My Toxin

Chapter 5

The next day felt like any other—or at least that's how we pretended it to be. After the whole Andre debacle, I was relieved Marjorie wasn't angry with me. She seemed determined to keep me firmly in the friend zone, but I wasn't too concerned. There was time. Next time, I'd be more careful.

Marjorie was at my university apartment, the small space filled with the clutter of textbooks, notes, and coffee cups. The warm glow of the desk lamp bathed the room in soft light, making it feel cosy despite the tension in the air. She had a big law exam coming up, and I was helping her revise.

"Right," I said, flipping through her notes, keeping the focus on tort law. "What are the main elements?"

She rubbed her hands through her braids, her fingers lingering as she thought. "Duty of care, breach of duty, causation, and damages," she recited, though her voice was tight with stress.

"Exactly," I said, smiling encouragingly. "You're nailing this, Marjorie."

She nodded but didn't seem convinced. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her pen, her anxiety palpable. "I just... I don't know if I can remember all of this," she admitted, her voice quiet and shaky.

"Hey," I said gently, reaching out to place my hand on hers. Her skin felt cold, a stark contrast to the warmth I wanted to give her. "You've been working hard. You've got this."

But her breathing hitched, quickened, and her wide eyes darted around the room. Her hand clutched at her chest as she gasped, "I can't breathe, Alex. I can't breathe."

I recognised the signs immediately. Another panic attack.

"Marjorie, look at me," I said firmly but calmly, anchoring her with my voice. "It's okay. You're having a panic attack. Breathe with me, okay? Inhale... exhale... just like that."

I held her hand tightly and guided her breathing until her frantic gasps eased. Her chest rose and fell more steadily, the panic fading from her eyes. Slowly, she leaned into me, her body trembling as she rested against my chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you," I replied softly, running my fingers through her braids. "You're under so much pressure. It's okay to feel overwhelmed sometimes. I'll always be here for you, Marjorie."

She looked up at me then, her big brown eyes filled with gratitude—and something else I couldn't quite place.

"Thank you, Alex," she murmured, her voice so soft it barely broke the quiet of the room.

Before I could respond, she shifted, moving closer until she was straddling my lap. Her face was inches from mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, hoping she could feel how much I cared for her, how deeply I loved her.

Then, without warning, she leaned in and kissed me.

Her lips were soft, hesitant, unsure, and for a moment I froze, too stunned to react. But then, as her warmth flooded through me, I kissed her back. My heart pounded so loudly it drowned out every other sound.

I could feel her inexperience in the way her lips moved against mine—gentle, curious, almost innocent. She was exploring this new territory, her teeth occasionally clashing against mine in her eagerness. I let her take the lead, smiling slightly at her awkward but adorable movements.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were wide with panic, realisation setting in. "I... I can't," she stammered, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry, Alex. We can't do this."

"Marjorie, wait," I called, but she was already gathering her things, rushing toward the door as if she couldn't bear to stay in the same room with me any longer.

Her apartment wasn't far. I could've chased after her, but I didn't. I needed to think, to process what had just happened.

The silence in the apartment was deafening without her. I sat there for a long time, my mind racing. I'd wanted this for so long, but not like this. Not when she was so vulnerable, so unsure.

The next day, I found her in the library. She was buried in her notes, her eyes scanning academic journals with intense focus. Her determination was back, but I could see the traces of guilt in her expression.

"Hey," I said softly, sitting down beside her.

She glanced at me, then quickly looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the corner of a page. "I'm sorry about last night," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have kissed you. It was a mistake."

"It wasn't a mistake," I replied gently, leaning in to catch her gaze. "But I understand if you're not ready. I don't want you to worry about this right now. Focus on your exam. Can you do that for me?"

She looked at me for a moment before a small, tentative smile tugged at her lips. "Yeah, okay. Quiz me, please?"

Relieved, I nodded and opened her notes. We worked through her material in comfortable silence, both pretending nothing had changed.

But as I sat there, watching her determination return, I couldn't stop thinking about that kiss. It wasn't a mistake—not to me. It was the first step toward something bigger. Something inevitable.

Now that I'd tasted her lips, there was no going back.