Liquid Feels - Book 3 - DP Series - Complete

12. Trust

Due to my predicament yesterday morning, I wasn't able to leave my bed in order to go to class. So, today, I've already spent the majority of my morning seeking out my teacher so I can get the class notes. I realize sending an email could be a hundred times easier—especially on a Saturday when she might not even be on campus—but I suspect the added effort of an in-person conversation could go a long way in staying in her good graces.

Once my mission is complete, I head to the cafeteria, avoiding Seth and his friends at their typical seat near the windows. It's quieter in here on the weekends, which makes it harder to remain invisible, but right now I need a few minutes alone.

Food in hand, I find a vacant table and busy myself with studying while I eat my mysterious—yet somewhat delicious—casserole. I made sure to find a seat that was secluded enough that most people would barely give it a second glance. But I didn't count on one particular person and their keen eyes.

"We need to talk," a voice says, startling me from my reverie. My body reacts to the familiar warmth of his voice before my brain can even register that the words are directed at me.

I glance up just as Seth slides into the chair across from me. He rests his forearms on the table, fingers clasped as he offers a quick glance toward his friends across the lunchroom before settling his attention on me.

"Hi," is all I'm able to muster, shoving my books away from me.

He pulls a deep breath in through his nose, chest expanding before he rakes his fingers through his hair and drops his head into his hands. He moans at the tabletop and then tilts his head to the side, resting it in a single palm.

"I'm sorry," he tells me, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair. "Last night was... I'm sure it freaked you out a bit. I mean, you're avoiding me now, so I assume it did. I just hate that you had to see that. I feel like a moron. It's like I lose all control in those moments, and yet, somehow, I'm still aware. I can feel what's happening around me; I just can't respond. I saw you. You were—"

He's rambling. I have never heard him ramble. Actually, I don't think I've ever even heard him give a simple explanation for anything. Man of few words—that's a title that even a mute man would have to battle him for. Calm, collected, and quiet. That's Seth to a "T". But right now, he's none of those things. Instead, his thoughts seem scattered and his mouth is a waterfall of word vomit.

"Okay," I cut him off, "before you give yourself another panic attack, may I tell you how I actually feel?"

He clears his throat, seeming to suddenly realize just how incoherent he sounded. For a moment I wonder if I played the 'panic attack' card a little prematurely. Maybe it was too soon to make light of it. But then he offers me a crooked smile and gestures for me to proceed.

"I've got two things to say," I begin, holding up a single finger as I continue, "one: I'm pissed. I'm pissed at you and I'm pissed at your clingy, cliquey little group of friends. Two," I hold up another finger, "I'm dying to understand. I'm not sure what I am to you, but I, at least, consider you a friend—a good one, actually. It'd be nice to feel like that's reciprocated. And if it's not, maybe just let me know so I can waste my time somewhere else."

"Mercy." My name on his lips sounds like an expression of regret and I shake away his pity.

"No," I say abruptly. "Stop with this. Stop making me like you. You're too nice and it makes me feel like I've finally broken through the barrier around you and your friends. But then there's all the secret glances and confidential conversations." I pause, my chest feeling thick and heavy. With a sorrowful sigh, I mutter, "Let me in, or let me go."