Slow It Down

Part 6 •REWRITTEN•

Reading and writing have always been my escape. My way of existing without really existing. That's why I chose creative writing. And why I'm minoring in business—because working in publishing feels like the safest option. I would love to write and publish my own work someday, but for now, my goal is to start in a publishing company and work my way up.

Natalie loops her arm through mine, pulling me toward one of the buildings. Confidence rolls off of her that I nearly forget this is her first day and she's a new student too. "Come on, I'll help you find your class first."

I shake my head, politely trying to deny her offer. "You don't have to. I don't want you to be late."

She studies me, as if deciding whether or not to believe me. Then her face lifts as she cheerfully smirks. "I'll be fine. If I'm late, I'll just make sure my cleavage is showing and give my professor big puppy dog eyes."

I roll my eyes. "What if your professor isn't a guy?"

Natalie shrugs. "Unless her name is Mark Dawson and she's married to a pregnant Susan Dawson, I think I'll be okay."

I stop in my tracks and give her a look of bewilderment. "What?"

She throws her head back and laughs before pulling me to continue walking beside her. "I looked up my professors. Just to get an idea of what to expect. Then I may have fallen into a rabbit hole."

I shake my head, amused despite myself. I've known her long enough to not give it a second thought of something abnormal for her.

Before I know it, we're standing outside my classroom. My stomach clenches, the all too familiar feeling of butterflies rapidly fluttering around in there not helping.

"You'll be fine," Natalie reassures me. "Now get in there before you're the last one to walk in." Her words are followed with a light slap to my butt. My head quickly snaps in her direction with a playful scowl.

Without a chance to thank her, she begins to walk to her class, calling out over her shoulder. "Text me if needed."

I nod, fighting the thoughts of my troubled past out of my head before gripping the strap of my bag a little tighter. Inhaling deeply, I reach for the door.

The moment I step inside, my lungs burn with the realization that I've been holding my breath. I exhale slowly, hesitantly scanning the room. Dread twists in my chest as I spot dozens of people already here, most of them in groups that have already formed. Some people are chatting easily, while others aimlessly scroll through their phones, waiting for class to start.

I keep my head down, making my way towards my go to area, a seat in the back near the windows. I set my notebook and pencil on the desk before climbing into my seat and take advantage of where I'm sitting by looking out the window, desperately trying to drown out the chatter all around me.

A moment later, I can somewhat hear shuffling of someone sitting beside me. Sensing their eyes on me, I sneak a glance over, and my breath catches slightly.

"Hey, Lilah."

The voice is familiar. Friendly.

It's the guy from the party. The one who spilled his drink on me. I blink, scrambling to remember his name before he thankfully beats me to it and saves me the trouble.

"It's me—Nate," he says, offering me a sheepish smile. "You know, the dick who spilled his drink on you."

I let out a small laugh. "Oh, yeah. How could I forget?"

His smile widens in response, and for some reason, it puts me at ease. "I still feel bad about that, by the way," he says. "Let me make it up to you."

I shake my head. "You really don't have to. That night went downhill way past the spilled drink."