Page 8 of Surrender to Me
Chapter 5
Outside of the stucco building, Michael was smoking a cigarette, sitting on the edge of the bubbling fountain in the courtyard. I turned my head, determined to ignore him.
“Riles,” he shouted. I kept walking. The nerve of him to call me by my nickname at a time like this. We weren’t friends. “Too good to talk to me now?”
I stopped. He didn’t deserve a response, but I needed to know what he wanted to say. He thought of me as his enemy, and it was better to get a hint at what he was planning than to pretend like he wasn’t a threat. With my eyes forward, I asked, “What do you want, Michael?”
“You’re not such hot shit anymore, are you?”
The look of smug delight in his smile egged me on. My scholarship was already up for review anyway. Screw holding back. “Funny that you criticize me for sleeping with people to get what I want, when you do it every time you meet an agent or a professor with a pair of breasts.”
Michael grabbed my arm and whipped me around so hard I thought I might bruise. I clenched my fists, ready to strike back. “You fucked with the wrong person,” he sneered.
“And you fuck everyone.”
He laughed, but it was quiet and calculated, the kind of evil sound that gave a person chills, and not in a good way. He let go of my arm and relaxed his shoulders, one at a time. “I don’t have anything on the line like you, Riley. I’d watch my back if I were you.”
“Is that a threat?”
Michael’s eyes flicked to the side, noticing something or someone behind me. I turned and saw Owen standing beside the building, watching us with his stance wide, his arms crossed.
Michael waved at Owen. Owen didn’t move. “Good luck to you both,” Michael said under his breath as he walked away.
I rubbed my face. My cheeks and forehead were greasy with sweat as if I hadn’t showered in a week. I had been nervous for that entire half hour, being grilled with accusations, being watched by all of those people, most of them strangers. I was glad that Professor Hunt was on my side; I had met her once but hadn’t taken a class with her yet since she only taught graduate students. But it seemed like everyone else wanted to see me fail, and while I knew I would strive towards my dreams, it seemed like the slope was getting steeper and higher with each second that passed.
A hand rested on my shoulder. I turned to face Owen; I had almost forgotten he was there. He gave me a soft, sad smile, one I had seen before on Christmas. He pulled me in for a hug, and I let him. I breathed in his cedar and smoky scent as much as I could, sucking it in like it was the first breath of fresh air I had had in years. It felt like it was. He held me tight and nuzzled his nose in my hair.
“What do we do?” I asked. He didn’t say anything and the lack of response was haunting. Desperation was pooling in my veins. “What are we?” I whispered.
“We’re friends,” Owen said.
Suddenly, I remembered that our relationship was the reason why we were here in the first place. I pulled my head off of his chest, looking around frantically.
“I made sure they all left,” he said.
Relief flooded through my veins. I leaned my head on him again, but then stopped. I didn’t want to get too comfortable when I knew I couldn’t let myself be like that with him.
“What are we?” I asked again, this time with a firm voice. I stepped away from him.
“We’re friends,” he repeated. “Nothing more.”
“You don’t want to be more than friends?” I asked quietly.
He sighed, his gaze falling to the concrete beneath us. I looked too: his polished black dress shoes facing my worn, dirty Chuck Taylors. The slope of his shoes was perfection: sleek and shiny. My shoes never had any shine, and never would. We were different. He needed so much sexually and kept everyone at a distance. And while I like what he needed too, I knew what I needed. Even if I didn’t want to admit it, I wanted trust, loyalty, and love. Damn it, I needed those things. I needed to know he would be there for me, that he would cherish me like I deserved. Like everyone did, even him. And how could we be anything more than friends if he kept pushing me away? We were better as strangers.
“Is that what you want?” I asked. I blinked away the tears and looked up at him. “Tell me the truth, Owen. Do you want to be friends?”
He caught me in his gaze, his green eyes fierce, ready to defend everything he stood for. “You know I want more,” he said. A warmth spread through my stomach, wrapping its arms around me, hugging me with comfort, and yet a nagging sensation filled me, knowing that I couldn’t give in to what we both wanted. “It’s my duty to fix this.”
I was angry then. Angry that Owen thought it was his fault, his duty to ‘fix’ this situation. Angry that Wile Stevens had even listened to those complaints when he knew the truth. Angry that Michael was catty enough to rally the other students against me when he knew how hard I had worked. Michael knew how often I went to the studio, how many extra undergraduate classes I had taken, how I had gone to the gallery openings and events. But even with all of that, I had let the relationship with Owen get this far, after I had worked hard for my admission to the Foundation. Most of all, I was angry at myself for falling for Owen.
I offered my hand. “Friends,” I said.
He shook it. “Friends.”