Date Me, Mr. Archer

three | a friend from the past

He smirked, amused by my retort and dropped his hand back down onto the desk, his muscles flexing deliciously under his white dress-shirt. Shuffling past Bernard's chair, I dropped both coffees onto their respective sides.

Even though I was very, very curious to just look over my shoulder and find out why Bernerd Black sounded so familiar to me, I abandoned the thought. I'd pissed off Mr. Archer, talked back to him infront of his client and yes, he'd been sort of amused by it, I didn't think any employer would appreciate their employee snarling around. And then turning around to take a look at this huge client would be. . . well. . . a step closer to being fired.

So, simply, I turned around, took a haste look at Bernard Black's face, the freckles around his nose making him more and more familiar, offered him a polite smile and almost took off. Almost. Until another slow voice veered off into the air. "Viens The Virgin"

I froze. My grip on the tray becoming steel strong, knuckles going white with anticipation. Viens The Virgin. Traumas and years of bullying came flooding back and slammed into my chest with such intensity, I stumbled a step.

"Hey— " Mr. Archer's voice evaporated the moment Bernard's voice clinked off, "Vienna."

"Oh look, it's the girl from yesterday's after-party," someone said, eyes on me as I walked towards my classroom.

"Said she's a petty fuck. Cried and begged to snuggle after giving away her 'bloom'," another one echoed, his laughter ringing throughout my way to the classroom.

Petty fuck.
Begged.
'Bloom'
Attention seek—

"Vienna," Bernard's voice dragged me back from the flashback. It was horrific and I'd never felt so vulnerable as I did right now.

I blinked back the stinging in my eyes. Trying to hide the tremor in my hands, I held the tray tighter and turned to him. "Bernard," I said in acknowledgement and nodded. Once.

"Oh my god," he shot to his feet. I took a step back as he moved forward to reach to me and flinched. I hated him. More than that, I hated the remorse floating through his eyes. The regret skimming so freely in them, it took me back to when I was sixteen. I hated them even more because his brown eyes reflected the same expression mine did years ago. "I— I've been trying to contact you for years. I'm genuinely sor— "

A snarl ripped from my throat. I didn't want his apologies. I was breathing so hard it almost felt as if I wasn't breathing at all, the inhale and the exhale was so ridiculously urgent, my head floated. "What are you doing here?" my voice had a cold edge to it and I loved myself for it.

"Vienna, I'm here to— oh my god, are you— ," his hand came up to me almost instantly and landed on my forearm, the touch of his bare skin on mine burnt and every reason why I hated him came running back to me. I tried to shake his hand off of mine but instantly another wave of nausea hit me and the tray fell with loud clink. I swayed and Bernard's arm came around my waist, holding me tight and to the ground.

"Please." I was pathetic and breathing hard. "Don't touch me, please," I begged and his eyes turned soft as if the memories stung him just as painfully as they did me. But it was all an act. He didn't care then, he wouldn't do now.

"You'll fall, Vi. Let me hold— "

"Don't call me that," I growled. With my arms sweaty and my head still floating, I pushed at his chest, sending him stumbling but he was fast enough to catch himself and me again. "I said, don't touch me— "

From near, the scraping of the wheels of a chair reverberated and another hand came upto my waist, sliding me out of Bernard's grip. "Hands off, she said." The touch of Archer's hand on my waist sent heat rushing right to my face. His voice was rough on the edges and understanding passed through Bernard's face before he nodded curtly.