North Woods University

by Beck, J. L.

  “Shit, I’m sorry, okay? Please calm down, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The mystery man’s voice sounds close, but somehow far away too, like he’s speaking through a tunnel.

  “Seriously, I’m sorry… fuck… shit, okay, take a deep breath,” he orders, obviously not realizing that’s what I’m trying to do.

  “You need to breathe,” he says again, his voice taking on a much calmer tone.

  I feel his hands on me now, one on my upper arm and one on my lower back. His touch is gentle, not sexual in any way, but I can’t help but be scared of it, nonetheless. My body never reacts to touch well, and his is no different. I want him to stop. I need him to take his hands off of me, but I can’t get the words out.

  Like a fish out of water, I gasp for air, then the whole situation gets even worse. My shaking knees finally give out and my body crumbles to dirty alley ground. I’m waiting for the pain to shoot through me as I land on the unforgiving asphalt, but instead a pair of strong arms encase me.

  And instead of removing his hands like I had hoped, he does something far worse and engulfs me in his touch. My whole body finding its way pressed up against his. This is bad, horrible, terrible. Unable to do anything else, I bury face into his firm chest and let him wrap his strong arms around my torso, as if doing so will keep me from shattering into a million pieces.

  His fingers rub soothing circles over my back, and though I can’t make out exactly what he’s saying over the erratic beat of my heart in my ears, I know he’s whispering reassuring words in my ear. To any passersby, this would look like a simple lover’s embrace, even though it’s far from it. At the very least it won’t draw any attention.

  After a few moments, I finally calm down enough to understand him again. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Just breathe, no one is going to hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he continues saying and something in his voice makes it sound like a promise. Almost as if he is going to make certain of it.

  This strange current ripples through me and for the first time in a long time, I believe what someone is telling me. I trust in his words, the words of this stranger I have never met. I don’t remember the last time I trusted anyone, and I don’t understand why I’m trusting him of all people right now, but something inside of me does. Something inside of me knows he is telling me the truth. That he won’t hurt me or let anyone else do so either.

  In my mind, I see him as a knight, with a sword and noble steed willing to slay my biggest fears.

  Knowing this, I will myself to breathe, to fill my lungs with air, and to my surprise, air makes it into my burning lungs. I blink, confused as to how this stranger has somehow managed to break through the foggy panic.

  Slowly, breathing becomes easier again. With every breath that passes my lips, I’m becoming more and more aware of the scent of the guy who is holding me. He smells nice, fresh and clean like soap with a hint of aftershave that’s not overbearing like most men wear it.

  He feels like home, I tell myself. Letting my eyes drift closed, I concentrate on that scent and on how warm his skin feels radiating through his dress shirt, how protected I feel with his arms wrapped around me and how soothing the sound of his heartbeat is beneath my ear.

  I don’t know how long we stay like this, all I know is that I have never been able to calm down this fast from a panic attack. Normally these kinds of things end with me crying on the floor for hours, gasping for air while curled in the fetal position, before either literally passing out or simply falling asleep from exhaustion. And while this is different, and I should be terrified, I’m not, nothing about this mysterious man scares me anymore.

  Comforting myself in the confession, I sink into him even farther, letting him soak up all my fears and sorrows like a sponge. I can’t explain why, but this man makes me feel safe and I grasp on to the foreign feeling, hoping the moment won’t end… but as always, I’m disappointed.

  After a short time that felt like an eternity, he pulls away, not fully, but a few inches, so he can look at my face. I can’t bring myself to look at him, to look into his eyes, so instead, I concentrate on his pink, firm lips, as they move. “Are you okay? I really didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m sorry, seriously.” His words are heartfelt, genuine.

  “I’m okay,” I rasp.

  “I’m such a douche bag.” He shakes his head, and for some reason, I don’t like the idea of him beating himself up over this, it’s not his fault.

  “It’s okay… it’s not your fault,” I stuttered, unable to grasp onto it at that moment. It’s my least favorite thing about having anxiety, aside from having the actual anxiety. It gives me away and makes people look and act shitty toward me. It puts a target on my back.

  “It is my fault though…” He expels a harsh breath, and I peer up at him, allowing myself to finally meet his gaze. Hazel eyes reflect back at me, their depth endless like a forest full of trees. I want to get lost in his eyes, forget about all the bad in my life, but even he couldn’t create that kind of magic. He might be special but he’s not capable of that.

  His thick brows furrow and his lips start to move again.

  “Does this happen a lot?”

  “Yes,” I confess, unsure as to why I’m telling a total stranger this. “I’m okay now, really… I…I… should go back inside.”

  I don’t know what just happened between us but I’m not stupid enough to believe that he can save me. No one can save me. I’m doomed, forever trapped in a world of panic, of fear.

  Trembling, I tell myself that I need to get back inside before my father notices that I’m gone, before anyone notices, though I’m sure I could disappear and no one would even notice.

  “Okay,” he says apprehensively, letting go of me slowly like I’m an animal that might turn around and attack him. Without his strong arms, or soothing touch, the panic starts to rise, but it’s a much more manageable feeling this time, and even though it feels like I’m detaching a part of myself from him I pull away, taking a step backward. The space between us feels like an ocean and even though I want to run back into his arms, I force my feet into the concrete.

