"I'm not trying to be mean, honey," she said, her face concerned. "I worry about you. You shouldn't be afraid to let yourself enjoy being young. If you don't want to date Dom, I'm not going to say another word about it. I think maybe you should consider it. You seem so lost lately, and I just want you to be happy."
"Lost?" I asked, confused. "You think I seem lost?"
"Maybe lost isn't the right word." She chewed on her lower lip. "Depressed I guess? You're so quiet lately, and you're sleeping all the time. Miguel and I thought it might be because you were homesick. I know how hard it is for you to be away from your parents. Do you think maybe you should visit the counseling center on campus and talk to somebody?"
"No." I shook my head, standing up and dumping my bowl in the sink. "No, I'm fine. You’re right. I'm a little homesick and overworked. That's all. I'll be okay."
Becca followed me, rinsed her empty bowl—and mine—and put them in the dish rack next to the sink before turning to face me again, fixing me with her stare.
"Maybe you should call your mom?" she suggested gently. "You're my best friend, Cass, and if something is wrong, I want to help."
"I talked to Mom this morning." I waved her off. "She texted me to say that Elliott was coming home for Thanksgiving and wanted to make sure I was still coming. She wants to know if you're coming this year or if you're going to stay with one of your parents."
Becca's mom almost always had to work on Thanksgiving, a trade-off to get Christmas Day with her daughter. The years she wasn't away with her dad she spent at my house. I knew she hated being in her quiet house all alone on the holidays. My family was the only real family she had since her dad had bailed on her and her mom.
"Elliott is coming?" she squeaked, the color draining out of her face.
I quirked an eyebrow at her, my curiosity piqued. "Yes," I answered suspiciously. "Why? Is that a problem? Did my brother do something douchey to you that I'm not aware of? Because blood or not, I'll be happy to kick the crap out of him for you."
She shook her head and sighed. "No, he hasn't done anything. And that's kind of the problem."
My jaw dropped. "Can I buy a clue or do I get one for free?"
"I may or may not have told him that I was in love with him the last time he was home," she admitted sheepishly, her cheeks flushing with a rosy red. She was even lovelier when she blushed.
"And?" I prodded, glad that it was my turn to play cross examiner and trying hard to keep the shock off my face. Becca had a thing for Elliott? How had I missed that? And why hadn't she told me?
"And nothing," she frowned. "He said that I was too young and I was like a kid sister to him. He said it was cute."
I grimaced in sympathy, wanting to kick my brother in the shin.
"Forget him. He's not the sharpest tool in the shed. He's still a tool, mind you, just not the sharpest one. You don't have to come if you don't want to. I didn't know whose year it was."
"No. You need to spend time with your folks and I need to put my big girl panties on and get over it. I’m not going to let Elliott drive me away from the best family I’ve got. It's Dad's year, but he's taking Barbara on a pre-wedding cruise in the Caribbean, so it's either your place or Mom's."
"They're both jackasses," I said, wrapping my arms around Becca and hugging her tightly. I knew she was probably feeling abandoned by her father yet again. She pretended like his actions never bothered her, but I knew better. I knew her better. "Elliott will see that one day. I hope he figures it out before it's too late."
"You should take your own advice," she replied, squeezing me back. "Call Dom. Give the guy a chance and stop being such a scaredy cat. He's not going to bite. And hey, if he does, who knows? Maybe you'll like it."
I snorted so violently it made my nose hurt. "I doubt that. I should probably get moving though. I missed math but I still have English comp and I'm already on Professor Davies's bad side."
I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed rightly before heading back to my bedroom to shower and get changed—and to figure out what I was going to say when I texted Dom back.
***
Class sucked. Professor Davies continued to lecture the class on proper writing technique, ranting and raving about using contractions in college level papers and how text speak was going to be the death of the English language. I felt drained, as if I hadn't gotten nine hours of sleep, and I had trouble focusing on the lecture. Instead, I kept thinking about my conversation with Becca that morning.
