Page 16 of Study Games

Yeah, fat chance of that happening. But I could try.

7

JAX

Ileft my most recent study session with Waverly, a stupid damn grin creasing my face that could have been mistaken for a flytrap for the way my mouth gaped open. A sesh with her was always entertaining, but more than that, she was quiet.

So different from the chaotic and undiluted cacophony of the rest of campus. The hours I spent with her each week quietened my cluttered mind that so often fragmented into random tangents.

That never seemed to happen with Waverly around, and her bees.

But mostly it was the girl I couldn’t get enough of, tangling my fingers in her hair, drawing her close enough to inhale her sweet honeydew scent. Christ, screwing with her was a mistake. Kissing her was worse. But I still couldn’t stay away.

This time she opted to ignore me mostly, teaching as though she spoke to nobody and nothing at all.

She was so damn stunning it hurt like hell to be ignored, but I was there for it. Waverly was all the things I couldn't claim about myself. Soft, open, innocent. That last most of all. Untarnished, and I was terrified the moment I touched her that I’d stain her unblemished skin with the sins that roiled beneath my own. And yet, I couldn't stop myself from craving more of her.

And more, until she became the addiction I couldn't resist. Not that she understood that part of me, and never would.

My smile dropped away as I headed back into Rippton’s social center, and everything I hated about this place most, yet thrived in all the same. Usually all I wanted was to get back to my studio and avoid the rest of the campus' floating student population. Socializing was my bane, a front designed to do what a facade did best–keep the rest of the world at bay.

At least, that was supposed to be how it worked. Throw up a please fuck off anti hero cape, and all the pretty ones would run away screaming.

Instead, in this twisted world, it brought them crawling forward for a taste of what their daddies with the world’s deepest pockets denied every single one of them.

Waverly, alone, seemed to neither notice the facade nor the horrors that roiled within me.

I strode across the quad with my shoulders pulled back, actually managing to enjoy the walk through the darkest shadows, right up until a flock of freshmen erupted from an adjacent lecture hall, flooding my path with inane chatter.

Lowering my head, I lifted one shoulder in a shrug that doubled as a battering ram and pushed my way through the flurry of students, bringing up an app that let me draw on my phone. I’d photographed some of Waverly’s sketches when she wasn’t looking. None of them were half as bad as she believed. Lacking a little heart, perhaps, but the essentials were there in essence.

The drawing wasn’t a pretense this time, but the activity held me apart from the movement around me until I was clear of the mob, free of body odor and a plethora of perfumes that could have created their very own Candy Shop of Nightmares.

Why people needed to cover their own scent with something that smelled like it had been manufactured in a power plant with a ton of sugar added, I would never know. Waverly didn't wear any, from what I could tell. Maybe a plain sports deodorant or the like, but nothing overwhelming. That sweetness of hers was all Waverly, just the way I liked her. In fact, nothing about her was overwhelming. Not to me.

Entertaining and peaceful. Weird combo for a weird girl, but she was growing on me. Teasing her was still my favorite pastime, and I wasn’t about to let that change. Watching her turn a pretty shade of pink was just too tempting in every way.

Picking her up on it when she asked if we were flirting…well. I'd relive the shock in her dark blue eyes, the ones the perfect shade to match her name, for nights to come. My cock twitched at the thought, straining against my tight jeans that constricted my blood flow by design when I didn't palm myself, content with the pain that urged me on. Maybe I could teach her something about pain, and how much I liked it.

Maybe, or maybe I’d keep myself this way and never tell her, just watch her, and suffer alone.

Fuck, I was a sick puppy.

And her light drew me back to all the beautiful parts of her that I didn’t have, was born without. Watching her sketch her bees might have been the secondary highlight of my week to date, or maybe it was drawing over her sketches and watching her face when she realized what I’d done. To be kind, I made the insect’s path a whole lot more credible and I hadn’t even felt the need to improvise on the work she provided as a pretty backdrop. Inspiration.

That was a miracle in itself.

My muse. I could be cruel or kind to those, and I loved, more than anything, to play with my muse. Twist and torture her until she cried. Then maybe I’d smile and kiss her and paint her.

Yeah, fucking sick all over. I shouldn’t be anywhere near a girl as sweet as Waverly yet we were paired together for the semester.

Listening to her talk calmed and unraveled me at the same time. She was a fascinating little conundrum that I wanted to hype up for shits and giggles and soothe after I was done playing with her just to watch the light return to her eyes, all liquid honey, like that mouth of hers. And those damn clothes. Not that I wanted to tell anyone what they could wear–hell, my family showed me how to tough that one out before I hit my teenage years. But…Waverly, that girl was hiding.

From the world, from herself.

Fuck knew why, because she didn’t need to.

Her hair, the way it hung around her face, the skirts she tucked around her knees in a protective bubble and those damn turtlenecks. Sure, she was cute, in a geek-girl sort of vibe but her body language told me otherwise.

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