Along came Avery

2 7 . b e t

We're looking at each other. It's like a movie; the people around us seem to be blurred figures moving and the world is drowned out to a high pitched zing sound. I don't know if my heart has stopped beating or if it's beating as fast as the speed of light. My body is fully functioning, I think. No, I know, because the thrusting of anxiousness in my veins is very much loud.

He's at the back of the room, where we basically sit ever since we figured we're in the same lecture class, and I'm all the way in the front, trying to decide whether or not to skip out on this lecture session and run and go to my dorm — which would also be stupid because then he'd come, and if he ever manages to get access into my room without a struggle, I'd never see the end of this day in peace — or, take in what he obviously is telepathically saying to me and come. Go sit next to him, like he's beckoning me to come. Obey him, or deal with him later.

What's worse, dealing with Avery alone where all respect and personal space is pretty much thrown down, stepped and spat on, or dealing with him now, where I could scream for help if and when he pushes me to that point?

I just confessed to Nate that I'm attracted to Avery. He didn't take that well. How would he feel if he found me seated next to Avery — if not on his lap — after saying I'd deal with him. He'd think the 'I'll deal with him' meant I'll sit on his lap and obey his command like a lapdog because that's what I am; his lapdog.

A slave. Like he said. Willingly, really.

Come. That look. I know that look.

I decide on the latter. For the sake of my marks, I'll remain in this lecture session, but I won't sit next to him. I'll sit far away from him. I'll sit right in the front, at the very corner. On the other side of the room from him. And that's what I do. I can't always obey him, and he can't always control me.

Tuning back into reality, I blink at him, watching him watch me. The one time his curtains for hair covering his eyes would be useful, because those hazel eyes tell a story I don't want to know. I watch as the corner of his lips raise and then he bites his lower lip when his eyes drop down to his hands. He knows.

I don't want to care. For Nate. This is for Nate.

I hold the straps of my side bag tighter and then move towards the other side of the room. With tense hands, I place my bag down on the table and settle on the chair, scooting it in. I then look out the window, taking slow breaths to calm my breathing.

Soon enough, the lecture session starts and just like that, everyone settles in their desires seats. I try to focus on what the sir is saying — something about the project we're supposed to do — or what he's going on about that has the students laugh now and again, but my mind is on him, Avery. He doesn't act out, he hasn't even moved from the other side of the lecture room to sit next to me. Have it, there's literally an open seat here and it's taunting my mind like no other. It makes me anxious, it makes my knee bounce and my lips roll on my mouth.

He wouldn't possibly act up and humiliate me in front of everyone, right?

Slowly, I turn my head towards the back of the room, towards where he is, and for sure, there he is. Seated where he was. His back is straight, eyes focused to the front and his face not holding even one emotion. He seems relaxed, almost doll-like, almost like a still being that isn't real. A wax statue that looks real from far.

It literally holds me captive. Just the way his hair sits over his forehead and his eyes are partially covered. How his side profile makes sense, just works. Just how everyone in this room can sit and completely not see him, likes he's one of them. Like he's blended almost to the point of not existing. I'm there blinking, staring at him.