Page 70 of Love in Pieces

?CHAPTER 27

Abby

Dallas drops me offin the turnaround of the parking lot. Dr. Kraus asked me to come in today to discuss a few things work-wise, so I packed up my things and asked Dallas to bring me in, not wanting to risk Sam seeing my motorcycle. Dallas didn’t hesitate when he jumped off the couch to get ready to leave.

“Half hour you said?” he asks, ducking to peer at me through the open passenger window.

“Probably. Shouldn’t take long.” I cling to my backpack straps, as they are the only thing providing me with a sense of stability.

“You sure you don’t want me to tag along? I can always wait outside the door until you’re done.”

“No,” I say far too quickly for it to be a casual response. “I’ll uh ... I’ll be fine.” Now is not the time to tell Dallas that I work for his father. I’ll tell him when everything levels out a bit, when life isn’t so hectic.

“Okay. I’ll be here when you’re done. Call if you need anything. And I meananything.” He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

I think he might be just as stressed as I am.

I gather as much confidence as I can in my features and turn around. I round the corner of a large brick building where I’m now fully alone. No one to watch me. No one to save me from the big bad wolf. It’s terrifying. Even without Sam watching my every move, I still don’t think I’ve felt complete solitude. He’s always simmering just under the surface. Not to mention I’ve moved into a new apartment with two other guys, quickly fell for one of them, and can hardly go anywhere, let alone do anything by myself for fear of Sam showing up. It’s exactly what I need right now, but it’s also severely rage-inducing.

The steps of the large intricately carved literature building are cracking and chipping at the edges. Little pebbles of concrete scatter the corners. I pull open one of the heavy double doors. A few students mingle, but the hallway to the professors’ offices is empty and quiet. I knock on the dark wood of Dr. Kraus’s office door.

“Come in,” he yells through the thick wood. I step over the threshold, and it thunks closed behind me. “Hi, Abby. Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice.”

“Of course. I have last week's tests for you anyway.” I slide a manilla folder across his desk and fold my hands in my lap as he opens it.

“Great. These look great,” he says, idly flipping through the stack. He stares at one particular page a little closer.

“So, what did you need from me? Your email didn’t say.”

“Right. Sorry. Have you been writing at all since classes ended? I know it’s still early in the summer, but I may have something you might be interested in.” He leans back in his chair, hands resting on either armrest.

“I have, actually. I’ve been struggling a little with my poems, but I have a short story that I think might have some potential. It’s not finished yet.” I start digging through my bag, searching for the notebook I was working in last night. The same notebook I hastily shoved off my bed before having sex with his son. I push the thought to the back of my mind before the images can pool in my core and flatten the bent pages from how they landed last night. I stand up, moving to the other side of his desk, to hand it to him. I pull the other chair from the corner closer to sit next to him. It takes a lot in me to keep the smile on my face from looking too excited. “I’ve been calling it ‘Dissolution’ so far. I’ve not been able to come up with a solid name for it yet.”

He reads over the opening line out loud. “As the merciless fire rises within me, my bones, my blood, my skin, it all seems so absent, so devoid of feeling. And as I stand alone, the storm raging around me, I can’t help but think of all the carnage around me, even if it’s not visible to the naked eye.” He takes a deep breath. “Wow, Abby, I—” He’s cut off by a knock on the door. We both look up. “Sorry, do you mind? It is office hours right now. Should be quick.”

“Not at all,” I smile.

“Come in.” He says, still holding my notebook.

A tall man walks through the door, and it takes a few seconds for my brain to catch up. Dallas stands there, a hand still on the doorknob. His features are strained as he looks between me and his father. He shifts uncomfortably.

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