Was I really shutting down on everyone around me? Yes. Yes I was. I'd been so absorbed in the dual life I was leading that I hadn't been participating in this one like I should have been. Yesterday had been fun, and I hadn't realized how much I’d missed hanging out with my friends and being in the moment with them until then. Dom was great, and his kiss had been nice. If I hadn’t met Aleksander, who knew how things with Dom would have progressed.
I wanted Aleksander. There was something there, a real spark that made my breath catch whenever I saw, him but he hadn't shown any interest in me at all. I'd thought that maybe it was because he was my Caomhnóir, but when I'd seen Erik and Caroline together, it became pretty obvious that that wasn't the case. He just wasn't into me and I should cut my losses before he caught me mooning over him like a stupid little girl with a crush. I felt disappointment and sorrow roll into a heavy weight and settle in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to feel like I was settling for Dom, but I was too chicken to put my heart on the line. Could this day get any worse?
When class ended, I stuffed my books in my bag and slung the strap over my shoulder, wanting desperately to go back to the apartment. It sucked having no respite. Either I was in the mortal world stressing over what I would give up here or I was in Otherworld stressing over what I was giving up there. There was no escape, and I longed for the peace of dreams and a chance to avoid reality for even a few hours.
"Miss Marshall, I'd like a moment of your time please," a voice interrupted me, and I looked up to see Professor Davies eying me intently. I nodded and followed her out of the classroom and down the corridor to her small office.
It was clear she didn't have tenure, as her office was minuscule and cramped. She gestured for me to take a seat and I obliged her, feeling claustrophobic as she closed the door behind her and sat down opposite me.
"If you don't mind, Miss Marshall, I'd like to be as blunt as possible. You're going to screw your life up if you keep up like this."
I blinked, shock over her tone and confusion at her words washing over me.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I sputtered.
She studied me for a long moment, her mouth turning into a disappointed frown, and I shifted in my seat uncomfortably.
"Do you think you are the first student I've watched circle the drain in my class, tossing out their talents and their promising futures so they could escape reality?"
My jaw dropped. How could she have known I’d been wishing for that? And I wasn't throwing away any talents. I showed up to class every day, turned in all my assignments, and took all my tests. She was off her rocker and picking on me for some reason I had yet to fathom.
She held up a hand and sighed when she saw me open my mouth to fire back a retort. "Don't even bother to argue. I'm not here to lecture you about partying or drinking or taking narcotics or pills or whatever it is that you are doing. We're both adults here, and I would prefer to skip past the denials and head straight into how to fix this before it’s too late."
I gaped. Narcotics? Was she flipping kidding me? I'd never taken narcotics and I didn't drink. Maybe I wasn't focusing in class as much as I should be, but that seemed like a bit of a leap, even to me.
"You started off the semester fantastically. You were bright and alert in class, responsive to lectures, and the work you submitted was excellent. Over the last few weeks, however, your participation has decreased. You're spacing off in lectures. Your last paper barely met the requirements for a C. You ca
n do so much better than you are doing now. Where is the student who began the semester with me? The student who was alert and attentive and loved to learn?"
"I'm sorry," I said weakly. “I’ll do better.”
She was right. Ever since my birthday, I’d been so focused on what was going on with me personally that I'd let my schoolwork fall by the wayside.
"Sorry is not good enough without action to back it up," she said sternly. "You are in danger of failing this course, Miss Marshall. If you want to correct that, you need to show me that you are willing to do the work and start acting like an adult. This is not high school, and you cannot let your personal life affect your academics."
I inhaled sharply and my vision clouded with angry tears.
"There's no need for that.” She, reached on her desk for a box of tissues and nudged it toward me. "There is a time to be childish and selfish in your pursuit of enjoyment, Miss Marshall, and a time to put aside those things to focus on your future. Now, because I know that deep down you are a mature young woman who seems to have gotten off the right track, I will cut you a break. I will give you the opportunity to rewrite and submit your last three papers. I need them back before Thanksgiving break begins. If you can raise your grades on these assignments and if you can bring your assignments for the rest of term back to the quality that I expect from you, I believe that you may be able to raise your grade to standard and pass my class."
