Page 52 of Still Here Without You

And even though I now know what she’s doing, she still sends me tasks every few days, and I still respond. I almost find myself wanting to prolong the class she’s distracting me from just in case the messages stop, but the toll it’s taking is too much.

When the day of my midterm arrives, I wake to find Dylan sitting on my bed, patting my leg. I sit up and check under the covers. Yep, I put briefs on last night.Thank God.“What the fuck, man? That’s a scary sight to wake up to. Since when do we break in to each other’s room?”

He says nothing, but a small smile appears on his face.

My brows furrow as I try to figure out what the fuck is going on. “You’re acting really creepy.”

He finally laughs, and I almost sigh in relief. “Sorry, man. I tried to keep it together, but this is too good.”

“What’s too good?”

He pulls his hand out from behind his back, presenting me with a wrapped box. How he was hiding that, when I hadn’t even noticed his hand was missing, is beyond me.

“This came for you yesterday. Well, it was addressed to me, but the note says it’s for you. I was asked to keep it until today.”

“Oh-kay.” I’m so fucking confused that I just stare at the box still in his hand. “Do you know what it is?”

“I do, and I’m going to have to ask you to take it from me. I want nothing more to do with this.”

I take it from his outstretched hand and study the nondescript white paper. My face scrunches as I turn it around, trying to figure out what the hell it is.

“Do you know who it’s from?”

“Yep,” he says, popping the p. He’s acting so weird, and I don’t like it. I raise an eyebrow, staring at him in a silent plea to leave, but when he doesn’t take the hint, I laugh. “Final question…are you going to sit there and watch me open it?”

His smile widens and he nods. “Hell, yes.”

Unable to wait any longer, I shake my head as I rip off the paper. There’s three fucking layers, and I’m just starting to think this is a joke present when the box packaging comes into view. “Well, fuck me,” I whisper, and then burst out laughing.

“I hope you’re talking to your present and not me,” Dylan jokes with a huge grin on his face, making me lean forward to punch him in the arm. “Gotta say, I didn’t think this was your thing, but if she’s sending it, then I’m guessing you’ve spoken about it.”

I punch him again when his smirk turns into a belly laugh.

“Fucker. It’s clearly a joke.”

“Is it?” He looks at me pointedly, then raises his hands in the air. “Look, man. There’s no judgment here. Be who you want to be.”

I roll my eyes and pick up my phone to call Delilah as I stare down at the package in front of me. I can’t help but laugh again as I wait for the call to connect. I’m currently holding the box for a sex toy. Specifically, one for males. And when I open the box, that’s exactly what’s inside.

Delilah doesn’t answer, so I go about my day, and when I walk out of my midterm with a small smile on my face, despite the subject matter I just spent the last two hours analyzing, I grab my phone to try her again. She sent me what she thought was the ultimate distraction. Once again, it absolutely worked.

Chapter Nineteen

Delilah

“It’sgoingtobea long night, so we need you to collect dinner,” my boss says as I’m packing up for the evening. It’s already nine p.m., and I’m exhausted. Most people here in Paris don’t start work until midmorning, but since I’m an American and the company is English, we have different rules.

I stop what I’m doing and grab a pen and paper, knowing from experience that she’s about to reel off the orders she and the other managers want, without even asking if I’m fine to help out.

“I’ll have my usual from Bisque by D, but Lucia and Phillipe want something from Wildfire. I’ll text you their orders.”

Great, two places, a fifteen-minute walk from each other, and all three of them will expect their meals to be hot. I nod and smile, being the ever dutiful employee I am, before walking out the door, leaving my belongings behind. There’s no doubt in my mind that they’ll have other tasks for me on my return.

Running through the streets of Paris, I’m back in the office forty-five minutes after I left, and considering the burning sensation I’m feeling in both hands, I think it’s safe to say I’m not going to be cursed at in French for delivering a cold meal. I deliver the goods with a smile on my face, but once the bosses are out of sight, I double over in pain. If this stitch is anything to go by, I’m obviously not as fit as I used to be, even though I’m keeping up with going to the gym. And the fatigue…I can’t get on top of it. Even when I had back-to-back cheer practice plus college and games, I never felt this off. A small pang enters my stomach at the thought of cheer. Despite how I was treated in the end, I’m really missing it. Ninety percent of the time those girls had my back. Here, I feel like most of the world’s against me—apart from my small group of friends.

It’s after eleven when I finally get home. I’m so wrecked from the day that I can barely stop the tears that prick my eyes. My roommate, Hanna, texted earlier to say she’s going out. Based on experience, that means she’s likely to be out until sunrise, so I curl up on the couch and stare blankly at the wall.

I should be grateful for this opportunity, and mostly, I am. I’ve made some wonderful friends, met the most amazing people—some of whom have asked me to contact them after I graduate—and the work itself, at least most of it, is exactly what I hoped it would be. The only problem is that while I have days that go really well, most days end with me curled up in a little ball on the floor of my shower, trying to pretend the tears are actually just water droplets from above. No one knows I’ve been feeling this way. I’ve kept it bottled up for so long, I fear I'm going to break. I’m not afraid of hard work; I thrive on it. But the hours I’m working and the way I’m treated by senior management is getting to me.

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