  “Thanks…” I mumble, wiping my sweaty hands over the front of my dress.

  “Yeah, no problem,” he says, oozing confidence that I wish I had. He runs a hand through his brown locks, that I now notice are cut stylishly, a little longer on top and shorter on the sides. I turn on my ballet flat-covered feet and start walking toward the door. Of course fate would push me into the arms of a knight, only to pull me out of his embrace and shove me back into my nightmare of a life.

  “Wait, at least tell me your name?” he calls after me.

  My hand hovers on the metal door handle and I consider turning around to tell him my name, to give him at least that one memory of me, but at the last second, I choose against it and open the door, escaping inside.

  With my heart galloping in my chest, and the brand of his touch forever ingrained in my mind, I retreat back to my corner, and wait for the nightmare to be over. At least if I can’t have the white knight, I can have the memories of him…

  49

  Clark

  “I still don’t understand why this chick has to stay with us? Just make her stay in the dorms like a normal student,” I say, grumbling into the speaker of my cell. I’ve got enough chicks chasing me around, trying to get me to fuck them a second, or third time. The last thing I need is to fuck up and end up screwing some chick that has to live with me for the school year.

  “Clark, I told you, she is not a normal student and I told her father that I would do this for him as a favor. I owe him big time and he needs my help now, so I’m offering it. Don’t be a spoiled prick, or so help me. I want you to welcome Emerson into our home. She is a nice girl, very kind, she just struggles a bit socially.”

  I roll my eyes at my father’s words. Struggles a bit socially? What the hell does that mean? How can someone struggle socially? Either she has her nose stuck in a book and is a bitch, or maybe s
he’s both?

  “Need I remind you what I can do to you, son. Remember, that fancy car you’re driving and the big house we live in, we got those things because of my business and Emerson’s father was someone who helped me get that business started. He’s not just a business associate but a friend also, and he is struggling now and I’m not going to let him down because my son is an asshole. Get yourself together, and befriend the girl.”

  My jaw clenches at his tone of voice. He’s not even warning me, he’s all but saying, ‘do as you’re told, or I’ll rip the rug right out from underneath you’ and if there’s anything I hate, it’s when my father who’s normally absent from my wrongdoings and life, telling me what to do.

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it. I’ll put my nice pants on and show the girl around, like I have nothing better to do.” In fact, I really don’t have anything better to do, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “One other thing…” he muffles into the phone, and I clenched my fist at my side, the muscles of my bicep tightening. I’m ready to swing it into the drywall. “Do not, under any circumstances try to have sex with her. I promised her father that my son would keep his dick to himself and I expect you to do just that. You have more than enough women to choose from. Befriend her and nothing more. Got it?”

  I almost laugh at his words. He should know better than to assume that pussy is hard for me to get. It’s like breathing, sleeping, eating. It’s second nature.

  “Don’t worry, Dad, I’m not looking for any hookups right now, and if I was, there are plenty of girls lined up waiting for this stud,” I joke, but it’s not really a joke…more of a confession.

  A few weeks ago his warning would have made perfect sense, but ever since I met this mystery girl at that company fundraiser my dad made me go to, random chicks have become less and less appealing to me. I tried to get the red-haired, blue-eyed, freckle-faced beauty out of my head by screwing other coeds but either my cock is broken, or I am, because since that night, I haven’t been able to forget her. How her slim body felt in my embrace or her honeysuckle scent that I swear I can still smell sometimes.

  She’s like a ghost, haunting me through my days.

  “Alright, son. I’ll call you later to see how everything went. Please do your best not to fuck this up,” my father says gruffly before hanging up. I pulled the phone away from my ear and stare at the screen for a moment. The asshole didn’t even say bye. I shouldn’t be surprised. He hasn’t given a fuck about me since Mom died and God knows he doesn’t have to tell me that he thinks I’m going to mess up. I already know what he thinks about me, that I’m a no-good son who can’t do anything right.

  Unreliable, brash, cocky, impulsive. He’s got a long list of words he’s called me, and none of them include good son, or I’m proud of you. I’m more about making his life harder than making it easier and it will remain that way most likely for the rest of my life. I know he doesn’t think much of me. Well good, the feeling is mutual.

  Heading for the kitchen, I pull out all the stuff for a sandwich and start shoving the ingredients between two pieces of bread. Then I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and head for the basement. It’s where I do all the shit I shouldn’t do.

  Weed, girls, partying, you name it, it’s probably taken place in my basement. Dropping down onto the leather sectional, I take a bite of sandwich and place the water bottle in the cup holder. I contemplate calling Vance, my best friend and confidant, but decide against it. I don’t want to explain the puppy dog named Emerson that is my responsibility for the next few days. Once I have her stowed away and settled in then maybe I’ll consider it.

  All I know is I need to keep this girl and my personal life far away from each other. There is no way in hell I’m letting the girl with social struggles, as my father called them, cramp my style.