"Thank you," I said, shamed to my core and wanting desperately to escape her confining little office. I wasn't a claustrophobic, but I was sure that if I didn't get out of the tiny room soon I was going to hyperventilate. "I promise I won't let you down again."
"See that you don't." She handed me a folder containing my assignments. "This is not an opportunity I usually extend to students, and I hope that you will not make me regret extending it to you. Remember, Miss Marshall, I need them before break and you need them done well."
I shoved the folder in my backpack and fled her office before I cried and said something I would regret. How could I have gotten so absorbed in what was going on in Otherworld that I'd let my schoolwork slide? I still hadn't decided what I was going to do about my soul, and if I was going to stay a mortal, I needed my grades to stay on par so I could graduate and get a good job. Not to mention what my parents would say if they found out. Imagining my mother’s reaction sent my heart rate rocketing with anxiety.
They would be so disappointed in me, and that knowledge sent me into a fresh bout of tears. They blurred my vision so completely that I didn't even see Dom standing in front of me until I bowled into him, knocking us both into the ground. Dom wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his chest and twisting his body so that he took the brunt of the fall.
I looked up at him as we lay on the dirty floor, horrified with embarrassment flooding my cheeks. I could feel the blood draining from my face in mortification.
"If you wanted to knock me off my feet, you didn't have to be so literal about it," he chuckled, his breath tickling my face as we lay on the ground, his arms still wrapped tight around me.
I burst into tears and covered my face with my hands, not wanting him to see me like that.
"Hey now," he cooed, sitting up and pulling me into his lap in the middle of the hallway. "Are you okay? Did you hurt anything?" He brushed my hands away from my face and wiped my cheeks with his thumb. His eyes glowed with concern.
"No," I sniffed as I scrambled to my feet, "I'm okay. I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."
"Somehow I doubt that's what's making you cry," he persisted, climbing to his feet.
"No not really," I admitted with a choked laugh. "I'm having a pretty crummy day. I overslept and my professor just accused me of being on drugs because I'm not getting straight A's."
"Well that seems rather bitchy for a teacher but hardly a reason to cry." He scowled at the professor’s door like he would love to tell her so to her face.
I had no doubt that he would have, given half the chance, and it lifted my spirits a little. I wish I'd had the nerve to call her out on her stupid assumptions and not cry like an idiot.
"I know," I frowned. "I overreacted is all. I know I'm not taking drugs and that she's being a jerk, but I can't help it. I don't like people being disappointed in me, even when I'm not doing anything wrong."
Dom looked down at me, his eyes dark with concern before he pulled me into the circle of his arms, holding me tight against his chest. I inhaled deeply, his unique smell soothing my injured pride.
"You want me to walk you back to your apartment? Or do you have to work?"
I shook my head. "I don't have to work today, but no, I'd rather not go home. I had a minor run-in with my roommate this morning too. Not a fight. She just likes to mother me. If she sees I've been crying, she'll sucker me into telling her what happened and then she's going to go on the warpath. I think I’ll probably go hide out somewhere until I’m calmer."
He nodded and chewed his bottom lip as if considering something.
"Well then that settles it, I guess," he said thoughtfully. "You're going to have to come home with me."
"Huh?" I asked with confusion. “You don’t need to do that. I can go hang out at the library or something. I don’t want to intrude on your personal space.”
"It wouldn’t be intruding,” he insisted. “You can't go home, so you might as well hang out at my place for a while. I've got a decent movie collection and I can make us some dinner. You haven't lived until you've had my ramen noodle soup."
I laughed in spite of myself. "Ramen soup huh? Really busting out the big guns there. I can see you must be desperate to impress me with your mad culinary skills."
