Page 21 of Stutter

“You wrote this?”

I nod.

He takes asecond and scans the notes I’ve scribbled on. A curt nod later and “Okay. Let’s play.”

I sit on the leather jacket eagerly as he sits on the sleek, black piano bench and wait as Lex plays the first morose notes, slow and somber and I wait for my turn to begin, my heart an aching mess at hearing it how it’s meant to be played. Because there’s nobody else I’d rather see help bring my death lullaby to life, than the man that saved mine.

________

Walking to Maverick’s class fills me with absolute dread. But I’ve missed enough of his classes and it’s time to face the music. Jonas is already waiting for me outside of the doorway like a beacon of light with a coffee from the Koffee Kart in hand. Whatever heartache I have, I need to put it aside for now. Finals are coming up before the winter break and I have more than studying on my mind.

Like Simon Hoover.

Jacob Cartwright is dead. Accident.

Tyler Prescott – alleged suicide.

Thaddeus Whitmore II and Ashleigh Whitmore – murder/suicide.

Chase Prescott was a necessary evil, but he’s also dead – accidental overdose.

As Jonas and I jot our names on the sign-in sheet and make it to our usual seats, it feels surreal. It was only three months ago Maverick did me this kindness, one he didn’t have to do, and now here we are, strangers again.

Strangers that know the darkness inside the other, whose souls have twisted and collided, marked the other… but strangers, nonetheless. Once everyone is signed in and seated, the lights are turned off and an interview begins to play.

I take out my notebook to take notes, feeling eyes on me and when I flick my gaze to Maverick, he turns behind his podium to face the interview, ignoring me.

Does he know I’m the one who was dancing for Steven Prescott at Inferno? He must know. He watched from the darkest part of the room and even through the mesh in the eyeholes of my mask, I could feel his eyes boring into mine even from across the debauchery. Our connection was that strong. He was mine and I was his, even if it included two others.

I knew I needed to give him space but I don’t want space anymore. I miss him. Maybe I’m being a brat, maybe I just want his undivided attention, want him to spank me and withhold my orgasms and be brutal with me because that’s when I know he loves me most. When he bullies me before, praises me during while degrading me, and then holds me so tenderly afterward, petting me for being such a good girl.

I squeeze my thighs together, remembering the evening before the detective went to him, how Maverick had tied my wrists to his headboard, being so encouraging when I would try to pull away, but his voice would bring me back down from the brink of insanity only to edge me over and over again, to finally allow me to come when he was sheathed deep inside me, leaning over me, my back arched, his arms under my body, hands in my hair, holding me close, looking into my eyes and demanding my soul.

I gave it freely.

The next morning, I thought he had felt the same while we were lying in bed, sweat dried on our bodies, smelling like the other… until he pulled away from me so quickly and began acting cold and closed off. I had decided that morning to tell himeverything. Jonas came home, and we studied. I had waited around for hours for Maverick to show up even after Damon showed up and told us he had taken care of Dean Whitmore.

I wasn’t going to blab Damon’s nor Jonas’ sins – just mine. Because if he decided to turn me in, I would have accepted my fate.

When he came home while I was upstairs pacing back and forth in his room, ready to spill my secrets and accept his wrath but instead of asking me for my story, he askedDamon.

Damon, who ended up saying truthful, harsh things that only angered Maverick. But it seems Maverick and I… while tasting each other’s souls, we were still keeping secrets from the other.

We were either doomed from the start and there’s no way to get past this, or we can overcome this together but it won’t happen while we’re apart.

I’m so lost in thoughts and memories of Maverick, by the time the lights come back on the classroom brightens and my eyes try to adjust, I realize I haven’t written anything down. I have no idea who our Nurture VS. Nature debate will be on. I bite on my lower lip and feel my brows bunch together. Maverick glances at me for just a second.

“Class is dismissed.”

I stay behind, shooing Jonas away, lingering in the threshold of Mav’s office, the door is open and he sits behind his desk, elbows perched, glasses off, rubbing his temples. He looks sad and a little lost. More memories flood me and all I want to do is crawl into his lap, or crawl underneath his desk and simply comfort him by letting him know he still has me, he isn’t alone. Not anymore. Never again...

I watch for a moment before gathering the courage to knock on his door. My mouth wants to say words. I can feel it in the way my tongue wiggles, saliva wetting it in preparation to speak but when eyes like deep forest moss meet mine, I swallow it down, words stuck in my throat.

“Yes?” He eyes me with a cool indifference. A mask. No longer do his peridot eyes darken to emeralds when he peruses me, nor do his eyes narrow. No. He studies and looks at me as though I’m just another silly little fangirl, wanting to suck the hot professor’s cock.

And so nothing. Nothing comes out. No words. Not even a squeak. Just aggravation at myself rising. My stupidity. My cowardice. My need to make it better but I don’t know how. I shake my head in defeat and turn to go, blinking back tears so he doesn’t see them. So Jonas doesn’t see them.

I’m weak.

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