Bound by Obsession (Shadowed Souls #2)

43. Chapter Forty Three

I nterlinking my fingers with Avery’s, we stand tall against the lingering stares. From the very moment we stepped through the door of English Lit, the whispers started. They ripple across the room, low and sharp, approaching us from every direction. To her credit, Avery doesn’t falter. Not that I’d expected her to, but she did indeed cry through sex with me last night. Most would have insisted on stopping, but I found it endearing. Being able to cradle her into my chest, kiss her tears, slowly pump my hips and fill her completely. She needed grounding, and I vowed to always be her safety net.

Squeezing her hand, I lead us further inside. Even Mrs. Patrick is watching us carefully, no doubt fully aware of the fight that broke out across our lawn two days ago. Everyone knows, since there are videos and photos circulating the student messaging board from onlookers I didn’t realize were present, and if there were any doubts, my face proves it. Sporting one black eye, a split lip and busted knuckles on one hand, I don’t appear as in control as I like. But it’s not me I’m currently concerned about.

As we make our way to the seats near the back, Avery’s eyes remain fixed ahead. A couple of people glance our way, then quickly turn back to their friends, whispering behind cupped hands. I catch snippets, words like fight and slut , harsh and ugly. My stomach twists, a flash of anger heating up my chest, but I force myself to keep walking. Once seated, I attend to Avery first, removing her highlighters from her backpack whilst she opens her notebook. Handing her the purple one, her favorite, she catches my gaze and smiles discreetly.

“It will pass,” I whisper, quietly reassuring. “They’re jealous, is all. You’ve taken quite a few studs off the market.” At this, a small laugh bubbles from her.

“A stud now, are you?” A familiar twinkle returns to her blue eyes. I lift a brow, tugging her chair closer so I can breathe into her ear.

“Am I not? Do you need an action replay of last night?” Avery tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks coloring faintly as she lets out another soft laugh. The tension between her shoulders eases just a bit, and I can’t help but smile, knowing I’ve at least chipped away at her nerves. It’s these little moments, the quiet ones, that feel like victories. When the chaos outside doesn’t matter, and it’s just us.

The whispers continue and I feel eyes burning holes into all sides of my head. But I don’t care. If anything, it makes me pull Avery closer, like we’re in this impenetrable bubble where no one can reach us. She feels it too.

“Did you sleep at all?” I ask quietly, handing her the textbook I’d pulled from her bag. Her fingers brush mine as she takes it, and I catch the quick flash of shame she tries to hide. There’s no reason for it. I cherish the moments where Avery falters. The times when she lets me see her in a way the others don’t get to.

“Barely,” she admits, her voice low. “But I’m okay. What about you?” I shrug. I’d stayed up most of the night watching her after she fell asleep, her head resting on my chest, her breath slowly evening out after the sobs. It wasn’t until sunrise that I let myself drift off.

“Same.”

Mrs. Patrick clears her throat at the front of the room, a signal for everyone to settle down. The murmurs still float around, although quieter now, like a persistent hum in the background. As class begins, I’m not paying much attention to the lecture. My thoughts are stuck on last night. The way Avery held onto me like I was her anchor, like without me, she’d drift further away. How she murmured she loved me, placing wet kisses over my neck and collarbone. All that mattered was the gentle shift of our bodies, seeking pleasure from the despair she was battling.

Avery scribbles notes in her notebook, occasionally underlining something in purple, her focus entirely on the words. But every now and then, her finger traces small circles on the back of my hand. A quiet gesture, just for me.

There is no chance of me focusing today. I’m sleep deprived, but also, nothing Mrs. Patrick is saying holds any interest to me. Everything regarding my grades, my scholarship, this campus, it all seems so inconsequential. Not that Wyatt would let me throw away all of my hard work, nor would I insult him by flunking out now. He’s been my biggest supporter.

My attention shifts to the way the winter sun streams through the windows, casting soft shadows across the room, playing over the rows of desks, and then back to Avery. Beneath a woolen burgundy hat, her hair is loose today, falling around her in golden waves. She’s opted for fur-lined boots, skinny jeans and a casual beige hoodie in which her shoulders are squared, her spine rigidly straight. She’s holding it together in front of all these people, despite everything, making my chest expand with pride. She’s so damn strong. She glances at me again, catching my stare, and for a second, the world outside of us ceases to exist.

Mrs. Patrick’s voice pulls me back into the present. She’s stepped away from her desk, walking slowly across the front of the room. Her cane clicks softly, her voice measured and calm.

