Sophia turns away from the stove. “I thought I told you not to bring them up—that I didn’t want to talk about them.”
“Well, I kind of need you to.” I set the box down on the table. Actually, I don’t. I just want to know for myself. “Otherwise, I might fail and I’m so close to being finished, the last thing I want to do is fall behind schedule for graduation.”
She turns off the stove and narrows her eyes at me. “It doesn’t matter. We are not going to talk about your parents. Ever.”
“Why not?” I ask, battling my anger. “What scares you so much about the idea?”
With her hands on her hips, Sophia storms toward me, her high heels clicking forcefully against the tile. “Do you think it’s easy for me to talk about my daughter’s death? Do you like to make me hurt?”
I hold my chin high, refusing to cower back. “No, but it feels like I should know something about her. About both my parents. In fact, you should have told me about them a long time ago.”
Her skin turns a ghostly white and lines form around her eyes as she gives me a harsh look. “We will not talk about this ever again. Do you understand?” She hurries out of the kitchen and, seconds later, I hear her bedroom door shut.
Tears sting at my eyes, but I force them back. I won’t let the sadness win. I’m tougher than that. I’ve lived without the knowledge of my parents for twenty-one years for hell sakes.
Opening the back door, I step outside. Even though a blizzard has blown in, it feels warmer than in the house.
***
By the time I pull up to the campus, I’m late for Calculus and there’s a test today. My grade is already nearing the seventy percent mark, so I can’t miss it. Swinging the car door open, I hop out into the snowfall. Deciding to leave the boxes in the trunk, I rush across the campus yard, the snow crunching under my sneakers. I keep my eyes on my watch, watching the minutes tick down. I speed up to a run, but then pause when I approach the salted sidewalk as the prickling sensation stabs at my neck.
Dammit.
I wait for an emotion to rise and take me over, wondering how complex it will be, but a few seconds go by and I feel nothing, so I force my feet to move and step up onto the curb. As my shoe touches the ground, my skin heats and my gaze zeroes in on a guy walking toward me from across the parking lot.
I’m almost certain I’ve seen him before, but can’t place from where. My neck tingles again, little pin prickles, like the day my tears were unleashed for the very first time. I’m flooded with a desire to chase him down, rip off his clothes, bite on his neck, and do all the dirty things I’ve been dreaming about. I might have acted on the impulse, too, but a snowball smacks me in the face and diverts my gaze from him.
I wipe the snow from my cheek and glare at the thrower. “Didn’t you see me standing here?”
A heavyset guy with a beanie on surrenders his hands in front of him as he backs toward the entrance of the campus. “Sorry, I was aiming for him.” He nods his head to my right at a lanky guy with a hoodie pulled over his head.
I pluck chunks of snow out of my hair as I rush toward the entrance doors and catch up with the guy I’ve been having dirty thoughts about right as he swings the door open. He steps to the side and holds it open for me, like a true gentleman. I bite my bottom lip to keep my irrational, lust-filled emotions contained, and walk in; my heart hitting the inside of my chest. Keep moving forward. Don’t stop. My thoughts are weaker than my feet and I halt, peering up at him.
My heart stops as recognition takes over. I know him. Well, too. A faint spark is flickering deep inside my memories, but I don’t understand how. All I know is that I can’t breathe. Or maybe, I am breathing for the very first time. Maybe this is what it is like to feel alive.
Then it hits me. He’s the guy from my dream. He’s even more gorgeous in person; tousled, dark brown hair and the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. His long limbs are carved with muscles, and confidence radiates off him from the way he stands to the look in his eyes. He wears a black hoodie and dark jeans that hang low on his hips. I can’t seem to take my eyes of the patch of skin that shows when he raises his hand to run his fingers through his hair, making his shirt ride up a little.
When our gazes collide, I’m shocked by a zap of electricity that fires through my body. The size of my eyes amplify as the feeling expands, coiling into my stomach and burning between my thighs. A gasp escapes my lips as my body quivers from the rush. I’ve felt this before, many times in my dreams, but, God dammit, it feels so much better in real-life.
A look of intrigue and fascination masks his face as he watches me, like he’s waiting for something momentous to happen.
Does he know me? Does he dream about me, like I dream about him? How can any of this be possible?
I extend my hand toward his chest and slide my palm up the front of his shirt; needing to touch him, be close to him. His heart thuds underneath my palm, matching the erratic beat of mine and his eyes widen, his gaze flicking to my lips and for a brief, but earth-shattering moment, he looks like he might kiss me.
