Campus King | 18+

Chapter Fifty-Five

When I woke up the next morning, Tristan was gone, but this time he left a note saying he'd be back again tonight. I think I reread the note a hundred times over the course of the day — because I missed him, but also because I was still trying to wrap my head around us being a couple.

During the day, communication was a challenge with my broken phone so I had no way of talking to him — but on the other hand, my mother tolerated Bailey enough to let her call my mom's phone to talk to me. I texted while she spoke, but unfortunately, I couldn't tell her anything because my mom would definitely read the messages. Bailey understood that without me having to say anything and promised to visit soon. I really needed to ask my dad for a new one.

My mother had me drinking gallons of ginger tea. I was starting to hate the taste, but even I had to admit that it helped with the inflammation. Most of the time I was in my room watching something on my laptop, with the occasional interruption by my mother bringing me more tea. Jace was back to school so I only saw him in the evenings when he came to bug me. He did that sibling thing where he'd randomly walk into my room, stare at me, hang around, or turn and leave. We even had a couple of movie nights together.

Besides that, I was left waiting for Tristan. It was hard to keep the anticipation at bay every night when I counted the minutes until he'd be here. I made sure not to take any of my meds before his visit, wanting to be fully present when I was with him. However, this time before he came, I laid out a notebook and pen to write if needed.

One night, Tristan decided to explore my room — all the while asking me yes and no questions about everything. It was fun lying on my side, watching as he examined each item with care. Sometimes his observations shocked me — like when he found my old childhood teddy bear and remarked on how clean and intact it was, nearly perfect. And then he correctly guessed that it was because of my mom, who never let me get any of my toys dirty or broken. My dolls were in the same pristine condition.

He added that his sister's dolls were all brutally killed off — some by decapitation, some because they were too ugly to keep existing and required a Viking funeral to be sent off. Their parents weren't too happy with them when they accidentally set the whole trash bin on fire.

It made me feel vulnerable on a level I hadn't before, but I liked it too. I loved his open curiosity about my life, even the sadder parts of it. It would be a lot to unpack and work through, and I promised myself I would tell him everything, even the things I tried not to remember, but not right now. We had the rest of our lives for that, right?

Inevitably, he'd climb into bed with me, pressing close because it was only a twin bed, but neither of us had any more complaints. We always slept plastered together anyway, one of my legs always thrown over him. That didn't mean I never missed his giant bed, or at the very least, my bed. There was just something about a big bed and a man who knew what to do on it.

Sometimes I'd write questions in the notebook, and he'd patiently answer all of them. Other times, he'd just kiss and touch me, but they were innocent gestures, and the kisses never escalated into anything else because he didn't want to risk hurting me. While I missed the sex, and being petted every night wasn't helping things, I found myself enjoying just listening to him talk.