“-which leads me to announce your next assignment for this semester. Up to now, we’ve focused on the analytic composition of works by the greats. It’s time to move onto creating some of those pieces yourselves. For this topic, I will give you a subject theme and leave it up to you to decide how to present it.” She stops, her eyes briefly landing on Avery and me before moving on. “The theme for this project is ‘ Hidden Demons’ .”

The room goes quiet, the last few whispers dying out as students start to perk up, intrigued. Avery’s hand tenses on mine for a split second, and I give it a gentle squeeze, reassuring her without looking away from Mrs. Patrick.

“There are several ways to approach this. Hidden demons can manifest in various forms, both literal and metaphorical,” she continues, pacing slowly. “I want you to explore this in a way that feels meaningful to you, but your arguments must be supported by source material from English literature. Think about how authors grapple with inner conflict, human flaws, and societal pressures in their works.”

The students around us start scribbling in their notebooks, quickly jotting down words of significance, including Avery. Mrs. Patrick uses a clicker in her hand to bring up a long list of examples on the whiteboard, using her cane to point at each one in turn.

“You might consider characters in literature who battle personal demons, like Macbeth’s obsession with power or Hamlet’s struggle with indecision and madness. Or perhaps you’ll focus on societal demons, such as class struggles in works like Great Expectations, or racial injustice in To Kill a Mockingbird. Whatever your chosen demon is, link it back to a piece of text to demonstrate that everyone has struggled, and everyone has the possibility to prevail.”

Avery’s highlighter freezes mid-sentence. I raise a brow, having shared the same thought. The timing of this topic seems highly suspect, but also perfect. It will give those seated nearby a reason to delve into themselves and realize no one is perfect. We all have things to hide. I catch Mrs. Patrick’s gaze and she ducks her head, continuing with her whiteboard presentation.

“I expect your pieces, whether they be essays, poems or another medium of self-expression, to be thoughtful and well-researched,” Mrs. Patrick says. “Draw from the text, analyze deeply, and consider how these hidden demons affect the world around you.”

Avery finally moves, highlighting the word demons in her notes. She doesn’t look at me this time, but I know she’s thinking. She’s going to throw herself into this assignment, lock onto the theme and let it sit in her mind until it makes sense. It’s good to have a focus outside of the turbulence happening in her life, although this time, it feels awfully personal. The bell rings soon after and we’re packing up again, a rushed skip in Avery’s steps.

“Hey, where are you going?” I rush through the throng of people now dividing us. Catching up to her, I link my arm through Avery’s just as she’s about to turn in the wrong direction.

“I’m heading to the library,” she frowns as if I’m the one who’s forgotten where she’s supposed to be, but allows me to pull her through the packed hallway, too focused on her thoughts and oblivious to those throwing disgusted looks as we pass.

“This project is going to be brilliant actually,” a wide smile spreads across Avery’s face and I know I’ve officially lost her. “I was thinking we could look at The Picture of Dorian Gray. We can tie it into the way Wilde explores vanity and the moral consequences of living a life of hidden indulgence. Oh!”

Avery quickly pulls to a stop and I think she’s realized the time. “Or how about the psychological battles in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, where the characters’ darkness comes to the surface? Wyatt has given us so much material to work with for that.” Maybe not then.

“Angel, you have ballet in ten minutes.” I tilt my head, hating the way her face falls. The excitement ebbs away and I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. But if Avery starts skipping dance, especially when Huxley told me about the rumors that are circulating, people might get the wrong impression. They’ll start to believe their words have power and no one is going to keep my girl from her passion.

“Do I have to go?” Avery whines, her legs wooden now as I tug her along. I kiss the top of her head with a small smile.

“Yes, you do. I made Axel a promise that you’d need a muscle relaxing bath when you get back. He’s going to join you.” Avery groans but doesn’t resist, letting me pull her through the hallway. Her steps are sluggish, but I know she’ll feel better once she’s there, dancing like she always does. Graceful, fluid, free.

As we reach the studio, I nudge her playfully. “It’ll be fine, I’m going to stay and watch.” Avery looks up at me, her lips curving into a small smile, and for a moment, the shadows in her eyes lift. She heads out back to go change while I pick a spot near the piano to sit against the mirrors. Jenna and Nikko laugh mockingly as they pass and I remain unaffected. None of the rumors or the stares matter, because they won’t break us and they sure as shit won’t push Avery out of doing what she loves, or loving who she wants. She’s too pure for that.