Meet the plastics (Regina x fem reader)

8 - The party

A light padding of feet can be heard roaming the gaps between rows of desks. Instead of glancing up to assess where she is now, I glue my attention to the booklet in front of me, mindlessly writing down answers and leaving that up to my subconscious as my thoughts wander elsewhere. My ears prick up at the sound of her emerging to the back of the room, feet momentarily pausing every time she glances over at someone to find a worthy place to sit.

Today's attendance is poor, but I suppose that's what's expected when you're nearly a month into your first year. The motivation drops first, effort levels along with it. Thankfully, I never had an issue with dragging myself along to each lecture and providing my attention, for the short time period it's needed, no matter how badly I wanted to skip.

That's when I feel it; her presence behind me. She lingers there for a moment, my hand stilling as I go to move onto the second page. A lump curls in my throat and I force it down.

Her perfume, soft and floral, invades my senses first. The brush of her shoulder against mine has me overwhelmed with agitation, her cardigan-clad arm resting on the desk as she leans in even more. I stay put, frozen in my position. Pink-nailed fingertips pass underneath the words written. The silence is so defending it has my ears stinging with a static noise.

When she starts speaking, I can't help it when my breathing begins to turn into sharp exhales and inhales of shaky gasps. My ears prick up, taking in the sound of her low voice so close to my ears. I turn my head, in an expression of pure politeness, until regret instantly dawns over me. She's so close it's virtually unbearable. Blue eyes sparkling in an almost amused look, falling from my face to the paper in a smooth motion, before back again. I'm so entranced I don't even hear what she said.

"What?" I breathe out in a quiet whisper, aware that everyone else has their heads down, some doing the booklet, others on their phones. Embarrassment inches up along my cheeks in bright red ink.

"I said," she begins again, holding my gaze as I go to look away, "have you finished looking at my essay yet?" It's whispered right in my ear before she peels her arm away from the table and settles down in the seat beside mine.

"Not yet, sorry." I say, bracing myself for an impact. "I've started, though."

It's only when she's nodded her head, no words leaving her lips, and settling into the workbook that I feel the relief washing over me, throat unclenching as my breathing starts to regulate itself again. It's then that I realise this has become a problem. A very large problem.

The day bleeds into evening and before I know it, I'm settled back in the library again, pouring over books and my laptop. The blue light is blinding against the dim lighting now resting over the library, getting on with studying for tomorrow's history test. It's around 8.30pm when I leave, brain too hung up with my stomach's yearning for food to digest anymore information. I pack my things away, leaving the library after tucking in my chair.

The campus is near empty as I wind around the different corridors to reach the exit to head home for the night. Upon walking, I can't help but peer up from the outside at the row of office windows near my history lecture room, noticing one light in particular is still on. A frown crosses my face at why she's here so late on a Thursday, before I'm submerged back into the warmth of the next building and continue my journey home.

I'm in the midst of grinding on with some more studying, after a quick dinner, when my phone starts to ring, Cady's contact number blaring at the top of the screen. I stare at her contact for a few seconds when it dawns on me that she's most likely at the party she invited me to last week. Checking the time - 10.30pm - I quickly pick up the call, pressing the device to my ear.