Porcelain Skin (NOW ON AMAZON KU)

8. I Don't Hate You

I've been lounging in the solitude of my dorm room for two hours feeling completely depleted of energy. Trevor has a way of doing that. Just sucking my energy dry. Physically. Emotionally. He wrecks me. All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep until next year. Unfortunately for me, that isn't going to happen. A thirty-minute nap will have to do because I have a buttload of homework that I've been putting off until precisely the last minute, which happens to be now.

I had just settled my head against my pillow, pulling my blankets up around my neck, when my phone beeps next to me. I dig through my sheets and blankets until I find it buried. I groan aloud when I see that it's a message from Trevor. He probably wants to schedule a time to finish our project. Honestly, this project shouldn't be taking us this long, but I guess he could only handle me in small amounts.

I click on the message and my brow dips in confusion.

I don't hate you.

My heart flutters inside my chest at the same time that my chest decides to squeeze the life out of me. First of all, this was good news. Right? Second of all...what? I am so confused. This is so out of the blue. And after all the subtle insults he'd thrown my way lately, why did he suddenly feel the need to reassure me that he doesn't hate me? Why even go through the effort of being rude just to turn around and say that it doesn't mean anything?

I'm about to send a quick message to Lindsey about Trevor's odd behavior when it dawns on me what has happened. Suddenly everything clicks into place, and I feel my entire core combust into flames as his text immediately makes perfect sense.

My computer. I'd left it behind in my rush to escape Trevor's apartment.

As I'd waited for Trevor to write his little paragraph about himself, I'd been surfing the net and messaging Lindsey. I can feel my body flushing, and I feel stupid for blushing in the privacy of my own dorm room, but the shame igniting beneath my skin is forcing its way to the surface, fighting for release.

I'd basically given Lindsey a play-by-play of mine and Trevor's encounters. All of them! And how I felt in those moments, as well as how I thought he felt about me. All in all, it was completely mortifying. Somewhere in there, I had mentioned to her the amount of hatred I could feel radiating from the core of Trevor's being. Like, if a scraggly dog and I were in the middle of the road awaiting sure death by semi, Trevor would undoubtedly risk his life to save the mutt before even glancing in my direction, and then happily allow the dog to fertilize my remains. Or, if he had to choose between losing his baby toe and shooting me in the head, my head would be smithereens. If I was the last woman on the planet, and we were forced to do the repopulating, he'd probably drown me in a bathtub before allowing my DNA to be spread among the earth.

Anyway, you get the picture.

I grab my phone again and just stare at the message completely unsure of how to respond. Thankfully, I am saved from having to answer when my phone chimes again. Another text from Trevor.

I might save you over the dog.

My chest blossoms with warmth, which seems stupid. I shouldn't feel so relieved by the fact that I possibly rank higher than a dog. And then that mushy feeling dies twenty seconds later when his third text comes in.

Definitely not losing a toe for you, though.

So chivalrous. My phone beeps again with a new text from Lindsey, followed seconds later by one from Trevor.

Hey. Drop your homework and come hang with me. I'm at Distilled. No excuses.

I sigh and click on Trevor's message.

Unless you want me to continue unearthing your deepest, darkest secrets, you better come get your laptop.

Uh... choices, choices. I know there is no getting out of having drinks with Lindsey. She is a persistent little booger. So I respond with a quick "fine" to both messages before digging through my closet to find something appropriate, yet still modest. I settle for a fitting dress that hangs loosely at the top allowing the fabric to droop off of one shoulder. I throw on a pair of black pumps and brush my fingers through my hair. After touching up my make-up I head to Trevor's place. I would just grab my computer before heading to Distilled.

I knock on his door five minutes later. It takes a whole minute before the door opens to reveal a shirtless Trevor with a toothbrush hanging from his open mouth. He looks at me closely, frozen in place, and I'm pretty sure my expression mirrors his own as my eyes sweep over his slightly wet torso.

He must have just emerged from a glorious shower. My cheeks heat at the realization that I'm staring, and I force myself to focus on what I came here for. I clear my throat after noticing that he is still standing there frozen.

His eyes drift over me casually before flickering up to meet mine.

"That waash fasht," he mumbles around his toothbrush.

I only smile in reply. He steps back for me to enter and shuts the door behind me. I stand awkwardly in his living room while he goes to grab my computer. A minute later he returns with my computer, a shirt, and no toothbrush.

"You got a date?" he asks while handing over my laptop. I grab it and hold it to my chest feeling ninety-eight percent more secure now that I have something to occupy my hands with. I glance down at my outfit trying to see myself the way he might be seeing me. Sexy dress. Heels. Shiny hair. Perfume. Make-up.

"Naw," I answer. "Just hanging with a friend."

He gives me a quick nod of acknowledgment. Tension fills the space for a couple seconds too long before he clears his throat. "You free to meet up tomorrow? We can finish our assignment."

"Yeah. Sure," I agree, feeling extremely uncomfortable, especially since I'm not entirely sure just how much snooping he's already done on my computer. And I refuse to ask because it's more comfortable to lie to myself and say that he didn't actually read anything embarrassing then for him to admit the truth.

I hadn't outright confessed my undying love for the guy, but there was no doubt I was interested. No one chats with their best friend for hours about a guy if they have no interest.

"I'm heading out now," he finally says, as he glances at his phone. "But I'll text you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Okay," I mumble as I hurry to the door.

He opens it for me and I make my escape while he locks up. I don't even wait for the elevator because the quiet ride down the metal contraption with him would have been far too awkward. I dash down the stairs wishing I had my tennis shoes on so I could move a little quicker.

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Does anyone still hate Emma? Just wondering because it's totally okay if you do. She's still in the changing process, so it's only natural that she still messes up and has moments of selfishness. I like flawed characters. :p 

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