Page 18 of The Late Hit
It used to be easy to sit at the town house and focus on homework, but lately, it’s a distraction. Macy is officially dating Gregg and they bang 24/7.
Ah, that new relationship bliss.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for my bestie, but damn, take a fucking break to come up for air every now and then. But according to Macy, it’s the best dick she’s ever had, and I’m not about to be a cockblock.
Then there’s the whole “sitting in my room” issue. My mind is constantly wandering about being back home, especially with October thirteenth getting closer. Five years later, and that date still gets to me.
This is why I’ve been choosing to let Wednesday nights be my late night on campus to work on any homework. Nothing happens on Wednesdays. Mondays are for Monday Night Football on TV. Tuesdays are Taco Tuesdays at the Mexican restaurant. Thursdays are Thirsty Thursdays. And then, it’s the weekend, which means endless football.
Leaving the Student Union, where I grabbed a quick bite to eat—burger and fries—I begin my trek to the library. Why is it that the library is the farthest building on campus? Wouldn't most schools put it right in the center of campus to encourage students to do their studying? Nope, not at Central Texas University.
Walking along the concrete sidewalk, I let the songs coming through my AirPods lull me into a trance. The campus is busy for it being six o’clock in the evening. Groups of students are gathered on the sidewalks. A handful of students are speed-walking to get to class on time. The trees on campus are slowly starting to change colors as fall weather is taking her sweet time getting here. Being from Chicago, I miss the changing of leaves, but Texas doesn’t get the memo like the Midwest.
Still lost in my head, I don’t notice the large person standing in front of me until I nearly run into him. Quinton grabs ahold of my arms to keep me from running completely into him. Jumping in panic, I remove one side of the AirPods.
“Jesus, Q, I didn’t even see you there.”
He laughs. “No shit, Brynn. Where the hell were you just now?”
Tucking a piece of hair that had fallen from my claw clip behind my ears, I chew on the inside of my cheek before answering. “I was thinking about Chicago.”
A knowing look passes Quinton’s face. Even though Quinton is my best friend, there are still some parts of my life that I’ve kept hidden from him. I know it’s shitty, believe me. I know that, if I’m going to call someone my best friend, then I need to be open and honest with him. But there are some parts to our stories that are just plain hard to talk about.
“Are you heading in to study?” I ask, gesturing toward the library.
Still staring at me with a sympathetic look, which I freaking hate, it takes him a second before he answers. “Yeah, some of the guys are meeting for a study sesh, per Coach’s orders.” Rolling his eyes he continues, “Some dumbasses are letting their grades slip, so now we all have mandatory study sessions. It’s bullshit.”
Both of us turn toward the library doors, and we finish our short walk to the entrance. Quinton opens the door wide for me to enter before following me.
“That sucks. But at least you get your work done.”
Even after three years of attending Central Texas and visiting the library a handful of times, I’m still amazed at the pure beauty that makes up The Benjamin Liberty Library. The Liberty Library is original to the campus with beautiful brick craftsmanship. The east wall has a variety of stained-glass windows that give the building such a classic look. Vintage chandeliers take over the ceiling, casting a warm and inviting glow. The center of the main room is completely open to the ceiling, with tables for studying and a large antique desk that the head librarian sits behind. Around the sides of the library are floors housing books on different topics. On each floor, you can find individual cubbies, small group tables, and rooms that can be reserved.
Once again, I let my mind take over as I look around, soaking in the glorious library. I don’t even realize that I have stopped walking until Quinton whisper-yells my name.
Shaking my head, I face Q again. “Sorry,” I add, catching up to where he’s standing off to the side of the stairs.
He’s standing there eyeing me up and down, and it’s at that moment that I know he knows I’ve been avoiding him. “Seriously, B, what the fuck is going on?”
Bypassing him, I start walking up the stairs, but he’s right on my heels. “Nothing is wrong. I’m fine.”
Placing my hand on the handrail, I make sure to let it help guide me up the stairs. No one wants to cause a scene and trip walking up a flight of stairs in a quiet library.
It’d be so embarrassing…no, it’d definitely be embarrassing. I made that mistake freshman year, thinking I was so cool and could just walk up the stairs without the handrail. I didn’t realize that my tennis shoes had come untied until I tripped over the laces and ate it. It was loud, and everyone on the first floor turned to the stairs to see what had happened. Oh, you know, just a clumsy idiot freshman falling on her face, no big deal.
Changing the subject, I stop on a landing and ask, “What floor is your study room?”
“Fourth floor,” Quinton responds.
Turning to continue walking up the stairs, I let him lead the way, deciding to study on the same floor. Moving off the stairs, I weave my way through bookcases until I find a single cubby outside Quinton’s study room. Before he moves past me, Q stops and wraps his arms around me. Just that connection makes me want to cry.
Seriously, screw you, Flo. You’re making me a weak bitch, and I hate it.
“Love ya, B,” he whispers before leaving me alone.
Settling in at the desk, I open up my backpack and pull out my MacBook, planner—yes, paper planners are far superior to digital—and my psychology textbook. Reaching into my pocket, I grab my AirPods and turn on my alternative study playlist. “Ophelia” fills my ears, and I zone out the world.
After what feels like forever, I’ve written a paper for my social psychology class, and I’ve completed my reading forPsychology of Personality. Glancing down at the clock in the right-hand corner of my screen, I realize I’ve been here for almost two hours. Seriously, that flew by.