"It's a college staple," he grinned. "I'll even let you pick your flavor. I've got shrimp, oriental, and beef flavors. I don't like to brag, but what can I say. I'm rolling in swag."
I chortled, feeling my spirits rising. Hanging out at Dom's apartment wasn't exactly the greatest idea in the world while I was so confused about everything, but he made me laugh and I was still desperate for an escape from reality.
"Do you have any Supernatural?" I asked as I picked my bag up off the floor and swung it over my shoulder.
"No, but I've got something better," he grinned as he wrapped his arms around my shoulder and led me from the building. "Netflix."
Chapter Fourteen
I felt more relaxed than I had in weeks. Dom and I were sprawled on his overstuffed couch, slurping bowls of ramen noodle soup and watching the Winchester brothers take out demons on Netflix. He hadn't been exaggerating about his abilities. He demanded that I try crushed nacho-cheese-flavored tortilla chips on top of the noodles, and I had shared my firm belief that there wasn't any wrong that couldn't be righted with a Supernatural marathon. Neither of us discussed my crappy day, and for that I was grateful.
"Okay," I admitted, pushing my empty bowl on the table in front of me with a contented sigh. "You were right. The crushed Doritos were perfect and the hot dogs added to the flavor. You are the master ramen chef, and I promise to never call your mad skills questionable again. Becca would have a coronary if she saw what we were eating, and somehow that makes it even better"
He grinned at me and set his bowl next to mine. "You should never doubt my prowess in the kitchen. Just wait until I make you my world-famous pancakes. I put almond butter in the batter. They actually melt in your mouth."
"Okay, that sounds amazing, but I hate to break it to you, Dom. I don't foresee breakfast plans in our future." Not that we had much of a future—or a future at all if I chose to be a Fae. A heavy weight settled in my stomach, resentment over the fact that I had to choose at all.
He leaned in toward me, his eyes twinkling wickedly, and I scooted back away from him, trying to keep a respectable distance between us. Undeterred, he kept pressing forward until I was pressed against the back of the couch while he hovered over me.
"I'm hoping that eventually I'll convince you to spen
d the night with me." He beamed at me. "And since I'm not the ‘hit 'em and quit 'em’ type, breakfast is part of the package deal."
My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. Spend the night with him? We'd had, like, one date. Two if you counted coffee. The train to Ho-bagville didn't run as fast as he thought it did.
"Um," I sputtered, "the chances of that happening are slim to none, so...um....maybe you should just give me the recipe..." My face flushed with embarrassment.
Dom flashed a grin and leaned even closer.
"It's my mom’s secret recipe. If I gave it to you, I'd have to kill you. But I'm not in any rush, Cassie," he said, his lips hovering over mine. "You're worth waiting for."
"About that," I said hesitantly. "I think we need to talk."
"Oh." Dom sat back, his eyes sparking and flashing in surprise. "That can't be good. Nothing good ever started with 'we need to talk.'"
"The gold in your eyes is bright today," I said, distracted by the tawny gold ring. I watched as they flared slightly and then faded, the blue suddenly dominant. I blinked and they looked normal again.
"Maybe it's because I want to kiss you until you forget what it was you wanted to talk about," he said, bringing his hands up to tangle in my hair as he rested his forehead against mine and closed his eyes, breathing deeply
My heart beat wildly, and I thought of Aleksander, of his clear green eyes and the heat I felt whenever he touched me. I needed to say what I felt and be done with it.
"Please don't," I pleaded softly, closing my eyes against the unreasonable tears I could feel building. "This is hard enough as it is. Please don't make it harder."
"Cassie." He sounded surprised, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled away. "Did I do something wrong? Whatever it is, I'm sorry. Please stop crying."
My eyes flew open and guilt raged through my chest. "No," I denied, shaking my head vehemently. "No, you're perfect. This isn't a you thing."
He laughed without a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's not you, it's me? Really?"
The Changeling (Book One of The Síofra Chronicles) Page 11
