Page 82 of Puck to the Heart
The campus library, not the local public library.
Wonder of wonders, my student ID still granted Wi-Fi access, and I fervently thanked whoever came up with the idea to extend the post-grad period or forgot to take me out of the system.
My old favorite spot on the fifth floor was empty. The tall, slightly squashed chair sat hidden in a corner near a window. Outside, the view wasn’t of the pretty, red brick buildings but of an alleyway. Though I didn’t mind the view. Usually, enough sunlight came through, hitting at the right angle to cast beams of warmth on the chair. The older building had thin windows with poor sealing, so the chillier months often saw the upper floors of the library abandoned. The lower floors housed the cafe and coffee shop, and proximity to those was ideal to most of my classmates. But despite my dislike of chill, I often found myself there, on the fifth floor, wrapped in a blanket in an old chair with a stack of textbooks balanced precariously beside me.
Even when I hadn’t needed to study, it had beenmyplace.
With my favorite vanilla Americano (only half a pump of syrup, thank you very much—for flavor, not sweetness) in hand, I sank into the chair and pulled out my laptop to send more emails.
At least a few replies from the contacts in Portland I’d reached out to waited in my inbox. At leasttheywere interested in my pet project. Grateful I hadn’t given a timeline, I shoved those into a folder to reply later. Reading them now would sting too much, and I already had more than enough to deal with for one day.
* * *
Outside the window,shadows cast by the mid-afternoon turned my little alcove into a dusky haven, which must’ve been why I fell asleep while I read through a paper I’d written on a novel process for DripGlide 3K. A persistent buzzing in my pocket must’ve been what woke me.
Groggily, I dug my phone out of my pocket, scrubbing my palm over my dry, tired eyes. By the time I got it out, it stopped vibrating. Good thing, too, because Alex’s number flashed across the screen in a missed call. Why the man would call me after I reamed him out in front of Ash was beyond my tired mind. What more was there to say after that? Turned out, a lot. He left a voicemail, knowing full well how much I hated them. I was tempted to delete the message and him from my life for good, but damned curiosity killed the cat, and it would probably kill me, too.
Hi, Liv. It was good to see you last week.
What in the actualflyingfuck? Was he going to ignore me calling him an elbow-patched twat?
We should try to get together sometime, talk over this little spat.
Spat? Really? It was just like him to completely gloss over my feelings and all the insults and anything else he didn’t want to hear.
We left things badly, and if you want to apologize, I’m always here.
My jaw dropped.
But the reason why I’m calling is about DuBois. You know the chemical company?
Yes, probably better than he did, since I actually worked in the industry while he sat in his sad little office and let his TAs do all his teaching. He probably slept with half of them, too.
I heard from a friend of a friend that the local subsidiary of DuBois is about to have an opening. It’s not been announced yet, but of course I thought of you, given your little…problem.
Prick. I wondered which “friend” told him. A student he was sleeping with? Or one of his cronies in the department? Although, honestly, working at DuBois might be a viable option, though I’d never tell him that.
When you call me back, I’ll give you the details.
When, not if, like he expected me to just roll over and do what he commanded.
I’ve missed you, Liv. It was nice to see you all fiery and passionate again. The way you used to be.
All the anger that fizzled out as I contemplated the job exploded right back into existence. Fuck. Him. Before the voicemail finished playing, I deleted it and blocked his number.
Damn. That felt good.
* * *
Each passingminute dragged heavier as I wrote mental pro/con lists. The safety net of my home, my father, were those things worth selling my soul to the devil? Was it worth staying here, in close proximity to the person who’d stomped on my heart in bespoke Italian leather shoes?
And if it worked out, I knew he’d find a way to keep me under his thumb again.
But what choice did I have?
Irreparable damage lay between me and Ash, no matter how much I wished I hadn’t napalmed that bridge.
When I thought of the words we’d hurled at each other instead of what IwishedI’d said… well… I’d rather not remember it.
