Collapsing onto the bed, Madison snuggles into my shoulder. We lay together as we catch our breath.
“Is this really going to work?”
I breathe deep as I tilt her head up. Mascara has run down her face, and her cheeks are still flushed, and I have never seen anything so beautiful. So perfect. So… mine.
“It has to,” I whisper before I kiss her.
Work is going to be a nightmare, I know that. I dread Wednesday morning when I walk into that lecture hall, see her shining from the front row, and can’t do anything about how much I love her. I hate the thought of ignoring how we feel about each other when we are in public.
Gears start turning in my head, trying to figure out how we can make this work. How I can be with the woman I love without losing my job.
The thought slams into me as I trail my fingers along Madison’s shoulder. The only thing stopping us from being together is my job.
The work I’ve never enjoyed suddenly feels like even more of a burden. It’s my own personal prison, and I’m just about ready to break out.
MADISON
For a library, there’s a lot of chatter this morning. I can only assume the weekend’s party is to blame for the extra conversation. Across from me, two girls gossip about the guys they went home with. Down one aisle, a couple has a not-so-subtle argument about boundaries. And the student librarians are huddled around a book cart laughing.
The teeniest, tiniest part of me wishes I could join in the conversation. I want to tell the girls at the table how I win. Their guys have nothing on mine. But I know that I can’t. I know why I can’t.
Oliver cooked me breakfast yesterday morning, and we spent the day tangled in the bedsheets. I told him I was okay with sneaking around. Now that I’m doing it, though, it’s hard. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours but being in love and not being able to scream it to the world sucks.
Head down, I try to focus on the text in front of me. The words jumble, blurring on the page until it’s impossible to focus. It’s not until the nausea hits that I realise I’m about to lose my peripheral vision.
I lose my balance as I stand, searching my tote for my migraine medication. Finding a wafer, I peel it open. The minty flavour causes a rush of relief through my body, but my eyes are still struggling to focus. I’m too late. I need to find somewhere dark. Quick.
The girls on the other end of the table glance up at me, their eyebrows drawn together. One tilts her head, opening her mouth to speak before closing it again. I want to tell them I’m okay, but the words catch in my throat.
Stumbling toward the exit, my hands reach for every surface so I don’t fall. I can’t see to either side, can’t turn my head to make sure I don’t walk into anything.
The exit is so close when I see him. Standing at the end of an aisle, pulling a book from the returns trolley. My shoulders relax as I head to him, feeling safe. I know I shouldn’t, I know I’m putting everything at risk, but right now I need his help.
“Oli—” I pause when he gives his head a tiny shake. I swallow down the lump in my throat and try again.
“Professor Fraser.”
He nods at me, turning back to the book he had pulled from the shelf. I stand next to him, not too close to look suspicious.
“I need you,” I whisper.
But he shakes his head, taking a step away from me. His eyes are still on the book when he answers me, so quietly I barely hear him.
“Not here.” He glances down the aisle and I look up to see Professor Dausset deep in conversation with another student.
As though she felt my eyes on her tight bun, she glares up at me. Her eyes dart between Oliver and me, a line forming between her brows. With tight lips, she turns her attention back to the student.
Oliver can’t help me.
“Sorry.” The word is nothing but an exhale as I turn on my heel and scurry out of the library.
The light as I cross the courtyard is far too bright, but I duck through shadows towards the main building. Inside, I find my way to an empty classroom. The screen by the door says it’s free for the next three hours. I log myself into the room, muscle memory working to reserve the room for as long as possible.
Sensor lights blind me when I enter, but I’m counting on them turning off when I stop moving. Bundling my jacket around my bag, I curl up on the floor, facing the corner. My hands cover my face until the lights flick off and the medicine starts to ease the thumping in my brain.
I wake up to the sound of my alarm, sticky with sweat. I don’t remember setting it, but the clock shows I have half an hour before someone else has booked the room, so I must have been thinking straight even when I wasn’t thinking at all. My back aches as I roll to a seated position. My throat is dry and my eyes feel heavy, but my head isn’t pounding.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a migraine that intense. Although that’s probably attributed to the fact that I usually spot them sooner. The earlier I can get a wafer on my tongue, the more effective the sickly-sweet medicine is. But I was too distracted earlier, I didn’t notice the signs.
