Unfriendly | dark romance 🖤

4. Freya

What's wrong with me? I don't behave like this. I don't look anywhere other than at Ryan, I rely on him for everything. He's my everything, my world, my family. I spent the entire summer locked in my house, staring out the window, wondering what it's like to be free. Independent, mentally healthy. Sometimes, I was hit by sudden panic, frustration so overwhelming that I could barely breathe. I thought I was dying, and you know what? It didn't matter. Without Ryan, I have no one. I don't think anyone would even miss me. The weird girl who's always silent and only speak when talking to professors? Haha. Yeah, that's how they see me.

I don't go to parties. I don't hang out in cafés. I just live my life alone or with Ryan. Is it unhealthy? Absolutely yes. Do I know that? Definitely yes. Am I going to do anything about it? No. The only thing that disrupts my island of calm and peace is school. If I hadn't promised my grandmother that I'd finish this stupid law degree, I'd be spending all my days with Ryan at home, buried in books, painting my lovely paintings, enjoying the silence that our old house gives me. For some, it's terrifyingly big and quiet, but for me, it's an oasis of peace and harmony. These walls protect and surround me from the outside world.

When I entered the library, there was only a handful of students quietly taking notes. The library exudes a Dark Academia aesthetic, brimming with an old-world charm that feels almost timeless. The high ceilings are adorned with intricate wooden moldings, and large, arched windows let in soft, filtered light that casts a warm, golden glow across the room. Rows of dark mahogany bookshelves stretch from floor to ceiling, filled with leather-bound volumes and antique tomes.

Rich, deep-colored rugs cover the polished wooden floors, and heavy, velvet drapes frame the windows. Ornate chandeliers hang from the ceiling, their brass fixtures sparkling with candlelight. The walls are decorated with framed classical art and old maps, adding to the scholarly atmosphere.

In the center of the room, there are large, oak study tables, each equipped with vintage brass desk lamps and piles of books. The scent of old paper and polished wood fills the air, mixing with the faint aroma of leather from well-worn book covers. Overstuffed armchairs and plush reading nooks are strategically placed, inviting hours of quiet reflection and study. The overall ambiance is one of intellectual rigor and historical depth, perfect for immersing oneself in scholarly pursuits or losing oneself in a classic novel.

"Hello," I said to the elderly librarian.
"Professor Ducanan sent me here to help."
"Oh, my dear, I hope he wasn't too harsh on you. Here's a cart with books that were returned today. Please put them in the right shelves. Don't worry, I won't keep you here long. An hour at most," she said kindly, and I sighed with relief that she wasn't another grump. "I am Mrs. Ducanan." she smiled at me. "I am Freya, thank you, Mrs. Ducanan." I said and started with work.

I stopped at the first aisle, but the moment I looked up, I saw him. Again.
"Hi?" I croaked, which didn't sound confident at all. No, it sounded terrible. He raised one eyebrow in amusement and lowered his eyes back to his book. Seriously? After all that, I'm not even worth a simple hello?

Annoyed, I pushed the cart further down the aisle and searched for the number 59, which was on the spine of the book I needed to shelve. Oh great, it's right next to his chest.
"Umm, excuse me?" He smirked but didn't respond.
"Thanks," I said sharply, and with a lot of irritation, shoved the book onto the shelf. Of course, I ended up brushing against his chest.
"Mmm," he hissed and grabbed my elbow. "Where are you going, gorgeous? I've been waiting for this for a while." He wrapped my arm around his waist and caressed my cheek.

"What? What do you mean?" I say, my voice trembling, and I keep shaking. Heat radiates from him, and I know he's just as excited as I am.
"Exactly what I said, gorgeous. But you shouldn't be enjoying this," he winked, and I realized I was breathing loudly and biting my lip. God, he's so beautiful, and God, how must this look? I quickly try to push him away and glance around to see if anyone has noticed us.
"Sweetheart, don't run away. You've been mine for a long time. You don't have a choice."

What is he saying? "What are you talking about?" I ask, reminding myself that it's not normal for me to enjoy his grip so much.

"Freya, you don't need to know these things. Just be quiet," he said, his eyes sparkling. "You have such nice skin," he added, staring down at my bare shoulders.
"You—"
"Shh, Freya," he interrupted, touching my lips. I stayed silent, just watching his movements. What the hell? What is he doing? What is he thinking? Stop! I need to go. I turned around and ran to the toilet. I locked myself inside and started hyperventilating. I need to go home. I just want to be alone.

When I found the phone in my pocket, I felt a wave of relief. "Ryan, please... could you pick me up from the library? I...," my voice started trembling, and I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Frey! Are you okay?? Of course, I'll pick you up! I'll be there in 10 minutes," he said, sounding scared. I probably should've calmed down more; I didn't want him to worry about me.

"I'm fine, it's just one of those weak moments coming on again. Thank you, I'm so lucky to have you." I placed the phone on the toilet paper holder and prayed for those 10 minutes to pass quickly, when suddenly I heard the creak of a door. In shock, I stared at the bathroom door handle and quietly exhaled.

"Where did you run off to, little one?" said a familiar voice. Great, I guess I won't be hiding here.

"I'm not feeling well, could you please leave? This is the ladies' room."

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay. Should I call someone for you?" he asked, sounding concerned, which didn't fit him at all.

"No, it's fine. Ryan is already on his way to get me," I said, trailing off, feeling the conversation turning awkward and uncomfortable. What does he care about how I'm doing?

"Ryan? Mmm, okay." He replied angrily and slammed the door shut with such force that I jumped.

"What's gotten into him?" I said aloud, confused, but already feeling much better as the anxiety started to fade. My phone rang just then, Ryan was outside the library. I apologized to Mrs. Ducanan, promising to finish everything tomorrow, and with a worried look, she let me leave.

Whew, a tough first day of the semester.