Yes, Masters (Book 2 of Desire's Den)

Chapter 23 - Emma

Everything was changing. Even my clothes didn't fit me like they used to.

I frowned as I began putting my hair in a ponytail, feeling the slickness of oil beneath my hands. When was the last time I'd washed my hair? Hell, when was the last time I'd washed myself, period?

When had I started letting myself go?

My life had turned into a song track for depression and anxiety. I should probably send the psychology professors a picture of me to use as teaching material for their students. I was sure they'd be able to show them telltales of what to look for in a patient.

I hesitated by the mirror, wondering if I should put on any make-up. I didn't feel like it, though. I didn't feel like doing anything at all. What was the worst that could happen? That my stalker happened to see me looking like a complete mess and lose his fascination with me? Hah, one could only hope.

I stiffened each time my phone got a notification, only to relax when I remembered I had finally blocked him last night. I couldn't handle how easily he could contact me. If he wanted to talk to me, he would have to work harder than that.

Biting my teeth together, I marched to my first class—though 'march' was exaggerating, I more like scampered like a little mouse.

My three classes for today dragged, and while I was there physically, I wasn't there mentally. If I didn't get it together soon, I worried I wouldn't be able to graduate next year. Maybe it was too soon to worry, as this was only my second week. Still, I could already feel myself falling behind on assignments. I had missed the first week almost entirely, and even these last two days when I attended, the professors' words had gone in one ear and out the other. 

The only good thing that happened at school was when I walked past Professor Peterson, and he didn't try to stop me. His face turned red at the sight of me, but I didn't know if it was from embarrassment, anger, or maybe a mix of the two. Anyway, I could thank Malika for his distance.

Nobody tried to talk to me all day. Maybe they could see how miserable I was and didn't want me to contaminate them with the same moodiness. At least...no one had tried to talk to me until I exited my last seminar.

I saw Liam across the hall, and I tried to escape before he saw me too. He was too friendly, too nice, and I didn't want to deal with nice today. Nice made me feel safe, relaxed, and comforted, but it also made me feel worse as if 'nice' feelings heightened the bad.

Liam looked like a college jock; the one you associate with steamy college books, and not the jerks which I usually thought about when I heard the words' college jock'. For being the same age as me, twenty-two, he looked older with his stubbled jaw and built body. The only thing that showed his actual age was his innocent smile and brown eyes that reflected naivety , pared with a brown boyish haircut that made me think of Timothée Chalamet.

Too late, though; he'd already seen me before I could make my escape.

"Emma, hi." He ran to catch up with me, unaware that I sped up because I didn't want him to.

He looked like a schoolboy, with his hands gripping the reins of his backpack.

"Oh, hi, Liam." I pretended I'd only just seen him.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" he asked, following me outside. I could sense his eyes on my face, probably taking in the circles underneath my eyes.

"I have a bus to catch," I lied. I didn't really care if I got on this bus or the next one or the next after that. My stomach clenched at the thought of being alone. However, I didn't want to be with anyone either—scratch that, I did, but only with three people in particular.