Page 18 of Nothing to Fear
After stopping in my room to change my clothes, opting for a pair of ripped black jeans, a lightweight tan sweater, and my leather jacket, I slip my white sneakers on and I’m out the door.
Ever since I found out the location of Noctis Archives sophomore year, I’ve been hiding down there as my own personal escape from the world. I have no idea what compelled me to invite Silas into my space, as if my mouth had a mind of its own. It didn’t really hit me until he showed up, taking a seat in front of me like he had done it a million times before.
His presence should irk me, especially in a place I covet so deeply, but instead, it’s almost comforting, as if he were always supposed to be there among the books I love so much. I wish I could understand him more, the constant hot/cold behavior, and how he lashes out so quickly. What must he be going through to behave that way? I meant what I said to Parker and Jay: Silas is incredibly smart, so why isn’t he trying? Why is he slacking off so badly when it comes to the most important thing he should be focusing on right now?
After pulling the book of whispers from the shelf, I slip past the hidden door and start my descent below the school. I take my time, my hand gliding over the roughly aged iron handrail as I take each tight step, round and round until it spits me out in the first room of the archives.
Light flickers from the candles that sit in sconces, eternally burning and never needing to be changed. I tried to figure out how when I first stumbled across this place by accident, but I’ve long stopped trying to understand the mysteries of Corvus College.
I take my usual seat at a table farthest from the entrance, past rows and rows of bookshelves and tables, and pull out mycoursework for Fear and Ink, looking over my notes from class. I’m amazed that they’re actually coherent, since I was so distracted.
Silas walks in a moment before nine with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face. His blond hair is hidden under a backward hat, and it’s ridiculous just how good that look is on him.
His body is toned and muscular, noticeable even under his casual hoodie and joggers. He makes the athleisure vibe look damn good. My eyes slowly peruse his body before meeting a set of pretty blues. His eyebrow hitches, catching me blatantly checking him out. I clear my throat, turning away from him as he walks over and takes a seat.
“Did you read the collection of short stories?” I ask, getting right to business, even as his rich, woodsy aroma takes over my senses.
“I did.”
I arch a brow at him. “Really? Which was your favorite?”
“The Fall of the House of Usher.”
“Really?”
“Really. Rodrick’s spiral into madness and Poe’s use of the house as a character . . . do you think? Never mind.”
“No, tell me. Do I think what?” I say quickly, wanting him to keep engaging with me.
“That our environment . . . can it contribute to how we feel? Like the house of Usher aided in his decline?”
I think for a moment. I’ve always been intuitive, overly sensitive to environments, auras, and energy, and I know my answer before I reply, but I don’t want to steer him one way or the other if he’s spiraling, questioning things himself. I’ve always felt as though Corvus played a bigger role in people’s destinies here. That our fates are etched out by the magic with which the school was founded. I feel it pushing me one way or the other, edging me in the direction it wants me to go.
“I think some people are sensitive to their environment and other humans, while others aren’t. So, yes, I think it absolutely can contribute to how we feel. What’s your favorite part?”
“The epigraph.”
I tilt my head to the side, studying his crystal-blue eyes and the honesty reflected back in them. The epigraph ofThe Fall of the House of Usheris a metaphor for one being deeply isolated, but desiring connection andmore.
Maybe everything I’ve been feeling lately has been pushing me toward this. Toward Silas. Maybe I’m hismore.
Chapter 7
Silas
Asher’s laugh bellows out around us, echoing off the old stone walls of the archives. The resulting smile on my face is natural and unrestrained, and it feels so damn good. Leaving him in the archives at the beginning of the week after he was clearly trying to joke with me, when we were opening up to each other and bridging the gap of all the shit I’ve forced between us, was next-level douchery. I had expected him to be done with me completely. I’d deserve it. But instead of pushing me away, he picked up like nothing had happened at all, covered for me in Professor Thorne’s class, and is here now like I haven’t been a dick the last three years.
I want to prove to him that I can do this, work on letting myself relax and not allowing every little thing to get to me, while also prioritizing my academic well-being. I’ve spent so long hiding behind this asshole persona that I’ve almost forgotten who I am at my core. I’ve started to like who I am when I’m around Asher.
I don’t want to live like that anymore. Which is why I got my ass up at the crack of dawn and showed up to class wheneverything inside me was telling me to go back to sleep and skip, and why I’ve vowed to myself not to be late to any of our sessions. I’m not doing it just for Asher, but fate has twisted and pulled and tied me to him, giving me an extra reason to focus on the things that matter.
“Okay, how the hell did you end up having to run bare-assed to your car?”
“It was during homecoming, and the cheerleaders pulled a prank, snuck into the locker room while we were on the field to steal all our shit. Guess who was the only dumbass who left his locker unlocked?”
“No frigging way, man! How didn’t you get expelled?”
“I had to wait in the locker room until everyone had left. The guys thought it was hilarious, and no one would give me anything to cover up. Since I didn’t want to put my sweaty jockstrap and shorts back on, I used a small hand towel to cover my junk and bolted into the night.”
