Page 126 of Drown Like Heaven
I joined her on the bed, bundling up under a blanket of my own, phone clutched in my hand like a lifeline, still forcing myself not to respond to him.You’re in my fucking head and I can’t get you out. I think if you came and took me right now, I’d do whatever you wanted. Because I don’t want you to hate me.
Though it shouldn’t matter what Mason thought of me, not when he was only capable of breaking things. But the stupid desire was still there, the one that said breakme. If you need to break something, let it be me.
Mila lifted up the corner of her blanket, welcoming me in to join her warmth. I snuggled up next to her and shut my eyes, listening to the faint sound of a video playing off Mila’s phone—some role play ASMR; we were getting our brains cleaned.Good. I could use a brain-cleaning.
?????
The Archway Library, while full of a plethora of tables and study spaces, did also have a large reference section. My boots squeaked softly on the polished concrete floors as I browsed in complete silence, florescent lights humming above my head. Since arriving here, I hadn’t seen a single other person.
I reached the end of the aisle I was in, then turned the corner down the next one, skimming the little printed numbers on the spines of the books that categorized them. There were a few specific books I was looking for—things I wanted to use as references without having to pay for them. All the PDFs I’d been able to find online were behind paywalls, but I knew the university library stocked many engineering handbooks and journals, which I could read for free.
My eyes flicked over the rows and rows of clothbound spines, my fingers lightly feathering over them as I walked. I approached a section full of identically-bound books, all in navy with white lettering printed on the spines. Past student dissertations.
Stomach flipping, I scanned the surnames, warmth pulsing in my face.
H…I…J…K…
Micah Killshaw.
All the books looked so boring, so dull, so similar to each other, the sort of things you’d never actually pick up to read. But seeinghisname stamped on the spine…
Kinetics and Mechanisms of Neon Isotope Separation in Low-Temperature Catalytic Systems.
It was an intimidating title, strictly impersonal. But it was written by him, researched by him, defended by him. I tried to picture a younger version of him, a student, up late working on his dissertation, maybe looking similar to how he did that one night in Stanton. Sleeves pushed back, hair mussed, eyes heavy with sleepless nights. Not yet the well-respected professor he was now. Something about the mental image of that made butterflies flutter around my stomach.
Before I could think better of it, I snatched the book off the shelf and tucked it under my arm, mostly concealed by the sleeve of my sweater if anyone were to see me. Not that it was a crime to want to read the research done by one of my professors.
Scurrying out of the aisle, I took a steadying breath, looking up and down the main hall at the labeled sections. I whipped my phone out of my pocket, navigating to the school’s library website to figure out where the hell the books were that I was looking for. Initially, I’d wanted to try browsing on my own for a while, but that desire had since left me.
I needed to be efficient.
Quickly locating the section I needed to be in, I speed-walked to the aisle, ducking around the corner and surrounding myself with more endless volumes of engineering texts. It didn’t take me long to find the first textbook, my hand extending to pluck it from the shelf before I figured out the next aisle with my phone.
I added the book to the stack under my arm and continued down the row to my next target. As I reached my arm up to grab it, a large hand intercepted the book, snatching it off the shelf right above me. I jumped, spinning around.
Dr. Killshaw stood a few steps in front of me, not saying anything, holding the book I needed.
“Dr. Killshaw,” I said, my voice suddenly sounding too loud in the silent library. I flattened my lips, taking a step backwards, my spine bumping on the shelf.
“Researching?”
“I didn’t want to pay for the PDFs.” I kept my voice quiet, nervously glancing to either side, despite knowing we were alone up here. Though I’d thought I was alone earlier—which turned out to be incorrect, since my professor was now in front of me.
How long has he been up here?
“Smart girl,” he mused, sparks of arousal scattering in my belly at his low tone.
He flipped the book over in his palm, reading the title, then flipping open the cover, leafing through a few pages full of dry text. I shifted my weight back and forth between my feet, waiting.
After a minute, I forced some courage into myself. “I need that book,” I said quietly, but still with enough firmness that I sounded serious.
“I wonder what it would look like if you stopped doubting yourself.”
“I—”
“Are you curious about my dissertation?” he questioned, not once looking away from my eyes. I tucked the book tighter under my arm, heat creeping up my neck. I hated all his calculated observations about me, slipped so carelessly into conversation as if they didn’t rip my ribs apart. It rattled me.
“I just saw it. I didn’t—I don’t know.” My voice was little more than a whisper, but it still felt too loud. Dr. Killshaw’s eyes were low, sweeping downwards to the books tucked in my elbow, then returning to my face. I swore heat was simmering in his irises, so purely blue-gray, with a dark ring around their outer edges.
