The moment our professor dismissed us, I slid out of my seat without worrying about who waited for me. I could hear Chrissy calling out my name, but I didn't need a lecture in between my other ones. So, I pretended to be oblivious to her pleas for me to stop and I continued out of the door.
Somewhere in the crowd, I lost Kinnick. I am not sure if I wanted to thank him one last time or if I needed the distraction; he provided me again. All I knew was the way his hand felt on my knee made the stirring feeling still. He was a roadblock, stopping me from continuing down a path of chaos.
When I stepped into the library doors, I waved at the lady behind the desk before moving toward the stairs. My heart ached for the relief I found when surrounded by the cathedral windows created by stained glass. The safety amongst bookshelves engulfed me, swallowing any ounce of fear or anxiety I may have felt earlier.
A plethora of rainbows cast down on my yellow backpack. Sometimes I wanted to believe it had my mom visiting me, but then I would realize there isn't a point in believing silly things.
"What are you doing?"
My head snapped up to find Kinnick hiding at the opposite end of the table. "Uh—sitting here."
I watched his eyes roll before he gently closed the book around his finger. "I know, but why are you sitting so far away?"
"I didn't know you were in here and I wouldn't want to distract you."
"I came here to sit with you," he gathered his things. "Do you think I wouldn't catch on? I know you come here around two every afternoon."
"You came here for me?"
"I would haven't cancelled my afternoon training session with John if I didn't want to be here with you."
His words knocked the air from my lungs, but I quickly gained composure. "I won't be much company. I have an essay to work on. You might get bored with me."
"Well, I have a book to read," he motioned to the novel in his hand. "So, you write your essay and I'll finish this."
He wasn't asking me if I was okay with that because he spread the pages of his book and his eyes fell victim to the story below him. My lips parted in disbelief. No one ever canceled their plans for me. Even my friends would find excuses to not be around me if they could, so I stopped asking them to. They didn't know how to handle my situation, and that's okay. I never wanted them to. I just didn't want to feel alone anymore. No matter what I did, I always was.
I know I should start my essay, but somehow, overthinking would always stop me from tapping into my assignments. Yet, I stopped thinking about what Luke said earlier, and now I am focusing on the way the man in front of me reads his book.
He propped both of his legs on the chairs beside him as the novel rested on top of his thighs. He continued to brush the strands of hair dangling from his head as he focused on the book in his hands. He read with such focus that nothing existed outside of his fantasy world. I listened to him bite his already short nails as the concern on his face deepened, and I wondered if he read for the same reasons I did. I invested myself in my character's problems because it stole me away from my own, and somehow, in the end, it always worked out. So, I can only manifest that it happens to me.
As I tried to peer further over the laptop screen in front of me, I couldn't help but lose the fear of being caught. His brows were pinched together, a deep glare fixed on his face as he looked down at the words on the pages. My teeth sunk into my lip as I tried to stifle my laughter, but I couldn't help the snort that came out.
When those striking blue eyes turned toward me, I felt their gaze catch ahold of my neck, never allowing the air access to my lungs. His tongue swiped over his lips as they pulled into a smile that was sure to put me six feet under my embarrassment.
"Haven't I told you how rude it is to stare, Miss Bennett?"
I licked the inside of my lip to hide my smile. "I couldn't help myself. I have never seen someone so invested in reading."
"Well, it is like I need to read as much as I need air to breathe."
"What is your reason, then?"
He cocked his eyebrow. "Hm?"
"People only read to escape their lives." I propped my elbows on the table. "What are you trying to escape from?"
It had been the only time I watched his emotionless expression soften. Perhaps he was asking himself the same thing, but he quickly brushed it off without paying it any more attention. As soon as his face dropped, I felt my stomach bubbling. Apologies rushed past my lips as I dropped my eyes to the keyboard on my laptop.
"Bo," he called my name softly. "Stop overthinking it."
"I shouldn't have asked."
His chair creaked as he leaned further into the tattered wood. "I don't escape from reality. Everything in my life, I have faced head-on. I don't know life outside of that."
"I am sorry."
"What are you working on over there?"
My eyes shifted back to the blank document on my laptop. I wasn't sure why I felt a lack of motivation when I feared the idea of failure. All I ever wanted was to succeed. The opportunity is at my fingertips, but they remain still. Kinnick pulled me from those thoughts, though. I watched as he came around the table.
He encased me with his arms, creating a wall of warmth as he slid into the seat beside me. As one arm rested behind me, the other curled around my computer. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin and the musky scent of his cologne hitting my nose. Something about it all made my eyes heavy.
A chuckle left his lips as his face tilted toward me. "Are you meaning to tell me you haven't done a single thing? Instead, you have been what, watching me the entire time?"
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I shifted my gaze back and forth between his eyes. "I am sorry."
"You say that too much," he mumbled. "When, in reality, you have nothing to be sorry for. What are you supposed to be writing about?"
"What makes me different?"
"Is that a hard one?"
"Yes," I choked. "When you open a box of crayons, what colors do your eyes navigate to first? Something attracts me to yellow. Why? Because they are bright, and they are the first thing that stands out. And I am one of those stupid colors that no one really understands what it's for, so no one touches it. Out of all the colors, mine will be the only one in pristine condition."
"Did you just describe yourself as a crayon?"
A sigh of frustration left my lips as my face fell to my hand. "I am being serious."
"I am more humored by the idea of you comparing yourself to a crayon than I am humored by your lack of differentially."
"That is the thing, though. I am not different, Kinnick." I turned to my blank document. "I will walk into a courtroom, and everyone will eat me alive. I don't bring something new to the table. I don't even know why I am pursuing this career."
"It is a funny thing, though," his head fell to the side. "I used to sketch on black paper because the colors nobody had a purpose for didn't stand out on white. So, maybe instead of questioning yourself. You need to change your perspective. If you don't feel like you stand out, you aren't standing in the right place."
My shoulders sunk at his words as if my body relaxed in realization. "Thank you."
"What makes you want to be a prosecutor?"
"People are getting sent to prison for the remainder of their lives for drug charges, and people who are creating horrific crimes will never have to worry about seeing the inside of a cell." I furrowed my eyebrows. "Our criminal justice system forgot their innocent until proven guilty verdict doesn't just rely on the accused but on the accuser also – "
"So many people face their abusers in court, but somehow, they get treated like they're on the stand. It's innocent until proven guilty unless you're a victim. You're the liar until someone says you aren't. You could have all the evidence in the world, and somehow some girls are nothing more than what they drink that night or the clothes they wear – "
"The bad people deserve to lose for once. People say I should be a defense attorney. Why should I defend the victim, though? Why is it the victim is always more guilty than the perpetrator? Something in our system needs to be changed, and I don't deserve to sit here and waste my time when there are people suffering."
I sucked in a deep breath to inhale the air I lost. Kinnick looked at me with a twist of amusement on his face, but none of what I said humored him. He looked surprised by the small rant I professed to him.
"That weight isn't yours to carry."
"I should have died in that car crash," my hands started trembling. "I didn't, though. So, my life deserves more purpose. I shouldn't get to do what I want when people are suffering."
"And what if what you want to do will be more significant?"
"How could pursuing writing change lives?"
"John said something that stuck with me." His eyes shifted between mine. "You think your dreams aren't impactful, but why is it matches can cause wildfires? He told me to strike my match and watch everything catch fire. One day, you'll be dancing on the ashes of yesterday's goals. You won't even realize how much of an impact you made until you stop to see the embers."
"I'm a match?"
"And your goals are the fire."
"I just have to ignite."
"So, ignite."