Emily: Hello Kitten (The ‘Hello’ series)

27. Chapter 27

twenty-seven

I sit in the library, tapping my pencil on the table, ready to work on my essay and my assignment. Wait, shit. My essay. I must have forgotten it on Adrian’s desk.

I glance at my watch and know he’s still there. His office hours aren’t done yet, and I can quickly grab it, get some work done if he doesn’t distract me again, and then head to my dorm.

The chair scratches the dark wooden floors and I make my way out of the library and to Adrian’s office.

My brows knit as I see the door to his office is open. Did I forget to close it? When I hear the words creeping though that small crack, I’m hesitant. My heart beats faster as my hands shake.

“I think we can have some fun,” Dr. Spence says in a sultry voice I never heard fall from her lips.

“Clarissa, really, I–I don’t think we should be more than colleagues,” Adrian says.

“Why?”

Silence again. He sighs. “I’m not… No, please. I don’t want to compromise our working relationship.”

“Oh, it won’t. It will improve it,” Dr. Spence says, and I dare to peek through the small opening, watching her inch closer.

“Clarissa.” His hands are on her shoulders and she leans up. “I need you to stop.”

And then her lips are on his. His eyes flick to the door and mine widen.

I hurry away, run as tears sting my eyes. I don’t go back to the library and escape to my dorm.

I have no idea how I got in my bedroom or how I even got changed, but my thoughts almost drown me. I need something to make me forget.

My phone buzzes over and over again, and I take it out of my pocket to take a peek.

Where are you?

Nothing happened, Emily.

I heard what he said. I saw what she did. I know, I know I’m making myself crazy now.

She came onto me, there’s nothing between us. I promise.

Kitten, please pick up.

I type a reply and I hate that I’m even replying.

She just accidentally fell on your lips?

My heart makes me do stupid things. I know that. But am I wrong for wanting an escape after I saw him kiss her? Fuck, why did I fall for him?

Let me tell you what happened, please.

Adrian

Fuck, where is she? That look of hurt blazed on Emily’s face. Even if I could only see it through the crack in my door, it broke my heart. Clarissa tried to pull me back to her.

I’m taken. Hell, I’m half convinced I’m in love with Emily and all she’s ready for is for us to be sex. Our date night last weekend was amazing, but she goads me, teases me, works me up until all I can think about is fucking her. It’s not fair that she has me by the balls like that.

But she does. She works me up, has me under her thumb, has me twisted and confused. I don’t even give a fuck about the danger. She’s worth it. And I want to prove it to her.

Even though it’s against the rules, I drive over to her dorm. She’s there, panting, braced on her knees. Her face is twisted in an emotion I’ve never seen. She’s never looked that upset. Not when she temporarily ended things with me at the wedding, not on the drive home, not ever.

And I hate being the reason that look is on her face. But then she stands up and wipes under her eyes. There’s a hard, near vicious resolve in her gaze. That’s the kind of look that results in a man regretting everything he’s ever done, even if it’s tinged with sadness.

So I break another unspoken rule and call her. She doesn’t even check her phone. She doesn’t reach for it. I know she can hear it because I can from where I’m parked. Instead, she finishes cleaning up her makeup, then heads inside the dorm building. I sit there, not sure what to do. I hiss and almost leave a message, but I don’t.

I hate having to keep us a secret. It’s eating me up. I want to dote on her. I want to take her on dates she deserves. I want to show her everything she can have, everything I can give her, simply to make her happy.

There’s no exchange between us. I like making her come. I like making her laugh. I like making her smile, cuddling her close to me when she falls asleep. I want to hear everything she thinks about literature and the world.

How the hell did I fall so hard for this girl in such a short amount of time? She was right—we should have left this as a one-night stand, but maybe even then I was drunk on her. She feeds something in me, something I can’t explain. But she makes the world feel brighter, makes my smile feel more genuine, and all I want to do is see what she accomplishes, to be there to cheer her on, to encourage her.

“I want you to read, just to me,” she said before I pounced on her in my car.

No, it’s not just sex between us, but sex is all she’ll accept from me right now. I can’t lay her down on my couch, put on some rain sounds, then read her whatever book she wants to hear, horror, romance, classic, fucking medieval pieces. I’ll do the accents, I’ll make her laugh, make her cry for the characters in the story. I will give her everything.

I end up going to get dinner after sending more texts that don’t get replies.

When I park in the commuter lot as Public Safety does their rounds, I feel like a fucking stalker. Finally, I head back to her dorm and add to the list of two unanswered texts.

Stay safe for me, kitten.

I’m worried about you.

Are you okay?

I stare at my phone, hoping she’ll at least read it, but she doesn’t. Because the text doesn’t go through. I groan, then see her walking out with her friends. They’re laughing, but it doesn’t touch Emily’s eyes.

Her friend from class, Beth, bounces with her, and I hear her say, “I’m so excited!”

Because Emily hasn’t been going out lately.

I know I should trust her. I know that she’s free to do what she wants with her friends. She can drink, she can have fun. As long as one person in the group is responsible, that’s all that matters, but fuck, I want to protect her.

It’s hypocritical. I got plastered regularly in college. I passed out at a frat party and woke up under a mountain of red Solo cups. The nights I don’t remember while having fun are more than I want to admit, but I didn’t have to worry about being drugged. I didn’t have to worry about some large dude carrying me up to his room and doing terrible things to me.

Whether it’s fair or not, Emily is in more danger than I would ever be at a frat party, and considering how eager that boy in the hallway was for her attention, her kisses, and more….

“Don’t assume. Don’t assume. College boys say stupid things. It doesn’t mean they follow through,” I tell myself.

