His lips trail feather-light kisses down the side of my neck, sending shivers all over.
"I love looking at you," he breathes, brushing the hair off my shoulders. "Will you let me look at you?"
My heart hammers, a wild thing seeking his. "Yes."
So he...
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————————————— C A M I L A
Midterms. On a Sunday. And it's freezing.
Kind of fucked up if you ask me.
The campus sprawls around us, quieter than usual, a mix of old limestone buildings and new glass ones. Dead leaves crunch underfoot mixing with the fresh layer of snow, the air crisp and promising a colder snap soon. We're almost a week into November, now.
Maddie's walking as fast as her short legs can carry her. She's got cold coffee in one hand, grimacing at the sips but drinking it anyway, and her bag hitched up on her shoulder, clothed in a creamy white sweater and jeans, a blue beanie on her blonde hair.
My roommate of three years and counting has been acting like everything's fine. But the more I think about it, the more I think something permanently broke.
She's going on about how good make-up sex with Fox was. I keep pace, listening, half of my mind wandering to later tonight when I get to call Noah. He's been away, visiting his family over the weekend. The quiet without him has been louder than I thought possible.
"Just make sure you're on time for your next exam," is my answer to what she was saying about Fox's tongue and fingers.
Unfortunately for Maddie, she has two midterms scheduled for today. Her Roman Classics elective and Immunology II. I only had Macroeconomics—and I aced it.
Maddie rolls her eyes, hiking her bag higher on her shoulder. "Screw this. I'm going to protest Office of the Registrar."
I ignore her.
The stone walkways are nearly empty, students tucked away in the library or their dorms, cramming for their exams.
"I know I've screwed up a lot recently."
I halt and turn. Maddie's expression is grave.
"And I don't expect you to forgive me just because I'm apologizing again. But I want to show you something."
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a package wrapped in bright pink paper, handing it to me.
"What's this?" I ask, taking it from her. It's kind of heavy.
"Just open it."
I carefully unwrap the package, revealing a beautifully bound faux-leather journal. The cover is a deep, rich blue, with intricate gold detailing. I open it to the first page and see Maddie's handwriting.
For Camila, my best friend always, and for all the memories I hope we can make in the future.
"I know it's not enough to make up for everything," Maddie says, her voice trembling, "but I want to start making things right. I thought maybe you could use it to track, like, your workouts and stuff."
