The dreams have stopped.
I’m wondering if they were caused by the pills I took every night. I thought I lost them sometime between downing half the bottle and waking up in my bed, freshly scrubbed, a day later, but they turned up on the kitchen table the one morning.
I have a guardian angel. That, or I’ve started sleepwalking.
What else could explain how clean my apartment was when I woke up out of my Zoloft induced Sleeping Beauty like slumber? I remember getting sick multiple times—on my bed, on the floor—as I crawled toward the bathroom.
I thought it was over, then. I was in agony. Miserable. It had to be the end.
But it wasn’t.
I lost consciousness and woke up to a new world. Like a switch had been turned on. There was color. There was music and laughter and love and joy.
I thought it might have been Mrs. Crawford from next door. That she might have snapped out of her feline obsession long enough to notice I wasn’t doing well. Maybe she was the one who found me, who cleaned me up.
But that doesn’t explain the fresh peonies I wake up to every morning. Someone leaves them in a vase on the kitchen table right next to a steaming cup of coffee.
Something bugs me, though.
My pills.
It’s weird. The bottle’s the same, but the pills look different. And although I do fall asleep like before, it’s not the same. I wake up fresh and bright. Yeah, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed if you want the truth of it.
Fyre straightens and glances around the class as if he’s trying to spot which project he hasn’t had a look at yet.
Me! Look at me!
As if he hears my desperate demand, Professor Fyre turns and looks right at me.
An arrow pierces my heart, and I know that fat little baby with the diaper and tiny pair of wings is to blame. My unrequited love for Fyre has grown so much the last fortnight. I want to burst into flames every time I see him. Implode. Explode. I don’t know which, but it’s glorious and violent, and I can barely contain myself when he looks at me.
I squirm in my seat as he moves near, his easy smile growing an extra inch as he comes up to me.
“What do you have for me, Charlotte?”
Everything. My heart, my soul—
I clear my throat and slowly turn around the piece of paper on my desk. I expect Fyre’s eyes to go to it immediately—he must be curious, right?—but instead he just keeps staring at me.
My insides pool.
How is it possible for a single look like that to make my panties wet?
“Absolute perfection,” he murmurs, still with his eyes on me.
Shock turns my skin pale and cold. “Wh-what?”
Finally, ruefully, his eyes slide away from my face and settle on the paper in front of me. He stands there for the longest time, his mere presence igniting a million different nerve points through my body.
“Is it okay?” I ask, glancing between him and my drawing with mounting panic.
I should have used color. I should have tried to paint something. It’s horrible. He hates it. Why did I—?
“A gift,” he says.
It’s insane, but at that moment, I’m convinced he’s talking about the peonies that fill my home with their sweet fragrance every morning.
“You have a gift, Charlotte.”
“Really?” My heart wants to explode out of my chest with pride. “It’s that good?”
His hand slides onto my shoulder. I jolt at the touch, but then I lean into it, barely restraining myself from resting my head against his arm. “You certainly have talent. Come see me after class. I want to discuss something with you.”
My heart climbs up my throat and lodges itself there. I’m aware I’m staring at Fyre’s back as he makes his way to the front of the class, but I can’t help myself.
I look down at my drawing.
It’s a still life. A single peony positioned just-so on my bedroom pillow. One petal came loose and lies beside the flower. I left it there because it looked…right.
The last ten minutes of class flows by like a glacier. I’m coming out of my skin by the time the bell rings and Fyre moves to stand by the door as he greets every one of his students.
It’s the last time he’ll be seeing them, after all.
I take my time packing up and leave the picture for last. Lifting it, I hold it carefully and step out behind my desk.
Across the classroom, Fyre greets the last student, steps outside into the hall, checks left and right, and then steps back inside.
My stomach flutters.
And then drops to my feet when he pulls the classroom door closed and locks it.
Chapter Twelve
Fyre stalks over to me with a grim expression on his face.
Oh my God. He’s angry with me. But why? What did I do? How did I fuck this up?
The hand holding my drawing begins to tremble.
“Sir?” My voice is weak, quivering.
He doesn’t answer me.
I start backing up, my legs bumping against easels and workbenches as I retreat from his looming shape.
Panic has me in its teeth, shaking me like a dog with a rat.
A second before I hit the back wall of the class, Fyre catches up to me. He rips the drawing from my fingers and slaps it down on the desk beside us.
I open my mouth to try and apologize, to explain, but there’s no time.
Fyre grabs my hips and hoists me up. His body slams into mine, pinning me to the wall. I wore a dress today, and maybe that’s why everything happens so fast. There’s no fussing with buttons, no tugging at zips.
Fyre crushes his mouth against mine hard enough to make me gasp. He rips up the hem of my dress, baring my underwear to the classroom’s cool air. With a yank that leaves fabric burn on my skin, my panties are now tangled around my upper thighs.
Strong fingers graze my pussy. Gideon groans against my mouth, breaking our kiss just
