Forever Could Be Ours

Chapter 06. | C'est Magnifique

HAYLEIGH

Canceled classes are the worst kind of punishment when you still need to attend one later.

I have been reading the same page for what feels like twenty minutes, my eyes growing bigger with each inked sentence that looks blurred. My concentration skill is the size of a green pea - which is a surprise considering I'm one of the only few sitting in the library with a book in my hand.

Not that it's a requirement you need to read to be in the library. It's mainly used for study sessions and burrowing books for classes. The majority of my French class is here, trying to kill time until the next class starts. One thing is hating canceled classes, but canceled middle classes? It's like watching paint dry. Nobody wants to sit for 1,5 hours waiting for the next class to begin.

A part of me wants to scatter the book, throw my bag over my shoulder, and leave. There's a USYD online briefing I need to attend but I can't afford another detention note. I want this Friday night to be enjoyable, without the chance of being locked inside again.

"Blakely?"

I should have known this would happen sooner or later. Dylan has been eyeing me from the bean bags since we walked into the library, his attention more on me than the Macbook in his lap.

I continue to look at the pages in my book, suddenly paying much attention to each vowel. I know it's rude to pretend he isn't here, but I hope if he feels my bad energy he'll leave me alone.

"Hayleigh?" His voice is more subtle the second time, dragging my eyes away from the tousled creme pages.

Dylan's calloused hands rest on the neck of the chair across from mine, his knuckles white from gripping it. His whisky orbs are searching for answers, the bruising still evident on the healthy-looking skin around his nose.

"Can I help you?" I plug out one earbud, sincerely wishing this is a moment of 'Can I borrow your pencil '.

It's not.

"You mind talking about..." He slowly touches his nose with his fingertips, taking a seat on the free chair. It's been nearly a month, yet he acts as if it was yesterday.

"What's there to discuss?" I try to pay my attention back to the French lines of ink but it's difficult when he doesn't budge. I'm not sure if I look guilty but then again, I didn't do anything wrong. I feel the heat spread up against my neck, slowly tinting the skin.

My act of ignorance causes him to scoff, his eyes narrowing to the back of his head. "People are making a fool of me saying you beat my ass. I think we both know that wasn't the case."

I place the book on the table and lean forward, annoyed. "Tell me, Dylan. What was the case then?" I don't like his tone and I didn't invite him to engage in conversation. I'd rather prefer for him to silently stare in my direction pondering about answers to his own stupid questions.

"That's the thing, Blakely," He laughs dryly. "You're the only one knowing what happened. Since, you know, I was pretty much blacked out on the porch."

"How are you so sure I know what happened?" The man won't take no for an answer. Shouldn't have surprised me in the first place. "I already told you. Nothing happened, maybe you tripped. I didn't see anything."

The palm of his hand smashes harder against the wooden table than intended, earning a few stares from nearly students in the room. A part of me feels falsely accused when Mrs. Kilton, the librarian, sends the both of us a death glare.

"God damn it, Blakely. You're lying."

"Jake told me you drank cognac?" Lie. "You know what that does to the body in bigger intakes, right? Dizziness. Lack of judgment. Loss of coordination. Memory loss." I make sure to put extra pressure on the last part, my hazel eyes staring into his like they're battling for dominance.