Page 5 of Those That Don't Exist
The second week was both better and worse. The great thing was that people were noticing me less. I gave them nothing interesting to say and so the chatter died down. I also got my routine down, I attended classes, I studied in the library, I went to the gym. I was slowly making a dent in the huge workload I’d missed.
I was, however, starting to feel drained from keeping my glamour in place nearly 24/7. I let it down when I was alone in my room but in public I wanted, maybe needed, that barrier. Claire and Bree had questioned it once or twice but ultimately understood.
What they didn’t know was that I was now using it to hide the fact I was losing weight. My appetite wasn’t returning and my skin was getting more alabaster with each day.
I should be eating more, but I had some chicken the other night and it felt like forcing bits of rubber down my throat. My stomach roils thinking about it now. I’m sure my appetite will return soon. Plus, I’ve been managing to workout even more this week.
My gym visits are now twice daily where I can. The more hours I put into knackering my body the more sleep I canget before the nightmare plagues me. And the early morning sessions help refocus my mind, washing away the grief that overpowers me each night.
Is it healthy? Heck no, but I just need to survive this year, graduate, and then I will have options. Maybe I can take some time to figure the rest out before I take a job.
Speaking of unhealthy, I really could use some more coffee right now. I’d lost track of the time in the library this morning causing me to run late to this lecture. I hadn’t had a caffeine fix in nearly three and a half hours, I was crashing hard.
My gaze drifts to the window beside me as I try to listen to the professor at the front. This is my only mathematics class, apparently historians need statistical skills, but as much as I’m trying everything he’s saying is going in one ear and out the other. This isn’t an overly popular class, with only about thirty students, so we are in one of the smaller upper floor classrooms which overlooks the plaza. People watching is an easy distraction over the spreadsheets being shown on the screen.
Several small groups are dotted throughout the space below. It’s well designed, the landscaping offering lots of benches and areas of grass to sit on amongst beds of shrubs and trees. It gives the air of privacy despite being overlooked by the teaching buildings on three sides. The river cuts across the fourth side behind a larger manicured lawn where my attention is currently being drawn too.
A group of six guys are letting off stream by throwing a ball around. Some of them are shirtless in the late autumn sun, which has brought a surprisingly mild day. I wouldn’t say I’m ogling but I can appreciate a nicely sculpted chest. Which these guys absolutely have.
My last relationship ended nearly a year ago. We’d dated for a few months before calling it quits, admitting the chemistry justwasn’t there. He’d been the last guy I’d slept with. I’d been on a few dates but one-night stands weren’t my thing - no judgement to those who enjoy sex in that way but I just need a connection first.
Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy looking at the opposite sex.
One particularly muscled guy, definitely here on a sports scholarship, hurls the ball hard. I watch, my breath hitching, as it sails straight over the others in the group, careening a path towards another male sitting with his back leaning against a nearby tree, a book open in his lap. He’s so engrossed in reading I don’t think he’s going to notice the ball before it smashes into his face. At the last second he lifts his hands and grabs it, seemingly without lifting his gaze. The other men start whooping and jeering at the catch, causing the male to look up.
He looks a little older than most students, maybe a postgraduate, doing further study. Or he could be a new qualified professor. He has this aura of authority that demands my attention.
His long frame, although on the leaner side, suggests he has immense strength. The catch was graceful and the fluidity with which he returns the ball on a powerful throw would make the best dancers jealous.
I also notice his black curly hair bounce over his forehead as he cocks his head to the group. It's long enough on top to form several ringlets, but short at the sides.
My immediate thought is that he’s Fae, the accuracy and speed at which he made that catch certainly suggests he could be Fae, but his ears aren’t pointed. Not fully Fae then. My own Fae blood from my father’s side isn’t strong enough to give me their classic physical traits either. Being demi-Fae is so common now it's not surprising he might have mixed heritage like me. My instincts tell me he’s a male of magic though, not a human man.
His gaze lingers on the group of men as they resume their game for a few seconds before returning to his book.
I wonder what he’s reading. It's a thick tome, much larger in size than your average fiction book. Maybe a textbook? I stare intently as if by will alone the title will jump into my brain. With the angle of the spine and the distance there is no way I’ll be able to discern it from here.
As if he feels me looking, his gaze snaps straight up to mine, our eyes locking. His piercing blues are bright against his tanned coloured skin and strong jawline, and I notice the light stubble coating it too.
Fucking hell, he’s beautiful.
My chest stutters, the oxygen in my lungs catching, and my whole body heats. He’s completely gorgeous. And I’m staring like an idiot.
I quickly turn my attention back to the class, feeling the flush on my cheeks. The professor is still talking at the front, having moved on to the next section.Dammit I’ll have to catch up on this now too.
I keep concentrating for maybe another ten seconds before my eyes wander back to the window. The guy has returned to his book once more. Did he sense me staring at him? Did he even see me through the glass? Not that it’s obscured or anything but it’s so bright outside and we haven't got the overhead lights on in here so it would be harder to make out anything beyond the silhouettes of the class.
No, I tell myself. I’ve got way too much work to catch up on to be drooling over a guy. I return my focus to the lecture.
I should’ve got another coffee before coming to this lesson.
As soon as the lesson ends I’m out the door, running down the stairs opposite, and exiting the building onto the open plaza.
I’m not hoping to catch another glimpse of the guy, I’m not. I need to cross this way to get to my next class.
I can’t help the butterflies in my stomach which take flight as I veer onto the outer path, a choice I make just to avoid the busier ones. I definitely don’t take it so I can walk right past the treehewas sitting under.
The sunshine on my skin feels pleasant as I start across the space. The warmth, however, cools with disappointment as the now lonely tree comes into view, with no guy sitting beneath it.
