That familiar sickening knot of unease twisted inside, starting from the moment Alfred kissed you goodbye and staying with you even now as you sat by your desk studying for AP biology.
The cortex produces three hormones. Remember the three S's: salt – mineralocorticoids, sugar – glucocorticoids, and sex – androgens.
You tapped your highlighter on the blank page of your reviewer notebook, your eyes and brain had disconnected, the lectures you jotted down earlier made no sense to you now. Less because of disinterest but more of discomfort. Berwald was standing right behind you and Allen sat across you reading the last chapters of War and Peace. (Arin was watching basketball practice)
Why couldn't you let go of this suffocating feeling that constricted your throat?
The heavy legs of the library chair scraped the hardwood floor as you lugged it closer to the desk. You cranked your neck and dragged the neon highlighter over the soft page in an attempt to concentrate.
The cortex produces hormones. . .salt. . .mineraloids. . .sugar. . .glucoticoids. . .
You dropped the highlighter and rubbed your temples. This wasn't going to work.
"Take a break, you've been studying for forty minutes" Allen muttered, not looking your way.
You gazed over your phone seated next to your scientific calculator and pencil pouch.
Alfred was a grown-ass man, a freaking football player, he could very well handle himself in a fight and yet your pesky, inner Paranoid Penny wouldn't stop stirring the half-digested Twix you forced yourself to eat. (Since discovering Jason's escape you didn't have much of an appetite, but you weren't about to give your friends the incentive to suspect that you may be relapsing back to old habits) Fear was a natural response to finding out your ex had broken out of his asylum and was likely after your behind, but your concern wasn't for your physical wellbeing.
More than once have you compared Jason to your once-beloved Heathcliff, hopelessly devoted and ardently obsessed with nobody else but you. Brooding, dangerous, irresistible. But you were young and gullible. Not about comparing the two, but for romanticizing them into ideal lovers.
Jason's touch was heart-pounding, his attention constantly fought over, but he was no hero, much less someone young and naïve girls should admire.
He was a broken boy who needed compassion and proper health, not encouragement to pursue his violent desires.
He once ambushed an intoxicated Alan Johnson, and though he deserved retribution for being a big bully Jason had overdone it. Dislocated shoulders, multiple oblique fractures on all four limbs, and a barely recognizable face. Back then you felt pity for Alan who had lost the only thing that could give him a shot at college, but you were too beguiled and entranced by your black knight. Now you wanted to yell at your former self's foolishness; you should've realized at that point that Jason's actions were far from romantic. He was psychotic.
He would kill your father. He might attack Allen, or Arin. Hell, he might murder Alfred. He wouldn't take your life away, he would destroy it.
You sent Alfred a text (Hey. I just wanted to kno if you got home ok) and then pocketed your phone. "I'm going to the bathroom"
Allen hummed in reply.
You flushed and then freshened up, Berwald waited outside. Alfred still hasn't texted you back. A wave of noxious thoughts flooded your brain as you walked back to the library, where your table was unoccupied.
"Hey" Allen emerged from behind the bookshelves "Sorry, I went to return my book." And instead of War and Peace he sat with a copy of Oblomov.
"I swear, you eat books like your sister eats basketball players"
"I'm flattered that you noticed" He murmured, delving straight into his newest read and you tried to study again.
For two hours, you blankly skimmed through your notes. For the rest of the evening, Alfred had not contacted you.
Upon reaching the estate you told Berwald to wait for you in the dining room as you were just going to change into a more comfortable pair of pants. A few protests were uttered but you won in the end.
You shut your bedroom door close and dumped your backpack on a beanie bag. You headed for your closet but the flap of your sheer white curtains caught your attention. The balcony? You never left your room without locking it.
As you took reluctant outside, you noticed
It was your first copy of Wuthering Heights. The last time you saw this was—
With shaking hands, you grabbed the book and flipped through, the paper turned on their own as if they knew what to show you. You unfolded a corner of a specific page. Highlighted in pastel pink was the following line: "If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love you as much in eighty years as I could in a day."
The paperback crashed down on your feet.
Arms circled your waist from behind and a stubbly chin snuggled on your shoulder, causing you to shiver.
"Missed me, Ronnie?"
Author's note: I must say, I'm enjoying myself here. Oh, and I'm feeling inspired right now. I don't mean to brag but I SAW MY CRUSH TODAY X3
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FanfictionAlfred F. Jones has the looks, the smarts and the popularity to back up his title as Blackwell's perfect All American Boy. However, one fatal mistake at a party leads to a stranger finding out his biggest secret. (Inspired by Heathers and Wuthering...
