Page 62 of Our Secret Moments

Kit-Cat

I’ll be at the silent study in Grand.

Bring ur own snacks. I don’t share.

Okay. I get it. That was kinda mean.

I’m going to stab myself in the eye with my pen. This shit is ridiculous.

I thought u were a great study buddy, connie???

I'm going to take a cat nap.

Get it?? Cuz my name…

Anyway. Wake me up when u get here.

I’m still waiting, Connor.

The messages start from six-thirty this morning until… How the fuck is it ten-thirty at night? Jesus. Sweat begins to gather at the back of my neck, my legs wobbling when I get to my feet, kicking over the popcorn bag that Wes and I shared.

I’m such an idiot.

“Fuck, Wes,” I shout, pushing my hand through my messy hair. “I was meant to meet Cat two hours ago. Why didn’t you tell me what time it was?”

Wes blinks at me, spluttering. “Woah, wait. How is this my fault? You have eyes and a brain too. There’s literally a clock right there!”

He points at the brown broken clock hanging on one of the shelves in our lounge. “That clock has been broken since we moved in, you imbecile,” I mutter, shoving as much shit into my bag as possible, zipping it up and swinging it over my shoulder.

“It has?” he asks. I just stare at him, wishing my eyes could somehow eliminate the sheer stupidity in his brain. “I thought I was just lucky that whenever I walked in here it was always one-thirty-two.”

“You’re an idiot,” I mutter before slamming the door.

I hightail it through campus, my heartbeat roaring in my ears as I try to get to her in record speed. I’m fast on the pitch, but with everyone now leaving ready to go out to a party, doors are swinging open in my way as sophomores rush past me like their life depends on it, it’s a fucking task.

I shouldn’t have gotten too caught up in those movies.

I shouldn’t have let Wes play more and more when I couldn’t get enough.

I should have checked my phone like a normal fucking person and got to her when she needed me, not hours later when she should have gone back to her dorm. Half of me is not even expecting her to still be there, but by the time I enter the dark and deserted library, she’s tucked away in a corner, her head dropped on the table, sheets spread out everywhere.

I rush over to her, tripping over myself as my heartbeat refuses to settle. I manage to make it to the seat next to her, pushing her bag onto the table as I kneel beside her. Her dark braids sweep down her back and in her face, fanning around her as she stirs, twisting her head to face me as I stroke my hand against her knee.

“Cat,” I whisper, not knowing why I’m trying to keep quiet when there’s no one in here. She doesn’t move, but her face twists slightly, nuzzling her cheek further into her forearm. I shake her forearm, trying to gently wake her, whispering her name again.

After a few more tries and when my breathing starts to finally settle, her eyes start fluttering open slightly. I let out a breath of relief. Her eyes are red, tired orbs that are being forced to stay open. She weakly lifts her head off the table, just enough to rest it back down on her forearms, blinking at me as I lean my head down to look at her properly.

I swipe one of her braids out of her eye, tucking it behind her ear. She’s so fucking pretty it hurts. “Baby,” I mutter, stroking my thumb on her cheek. She doesn’t say anything other than a small intangible mumble that tugs at my heart. “Fuck, Cat. I’m so sorry.”

She looks up at me then, her head stronger as I move my hand, smoothing it down her back. The glimmer in her eyes sends a wave of hurt straight through my body. A slight frown tugs at her lips as she looks up at me sleepily.

“You’re late,” she mumbles.

The two simple words almost knock the wind right out of me. “I know. I’m sorry,” I say again, but the words don’t seem to change the look in her eyes. She looks like one of those people who have heard those two words strung together too many times for it to mean anything. When I say them - which I vow to her from now on will be rare - it will mean something,because I never want her to get to the point with me where my apologies don’t mean anything. “How long have you been waiting, sweetheart?”

She finally gains the strength to lean against the back of the chair, pushing her braids over her shoulder whilst I stay at her feet. “I’ve been up since six,” she replies before yawning, rubbing her hand across her mouth. I stroke the inside of her thigh with my thumb again, waiting for her to give me more than that. “But I’ve been here since twelve.”

“It’s ten pm, Cat,” I say shakily, knowing this is completely my fault. Her head lolls back on the seat, blinking up at the ceiling, avoiding me. I look around at the mess on the table — papers, an empty salad box, two water bottles, her laptop and an iPad. “Have you eaten anything? Or left this seat at all?”

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