I THINK MY brain really wants me to develop feelings for Quinn. Or some part of me wants to.
The whole comp sci period my mind diverts to Quinn. I'll be writing down whatever the fuck the teacher's saying (if I can even comprehend it) and then next, subconsciously even, I'll be thinking about Quinn and his face or something.
So it doesn't help that as soon as I'm walking progressively to the dorm building, my eye catches a glimpse of Quinn. At first, the glimpse is just a really tall guy and then I second-guess myself and look back.
He gives me a smile when he catches me looking at him. God, I wish I hadn't seen him because now I have to fake a smile. Actually, I don't. Huh.
"Oh," he notes when we arrive at the dorm building synchronously. Fuck me. I'm quick to swipe out my card so that we can depart swiftly, but just as fate has it the carelessness for wearing a short sleeve t-shirt has its consequences. Or maybe it's the universe. Whatever, I don't give a fuck.
He scrunches his eyebrows―that same god-awful scrunching he made yesterday. "Uh." I swipe up my sleeve and walk through the entrance as quickly as possible. "Are you harming yourself?"
"No." I'm really good at keeping my cool. That's what I love about myself.
"I-I need to tell someone about that." He's signifying the cut. Fuck this shit. I hate you, universe.
"What would they do?"
"They have some programs for helping with self-harm." He's going on his phone now and I'm just standing there... wishing I could just go to the dorm room.
"Can I go to my dorm?"
"No." He's very firm about that, for sure. I kind of expected him to be flexible and allow me. I look around the hallway, bored out of my mind. I'm trying to focus on one thing and the pain from cutting my wrist is still very much alive. How, though? It's been, like, three hours. "We should go inside the office."
I follow him reluctantly inside. My high school self would be asking so many questions about now. It's not that I'm nervous either, I'm just curious. "What the fuck will happen?" is my only question, but I guess he just answered that. So I don't have anything to say.
"Okay, so, is your roommate inside the dorm?" He's looking at me now.
"Uh, I don't know. What does that have to do with the cut?"
"You can't be alone."
"I have a class," I effectively lie. Again: I'm smooth.
"Okay, I'll walk you to it."
"Oh, uh, I can walk myself there."
"No, I need to." There goes my thought of thinking he likes me. Fuck you, Quinn.
"I don't have a class." He nods his head as if he knew all along. I scrunch my eyebrows.
"I don't either."―Like I care―"Okay, so, if your roommate isn't in the dorm room, then I do need to stay with you." He starts walking towards the staircase. I think he expects me to follow him, which I don't want to. I do things my way, not others' way. Yet I follow him. I don't get it. I can just stop there. What the fuck, why don't I react? It's not love or anything shitty like that, I swear to god right now.
"Also, I do need the razor you used to cut yourself." He says it so nonchalantly. I don't think too much about it. I figure he's had this experience before, it just sucks that I fell into this trap.
I was relying on using that razor for the future. But then I realize that I have a few more. "Okay," I mutter from behind him. I swear I see a sense of surprise on his face and I smile.
We make it to my room and, yeah, fate or whatever, the roommate isn't there. Fuck my life. The first thing he asks for is the fucking razor, so I give it to him and he's really surprised. He looks down at the razor. "Just one?"
"Yeah, you said razor. Singular," I enunciate.
He shakes his head with this dried look. "I need the others."
I stay frozen for a minute. How the fuck― "I don't have anymore."
"Yeah, you do." Goddamn his stubbornness.
"I don't," I firmly state.
"Do I need to get it myself?" He starts approaching me and I stay put in my position.
"I swear, I don't."
"I'm doing this for your better good." I know that one too well. I wish I could scoff right now. Fuck being subtle. He sighs. "You swear you don't?"
I nod my head. "Yeah."
And then he spends about thirty minutes in the room until I make an excuse to use the bathroom and when I come back he's packing up his backpack. "I have a class to go and you do too in about twenty minutes, right?" He doesn't even wait for me to nod my head. "I can walk with you there."
"Uh, it's okay," I say right after I realize that he's required or whatever the fuck.
I guess I should have perceived that as good from him, but when I came back to the dorm room later that day, I realized he took advantage of my absence and retrieved the other three razors.
"That fucking―" I feel like crying. I need those, I had a shitty day. That son of a bitch!
✤✤✤
I BANG ON his door so loud. I don't even go through those fucking sound levels, I just go at it. I hate this motherfucker. "What the―oh, hi. Is everything okay?" He's playing that stupid scrunching shit game.
"Give it back." He's still confused as hell. "The razors." ("Idiot," I feel like muttering.)
"I can't." His voice grows serious.
I tighten my jaw. "That doesn't make sense."
"Uh, you know, I'm just doing this for your―"
"No, you're not."
"Of course I am." I shake my head, walking back to the dorm room. "Hey, Aarya, what do you mean by that?" He catches up to me.
"That's just your job."
"Yeah, but... I'm doing it because I care. Do you not believe me?"
I roll my eyes. I can't believe this guy is suppressing me from crying for the second time in a row. "Look, can you just give me the fucking razors."
"No, I can't. Sorry," he adds for no particular effect. It's not like I'll forgive him for not giving back the razors.
Then I slam the door in front of his face and the best part is I don't give a shit.
