The Third Time Is Not The Charm

I open my mouth but no words come out. An invisible hand pulls where my chest should be. 

I close my mouth, blink, try again. “Did we… um—”

He doesn’t let me finish. “No, we didn’t do anything,” his smile turns almost bashful. He moves his face closer to mine, like he’s about to say something, and I take a breath, moving back instinctively. 

“Chill,” he says as he lays a hand on my shoulder. He looks behind him, and I turn too. Jo on the bed opposite us, focused on his phone. 

I relax immediately—he won’t do anything with Jo here. 

“What?” My head falls back on the pillow, and he rises to face me, his eyes softening. 

“I won’t send those pictures to anyone. It would hurt me too.” I don’t believe him. He reads the doubt in my eyes and grimaces. 

I decide to change the subject. I don’t want to be here, with him this close, looking at me like everything is good between us. The light from the ceiling is oppressing. “What am I doing here?”

“Found you on the floor outside my room after the dorm party.” His eyes roam to Jo again, and he shifts on the bed, away from me. 

I remember, suddenly, the way Alexander held my face in the hallway in front of everyone and my cheeks redden at the thought. I say nothing, turning his words around in my head for a second.

I pat myself, searching for my phone in my trousers. His lips turn up slightly, “Your phone?” 

I nod, and he lifts himself up, standing and walking over to a drawer beside the table. He pulls my phone from the drawer and holds it out. 

I take it, ensuring no part of my hand mistakenly comes into contact with his. 

I sit up, rubbing my eyes as I check for any new messages from Jasmine or my brother. 

My headache intensifies the moment I’m up. 

The screen is too bright, and the blankets around me too heavy. Alexander’s shirt  from last night sticks to my skin, and the trousers feel too tight all of a sudden. 

A messages from Jasmine: I woke up feeling a bit better. How’s your mother doing now, by the way? 

I look at Timothy, but his eyes are already on me, his fingers reaching toward me and trying to push his fingers into mine. 

“I’m not breaking up with Jasmine, Tim. You can do whatever,” I struggle to keep my voice a whisper. He just sighs, and I can’t read the expression on his face. 

“Don’t break up with her,” he says and squeezes my hand. Then he stands, tucking his shirt into his trousers.

“I was just feeling a bit emotional at the time,” his smile is so large, easy. He moves to the table in the middle of the room, taking his blazer and putting it on. 

“Why are you wearing your uniform? Isn’t it a Saturday?” 

“I have a meeting with the school board.” He doesn’t look at me while speaking. He buttons he shirt like he has all the time in the world. 

“Will you delete the photos?” I don’t even care that Jo can hear us right now. Timothy glances at me—just a second—and the venom in that single glance chills me. I lower my eyes, then lift them back and the anger I saw a moment ago is gone. 

Did I imagine it? 

I bite my thumb, hard. 

“Yes,” he turns to face me fully while speaking, “Maybe.” I don’t pull my eyes from his evil smile, I can’t.

“If you keep being good,” he says as he starts walking away. It takes a moment for me to realize he’s leaving the room, and I stand, ignoring the headache that almost forces me back down and the look Jo gives me.

“Fuck you!” The words feel like a combination of all the hate I feel for him, and yet they are insufficient. 

Anger is coursing through my bones. My fists tighten at my sides. 

He ignores me, taking another step toward the door. I can’t think straight. All I know is I want to get his phone away from him. 

I push him. 

“What the—