But I care. I care to the point that it’s bordering on insanity because Emily just won’t let me in. She doesn’t share the real shit with me. She keeps holding back. Maybe it’s because of the age difference. Maybe I’m pushing her too hard, but it’s eating me up.

There’s no way I can storm into a frat party and pull her out. I can’t hop from party to party without being recognized, either. It will absolutely ensure that I’m fired, even if I don’t find Emily.

I want to text her again, I’m desperate to, so I try to resend the message. We just need to talk things out.

But a darker part of me thinks about Clarissa. I wouldn’t have to worry about that woman going out drinking to deal with a misunderstanding. I wouldn’t have to hide myself away and sit patiently, or impatiently, in this case. I could just make sure she’s okay, we’d talk it out, and we’d move on.

“I chose this. I know she’s younger,” I remind myself, because it’s true.

Clarissa is attractive. Having a relationship with her would be easy. We’d have more in common on a surface level, but it’s not Clarissa I ache for. It’s not Clarissa I’d give up my job for. It sure as hell isn’t Clarissa whom I’d tolerate this level of silence for.

Having fun. With friends. Talk tomorrow.

I reread the text from Emily three times. I’m not sure whether it’s passive-aggressive, if it’s straightforward, or if she’s just blowing me off. It’s an answer of some kind.

I send another text.

Be safe, have fun. I promise we’ll talk it out. Be angry with me tonight, but please be willing to listen tomorrow.

Again, it doesn’t send.

Is the universe warning me against texting her too much? It’s failing.

I resend the message.

No answer.

I wait thirty minutes and head home. I start getting changed and send another message. She’s fucking with my head. I don’t even know why it matters, but I look at the trail of texts.

Are you angry with me?

I need to stop, but I don’t. I can’t. I need her to be okay. And the longer the silence stretches, the worse I feel. There’s something heavy and sharp in my stomach, rolling around and threatening to rip me to shreds.

I know something’s wrong. I’m sure of it.

It’s nearly one a.m. and no amount of grading, watching T.V., or self-talk has stopped me from sending more messages than I want to admit. None of it has distracted me from the nausea filling my head.

Kitten, answer me .

It’s a plea. I don’t care if she’s drunk. I don’t care if she’s dancing on tables or teasing frat boys. I don’t care about any of it as long as she’s safe, and some base instinct is screaming that she’s not.

After five minutes, I see the bubbles pop up saying she’s answering me. My whole body relaxes, a temporary reprieve from all the tension that’s been clenching my muscles until I actually read the message that appears.

Emily is okay. She’s really drunk and someone drugged her drink, but she only had a sip. I don’t think it’s too bad. She’s in the shower right now with me—her roommate, Beth—and her other bestie. We’ve got her. I promise.

Absolutely not. I’m not going to do nothing! My woman, my Emily, my Kitten is hurt. I want more answers. I want a fucking phone call, but if Beth doesn’t recognize my contact information, then I’m not going to let her recognize my voice.

I get in my car and drive over. If she needs to go to the hospital, that’s where she’s going. Whether she wants to or not. I don’t even care if it outs me.

She should be at a hospital. I’ll come over and help.

It takes a long while of not knowing before the bubbles reappear. As I wait for them, I consider calling. Beth wouldn’t do something that would hurt Emily. She might care later that I’m a professor and I’m with her best friend, but she won’t care in the moment. I’m sure of that.

If she gets any worse, we will. The last thing she needs is her parents knowing about what she does on weekends. Just relax and she’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep.

The answer doesn’t make me feel any better. I call. I shouldn’t. It violates plenty of rules, but I don’t pay attention to any of that. If Emily has been drugged, the police need to be involved. The hospital needs to be involved, and I need to make sure that she’s not hurt.

A sigh answers me, and I hear vomiting in the background and a weak moan.

“I promise, she’s fine. You don’t need to say anything, okay? She didn’t have much. She’s going to be okay. Your coming over is only going to embarrass her more, okay?” Beth asks.

“’Kay,” I answer, lowering my voice to a hoarse whisper.

“It’s cute that you’re this worried, though. And the necklace is cute too. She keeps saying it’s more important to keep her necklace out of the way than her hair, and that’s saying something. I promise, she’ll be okay,” Beth assures.

“Did he…” I can’t let the words out. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Keeping my whisper is hard. “Why did she…”

“We were drinking. It was a party. I was so happy she came out. I mean, granted, she seemed a little frustrated, but she wasn’t being sloppy, but…” Beth takes a breath, but I hear her speak to Emily. “That’s good. We’ll get you more water. If you can hold that down, you can have food.”

Emily’s voice is too shaky and low for me to hear, but Beth handles the rest of our conversation. “He didn’t touch her. She noticed right away and she stayed where I put her, with a trusted person, while I got Danielle. She’s safe. We’re taking care of her. I’ll make sure she knows how much you care, Tinder guy.”

Beth emphasizes the words before she hangs up. I have a feeling she knows exactly who I am. I have a feeling that she knows what Emily and I are doing. I owe her something more than good grades for allowing this, for making sure that Emily is taken care of, for being such a good friend when it would be easy to out us.

I’ll take owing her as long as my Kitten is safe. As long she’s cared for, as long as I have a chance to make things right.

Tomorrow, I’ll do just that. I’ll show her I have restraint. I won’t walk into her dorm room. I won’t hold her hair for her. I won’t scoop her up and take her to a hospital. I’ll go home and wait for my Kitten to come back to me and let me take care of her again, because she will. It’ll be her choice this time.

So I head home with my fingers crossed on the drive, my fingers crossed when I let myself into my house, and my fingers crossed as I put myself to bed.

Emily will come back to me because she chooses to. We’re stronger and bigger than this miscommunication.