𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 (Ash Trilogy #3) ✔️

6

Again. 15 minutes early to class.

Although the amount of stares I get has gone down, it's definitely not zero. 

I used to show up just a few minutes before class, never speak a word, and go home.

But now things are different.

I click my pen over and over again staring at Snow's seat, waiting for her to arrive. 

I'm not patient.

10 minutes.

5 minutes.

The professor walks in and still, she's not there.

I feel a worry grow inside of me but then quickly dismiss it. One, she's not my problem. Two, she's probably just late.

While writing my notes and listening to the professor, I find myself looking at the clock often.

2 minutes.

5 minutes.

10 minutes.

And still, her seat is empty. I stare at it in curiosity.

Where the hell is she?

"Okay class, that's all for today," the professor says after two hours without a single break. "Since we're done a bit early today, I suggest you use this time to work on your projects."

Yea. Let me just turn and talk to her.

I grab my shit and begin walking straight to her dorm. 

What a horrible partner. 

What if she's with Marcel?

Stop. And stop fucking twitching your finger. 

Not giving a shit if loverboy is on the other side I knock on her door and wait. 

I stand. I don't know how long I wait for, but nobody comes to open the door.

I knock again and say as I do so, "Hey. Can the worst partner I've ever had open the door?"

I stand. And wait. Again.

I swear under my breath and go to knock again when at that exact moment, the door opens.

"You look terrible," I say instantly as I see her. She gives me a death glare.

"I'm sick," she says, the congestion showing in her voice. The tip of her nose is red, too. "What are you here for?"

"Don't have your number and we're supposed to work on that project," I say. "Step aside and I'll hold my breath while I walk past you."

She starts, "I don't think-"

I cut her off by entering anyway. She sighs and closes the door behind us. 

"Jesus, what happened in here," I say, looking at her kitchen. 

She sniffles before responding, "I keep trying to cook, then get too tired and give up. That's what happened."

"Why doesn't loverboy come and cook you something?" I ask, and she rolls her eyes at the word I call him.

"It's Marcel," she corrects once again. "And I asked him to, but he said no. He doesn't want to get sick."

What a fucking pussy. 

"Huh," is all I say.

She takes a deep breath and runs her nails through her hair in an attempt to comb it. She shrugs, "Well if you're here we might as well work on it."