“Nine,” she informs me, walking over to the window and looking out. “He was watching the apartment opposite. He said weird noises were coming from the window.” I push off the couch and join her. A breeze is blowing in. He must have opened our window to listen. The woman opposite has hers open too, but there are no lights on. Just pitch-black stares back.
“She works nights,” I mumble, rubbing my arms to chase away the chill. “She’d be at work by now.”
“I hear nothing.” Charlotte shrugs, pulling our window closed. “Stephan is a great looking guy,” she announces, changing the subject.
“We’re just friends, Char,” I groan. We’ve had this conversation before.
“Girls can’t be friends with guys.” She shakes her head.
“No, you might not be able to, but other people can.”
“Do you not think he’s hot?” She puts me on the spot, staring at me, willing me to indulge her.
“Why are you doing this?” I huff out, irritated.
“I just want you to be careful, okay? You have to still go to class with him if things don’t work out.”
“He knows we’re just friends. He’s never pursued me for more,” I snap, shaking my head. There’s no way he likes me in that way. He knows I’m broken. “He called me weird,” I add defensively.
She rolls her eyes and goes to the fridge, putting her water inside. “Weird is the new cute. Just make it clear nothing is going to happen between you two.”
“Do you want him for yourself? Because fucking him and then throwing him out the next morning would also make it weird for me.”
“What if I didn’t throw him out?” she counters, dipping her head.
“Charlotte,” I warn. Having to listen to her with him would be more than uncomfortable.
“I’m kidding.” She waves her hand dismissively.
“Are you?” I quirk a brow.
Smirking, she waltzes past me, leaving me watching her bedroom door as it closes on me. Going to my room, I flop down on the mattress, pulling my phone out.
Sorry I crashed.
A soft hum of music sounds from above, then the movement of feet. My limbs grow heavy as I stare up, wondering what he’s doing up there.
Stephan: Charlotte is intense. I’m not sure if she hates me or wants to fuck me. I didn’t want to wake you.
A smile tugs at my lips. I think it’s the latter. It’s Charlotte we’re talking about.
The music above turns off, and the pipes creak to life. He’s showering. An overwhelming ache throbs between my legs. It’s crazy to fantasize about someone I’ve never even seen, but my hand slips down into my panties to alleviate the ache. I’m soaking wet just thinking about the idea of watching the stranger as he showers. Slipping my fingers through my folds, my breath catches. I embrace the moment, allowing myself the pleasure—the fantasy—the stranger. I imagine a strong, powerful body braced against the shower wall, the water pounding down against his tensed muscles. My back arches from the bed as I thrust inside myself with two fingers, pushing the heel of my palm against my clit. I’m lost in my head. My shower guy lifts his head and the penetrating green eyes from the guy earlier pushes me over the edge. I moan out loud as my body quakes, my clit throbbing as I orgasm around my fingers. Heat claws over my chest and up my neck, flushing my skin. A heavy thud sounds above me, causing my eyes to spring open. I’d been so lost in my release, I hadn’t noticed him return to his room.
Can you hear me?
Six
Standing at the traffic lights, Bruno and his owner round the corner, his overweight body making him pant as he comes over to sniff my leg before being pulled away. She doesn’t say hi today. She jerks her head in acknowledgment, and I awkwardly wave as she passes.
The atmosphere on campus is still somber. Abigail’s empty chair taunts me. I’m transfixed, my pen tapping wildly against the table surface. Is it too soon to move the empty seat? “Ms. West, what will your paper topic be?” Professor Ashraf asks. I hear the turning of heads, the creaking of chairs as all attention lands on me. A weight pushes down on my chest, the room feeling two times smaller than moments ago. Sweat begins to pebble on my forehead. Just speak.
“Neurobiological foundations of fear,” I answer, swallowing down my anxiety and flicking the pages of my notepad to distract myself from everyone’s attention. Marco, Marco, Marco covers the entire thing. Slinking down in my chair to make myself smaller, I stare at him, waiting for him to move to someone else. He knows I hate speaking to the room. Eyes burn into me as they all wait to smirk and turn their noses up at my answer.
“Elaborate,” he requests. Asshole.
Concealing the annoyance I feel toward him, I clear my throat. “I want to explore how terror affects cognitive structures.” Training my eyes solely on him, I add, “More accurately, an individual’s response to fear.”
His brow lifts, intrigue hooking the side of his mouth. “Keep going.” He waves his hand in a rolling motion.
Sitting up a little straighter, I add, “I want to know why it affects people differently. Is it the biological or chemical makeup of each individual's brain?” Did Willis Langford feel fear? Or just get off on embedding it in others?
“Interesting. I look forward to reading your findings. Daniels, tell me what your topic will be.”
Relieved he moved on, I write out everyone’s topic, turning when I feel Stephan’s gaze boring into the side of my face. “What?” I crinkle my nose.
“Nothing. I’d just like to take a walk inside your mind.”
Letting out a short bark of laughter, I shake my head. “Trust me, you wouldn’t.”
I nudge him when he’s still staring at me and not answering our Professor, who called his name. Turning to face the rest of the class, he confidently replies, “I’ve always been interested in nature versus nurture.