  Lifting the sandwich, I bring it to my mouth, ready to take another bite when the doorbell rings. I roll my eyes and clench my jaw. Of course she is fucking early, if this isn’t a sign of things to come, I don’t know what is. Sighing, I drop the sandwich back down onto the plate and get up and walk up the stairs. Chicks I can handle, chicks that I can’t screw, not so much. And since I can’t dip my dick inside of her, then I’m going to have to resort to being an asshole.

  I have every intention of doing nothing more than opening the door and pointing her in the direction of her room leaving her to figure out the rest for herself, but that’s shot to hell as I walk up to the front door and the figure of a female body comes into view. Even through the frosted glass, I can tell that girl is petite.

  The doorbell rings again moments before I make it to the door. Annoyed as all hell since I’m already on my damn way to answer it I open the door using much more force than necessary, a snide remark on the tip of my tongue, ready to be used, but it never passes my lips. In fact, I freeze… shocked into silence. I blink, thinking maybe I’m seeing an illusion, but I’m not… it’s her. The mystery girl. What the hell is she doing here?

  Blue doe eyes gaze up at me with an anxiousness that I’ve seen once before, red hair glowing from the sun like a sunset on the beach, flows freely down to her breast, while countless freckles decorate the bridge of her nose and cheeks, just as I remembered them.

  “You…” she whispers, those blue orbs turning from anxious fear to shock.

  “You,” I echo her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I… my father sent me here. I think your father used to be his business partner…” Her meek voice trails off and it’s so fucking adorable I just want to make her continue to talk, but there are prying matters that we need to figure out, like why she is here.

  “Wait,” I interrupt her, needing to piece this fucked up puzzle together. “You are Emerson?”

  “Yes… and you must be Clark?”

  I run my fingers through my hair angrily. Jesus fuck, she’s Emerson. The mystery girl. The girl I’ve been thinking about for weeks is standing on my front steps. Mystery girl is going to stay with us, in my house…so fucking close to me yet, so far away.

  “Can I come in?” she asks after a moment of silence, her gaze on my lips rather than my face, just like that night. I stared at her for a long moment, taking in how tiny she is compared to me, how beautiful she is—

  “I… I can leave if you don’t want me here,” she interrupts my thoughts.

  Like an idiot, only then do I realize that she asked if she could come in. “Whoa wait, look I’m sorry. Come in, I was just surprised to see you here, that’s all. When we parted ways last, I didn’t get your name, so…”

  I pull the door open all the way and wave her in, but then I realize the huge suitcase sitting beside her. “Here, let me get that,” I say as I reach for it swiftly. As if I’m about to attack her, she jumps back two feet, almost falling down the front steps in a haste to get away from me.

  I look over at her dumbfounded as to what I did wrong. All I did was reach for the damn suitcase and she’s standing there with her hands clutched to her chest and a petrified look in her eyes. Anger ripples through me, not at her but at her fear of me. I must have really freaked her out that day if she reacted to me like this. I was sure I had made it clear that I wasn't going to hurt her, but obviously she’s forgotten that, either that or she never believed me.

  “I’m sorry. I get startled easily,” she admits bashfully even though she looks more like she was about to have another panic attack then being startled. I’m certain if she knew how badly I wanted her here, or how much I’ve thought about her over the last couple of weeks, she would have more than a panic attack.

  “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” I take her suitcase and start to pull it inside. “Let me show you around the house and to your room.”

  She follows me through the house as we walk up the stairs in stranded silence. This is strange, everything about this feels strange, because Emerson isn’t like any girl I’ve ever met before. Most…okay, all…the women, minus Ava, end up on their backs
, but that’s not going to be the case with Emerson, and I don’t know how to handle it. Pushing the thoughts away, I focus on my steps and not scaring the living shit out of the tiny girl walking with me.

  My father told me to give her the bedroom at the end of the hallway, the most secluded, and farthest away from mine. Five minutes ago, I was jumping for joy over her being as far away as possible, but since discovering who my new sidekick is, that feeling has changed. There’s no way in hell I’m putting her at the end of the hall.

  “Here, this will be your room,” I tell her, opening the door next to my own bedroom. Fuck what my father thinks.

  “Where do you sleep?” she asks without a hint of flirtation in her voice, and I almost choked on my own spit at her question. She sounds genuinely curious where I sleep, and I can’t figure out why the hell she would want to know that?

  “Next to you,” I answer without thought.

  As soon as the words pass my lips, an image of her sleeping next to me pops into my head. Her soft body lying next to me in my bed… naked. Fuck. None of that nonsense… I tell myself though it’s tempting, I know without question Emerson isn’t like that. Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans, I wait for her to make the next move.

  “So, this is your room then…” She points at my bedroom door, her eyes curious, and completely oblivious to the double meaning of the words I just spoke.

  “Yes, if you need anything, that’s where you can find me.” If she was any other girl, I would be having a field day with this conversation. I’d flirt so hard, her panties would fly off by themselves, but again, she is not like other girls. She’s off limits, off limits to everybody but most of all to me.

  “Or downstairs in the basement,” I added. “I can show you…if you want. Or do you want some time to unpack, maybe eat some lunch? I just made myself a sandwich,” I keep rambling on. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t ramble. I’m a smooth talker, and yet here I stand, floundering.