“Do I know you?” I ask as my fingers brush the top of his collar and electricity rips from my fingertips to my toes.
Suddenly his expression slips into a scowl. “I’m sorry, but did I give you permission to put your hands on me?” He sidesteps around me and lets the heavy metal door slam into my elbow.
“Ow.” I rub at the pain on my arm as every ounce of my elation cracks, shatters, and falls to the floor. “What the hell was that for?”
He shoots me a harsh look and my mouth drops open. “Next time, hold the damn door open for yourself.”
Fucking a**hole. It’s amazing how one second I feel like I’m in an eternal state of ecstasy and the next I’m boiling in a pot full of rage, all because this sexy stranger opened that delicious-looking mouth of his.
He turns his back on me and strolls down the hall without a glance back; leaving me angry, irritated, and totally turned on.
Yep, there is definitely something wrong with my head.
Chapter 2
For the rest of the day, I try to make sense of what happened in the entryway with Mr. Sexy Douche Bag. I shouldn’t have just reached out and groped him that way, but his reaction was still surprising. Maybe he’s just naturally a jerk, but why have I dreamt about him? Plus, there is that strange electric connection. None of it makes sense.
The next morning, after a very rough night of nightmares, I head off to Astronomy, relieved I can finally relax. I love learning about the stars. Even back in high school, during my emotionally detached days, I would stare up at the night sky and appreciate the beauty of each one; how they seem to be separate but whole. The first time I ever experienced happiness was when I had been lying in bed one night, staring out my window at the stars shining harmoniously. The prickle showed up and I smiled as the warmth of happiness swelled inside me. Ever since then, I’ve felt this strange bond with the night sky, like somehow I’m connected to it.
The classroom is empty when I enter. Taking a seat at the back corner desk on the upper row, I set my book on the table and take a pen out from my bag. Although I don’t have any future plans for my life, I hope that one day I can do something with the stars. I’m working on a General Studies degree because nothing seems to fit right. Whenever I look forward and try to envision my future, all I see is light.
The winter semester has barely started; there are a few extra students who show up and some who drop out over the first few weeks. I notice a girl I’ve never seen before around campus walk into the classroom. Her golden-brown hair is twisted up in a clip that matches the shade of her pink sweater. Her eyes are a fierce green, traced with brown liner and there’s something familiar about her.
She smiles at me as she takes the seat in front of me and sets her purse onto the desk. “Hi, I’m Aislin Avery.”
“I’m Gemma Lucas.” I feel strange because people rarely talk to me. Around sophomore year, I started to believe that perhaps I was invisible and that people couldn’t see me. “Is it your first day in this class?”
She nods and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she begins rummaging around in her purse. “I just transferred to UW.”
“Are you a senior?”
She nods. “What year are you?”
“I’m a senior too.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” she says, retrieving some lip-gloss from her bag. “It’s nice to meet a fellow soon-to-be graduate.” She turns around and directs her attention to her phone.
I stare out the window and watch the snowflakes drift down from the sky as people begin to wander into the classroom. There is a little yellow light flickering near a cluster of leafless bushes, like a lightning bug spazzing out. The longer I stare at it, the more it blends into the snow and fades away.
Strange.
I click the cap of the pen off as my thoughts drift to the guy I ran into yesterday. For most of my life, I’ve never thought of guys as anything more than people, figures that filled up the school hallways and ran over me like I was nonexistent. And in my past that was fine. I never felt sad, lonely, or depressed. It was as if I was an object that filled up space, moved without cause, and served no purpose. Things changed when I started to feel emotions. It isn’t like I want every single guy I come across, but I do have a very vivid imagination that is fed by my loneliness. If I had actual friends, then maybe my dreams and thoughts would tone down a little.
As I put the cap back on the pen, my hand begins to tremble and my gaze automatically dashes toward the doorway. My jaw drops. The guy from yesterday is walking inside. He moves like a cat with measured stretches of his long limbs and every muscle in his body flexes underneath his grey Henley and jeans. His hooded eyes are fastened on me as he climbs up the steps toward me and my fingers nearly strangle the life out of the pen in anticipation.
Is the strange, electric heat going to appear again?
He veers down the aisle in front of me, then flings his gaze off me and drops down into the seat beside Aislin. “Did you get your schedule all worked out?" he asks, reclining back in the chair and biting at a pen.