Page 12 of Because of Us

My gaze drifts away from her to the faded brick building, and maybe it’s just the sun but the warm glow spreads through me again.

“Maybe it’s stupid to give away ten million dollars. But this feels right.”

To her credit, she doesn’t baulk or skip a beat when I admit how much money I’m donating.

“I think that’s beautiful. I love that you want to help.”

Leaning down, I give in to temptation. My lips find her mouth, brushing against her soft lips. I feel her body relax into mine. The kiss is tender and gentle, less ferocious than the ones we shared before. When we part, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes look moist.

“Will I ever not miss you?”

I brush away her tear with my thumb. I miss her too, and I doubt I’ll ever stop.

MADISON

Walking into my second week of university I have a spring in my step. Seeing Oliver over the weekend threw out every notion I had to forget about him, to pretend our week of bliss never happened. But at the community centre he seemed different. Natural. Calm. Content.

He seemed like himself again.

How he was before I officially became a student and our relationship crossed boundaries. Happiness spread through him in that week. And I saw a hint of that come back as we sat by the garden.

He isn’t like that here. Inside these walls he feels closed off. His shoulders are stiff and he never smiles. His laugh is forced. Even his nods are different, short and sharp instead of the enthusiastic head bob I’ve seen.

I want to know why. Is he putting on a show for someone? Or trying to fit into the mould of how he thinks a professor should act?

Whatever it is, I’m going to get to the bottom of it. I just need to convince him that what we have is worth a little running around. We deserve more than stolen moments behind closed doors, but I will take what I can get.

I shouldn’t feel this deeply for a man I’ve only known a couple of weeks, but my heart is constantly beating for Oliver. For Professor Fraser. It sounds so wrong, but it feels so right. One week was not enough, and I know there is no turning back for me.

An email notification pings on my phone, earning me a sour look from the student sitting across from me in the library.

“Sorry,” I whisper. Pulling my phone out of my bag I switch it to silent before opening the email.

I am irrevocably fucked. The universe is out to get me, and I have no idea what I did wrong to deserve this.

Skimming through the details of my scholarship, I struggle to pay attention to what I’m reading. I can’t pull my eyes away from the name of the professor that has been assigned as my advisor.

From: Creative Arts Director Professor Dausset

Subject: Creative Writing Advisor - Professor Oliver Fraser

Message: A meeting has been scheduled for Tuesday 9.30 a.m. in Professor Fraser’s office, located in the CAF building.

Kind of them, to send me an email before the scheduled meeting. Shame it only came through with five minutes to spare. And I don’t even know where the CAF building is.

“Shit!”

I scurry to gather my books into my tote while I ask the grumpy student for directions.

“Creative Arts Faculty?” He scoffs.

Of course! Except that it’s on the other side of campus. I doubt I’ll make it in time, but I rush through the courtyard anyway.

Slamming through the door at 9.34, my chest heaves as I try to catch my breath. Dropping my hands to my knees I attempt to slow pulse.

“Madison?”

Oh God, his voice. It’s like every time we are apart, I forget just how deep and guttural his voice is. It tugs at my insides and sends tingles down my thighs. Just as my heart was returning to a stable rhythm, it skips a whole stack of beats before racing away again. Back to the sprint it tends to perform whenever Oliver is around.

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