my eyes and fall asleep to the soothing motion.

Don’t judge me. Crying’s a lot of work. I’m entitled to being tired.

“Like I got run over. Repeatedly,” I reply honestly.

He huffs out a laugh. I smile slightly at his amusement. Malachi looks at me for a long moment before resting his forehead on mine. “I was worried about you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who’s sorry.” Malachi sounds so broken up about bringing up my mom. I instantly feel awful about how I ran off.

“You didn’t know. It’s just… hard to talk about my mom,” I tell him, my voice breaking. “I miss her so fucking much it hurts, and the pain never gets better. Whoever said time heals all wounds is full of shit.” A tear slips out while I’m talking, and I angrily swipe it away. I’m sick of crying. I just want it not to hurt so much anymore.

“I wish I had the words to take your pain away. I don’t, but I’m here for whatever you need. Arms to hold you, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, or someone to murder anyone who’s ever wronged you. I’m here for all of it.”

I choke on a laugh at the last portion of his sweet statement. Staring up at him with a smile, I say, “Thanks.”

He rewards me with a blinding grin. I can’t help but get lost for a moment in his ruggedly handsome face beaming down at me. I know I should wonder why a professor cares as much as he does. I can worry about that another day when I don’t feel like my insides were filleted with a dull spork.

Leaning back against his hold, I stretch my arms above my head. He easily supports my weight with a single hand. Malachi holds me steady so that I don’t fall. All my muscles are stiff from sitting in the same position for so long. Wondering how long I’ve been sitting on his lap, I ask, “What time is it?”

Glancing at his phone, Malachi says, “It’s almost noon.”

“What?” I screech, nearly falling off his lap in alarm. He grips my waist with both of his hands to keep me from tumbling off. Malachi’s touch sends currents of electricity arcing through me. “I’ve missed both of my morning classes!”

“And you’re going to miss your afternoon class. You need to rest. Luckily for you, your professors are giving you an excused absence,” he tells me sternly. His tone dares me to argue with him about missing a full day of classes. Again.

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