I miss Khefren. I miss him so much. I have spent the last three days meandering about in a dazed state, sort of at a loss as to what to do with myself. I guess I hadn’t really realized how much time we had spent together because now my life consisted of nothing but my thesis paper and arguing with Justin over his school work. I miss his laugh. I miss his smile. I miss the way he kissed me.

Which is part of the reason for my pilgrimage to the library today. I need a distraction. I need to clear my mind and get centered. There’s just something about a university library that settles my emotions and brings a small ounce of peace to my mind. This trip to the library, while still thesis oriented, brings me back to what I’m good at. It lets me forget that I’m babysitting instead of searching for relics of the ancient world. The quiet allows me to focus, to-

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I grit my teeth and do my best to ignore Justin’s fidgeting. I glance up at him and find him gazing glassily down at the book in front of him, mouth slightly open, pencil tapping slowly against the table.

He hasn’t really spoken to me in days, just sneering at me and refusing to answer questions as we glare moodily at each other during lessons. He’s pouting, which really just makes me want to strangle him. I want to strangle him anyway, but when he’s so damn obstinate the urge becomes almost unbearable.

He threw a fit when I told him he would be spending his day off in the library. He whined and bitched the entire way here, not to me, but to the body guard that was taking us to the library, making pointed references to me without actually looking at me or speaking to me. He really is very mature sometimes.

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“Justin, will you fucking stop?” I exclaim suddenly and he snaps out of his trance, glaring at me moodily, and silence descends on us again.

Okay so maybe I’m a little on edge. But this trip to the library wasn’t strictly a research mission. It was a way for my professor to fax me the latest draft of my thesis which I had left with him before even starting the tour. I’ve been anxious to hear his thoughts on my research and on my arguments. Parts of it are direct quotes from his lectures, things he’s taught me over my college career. I can’t wait to see what he thinks.

“This is bullshit,” Justin says finally, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He sighs defeatedly and I almost feel bad for him. Almost. “It’s impossible. There’s not enough information for ten pages.”

“There’s enough,” I say simply, going back to taking notes. “You just aren’t looking hard enough.”

“I’ve looked all over this goddamned library,” he says, gesturing towards the stacks around us. “There’s not enough. I have seven pages,” he says looking at me pointedly.

“Only three more to go then,” I say, not looking up at him and I hear his scoff of indignation.

“You’re being fucking ridiculous, Skylar,” he sighs, falling back against his chair.

“And you’re being a whiney, little bitch,” I reply and he gives me a condescending smile.

“You can’t talk to me that way,” he says smarmily. “You have to be professional and polite.”

“What are you gonna do?” I ask, laughing. He narrows his eyes at me and I look back down at my paper before adding, “Tell your mommy?”

“Hey!” His voice is so forceful that I look up at him, astonished. His eyes lock on mine and I see fire smoldering in his blue orbs. “You can be a bitch to me all you want but don’t say shit about my mother. Do you understand?”

His intensity shocks me, the serious look on his face so much more than a pout. Justin is very close with his mother. The guys tease him about it but it isn’t really until this moment that I realize that he just brushes it off, instead of violently opposing it and whining about it like he usually does when they make fun of him for something. His eyes are still locked on mine; glaring at me sternly and I nod to him in concession. I can respect this in him. It’s the one thing about him that I can really tolerate at this moment in time. He gives me a slight nod back before sighing and turning back to his research.

“What are you working on?” he asks, somewhat grudgingly. I look up at him and find him looking at me guardedly, like he wants to know but he doesn’t want me to think he really cares.

“My thesis,” I respond simply, looking back down to my paper, somewhat on edge myself.

“What’s that?” he asks and I look up at him about to respond but he cuts me off, a cocky smirk on his face. “A really long paper that has no purpose whatsoever except to torture you?”

I give him a condescending smile, setting my pencil down. “Something you’ll never get far enough in your academic career to write.”

“Shit, I don’t need to go to college,” he says, stretching his arms over his head and then sighing, “which, you would know if you came to the show.”

“You’re an idiot if you think this pop music thing is gonna last forever,” I say crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back in my chair. We’re sparring now. This could take hours, but it’s a nice respite from studying.

He grins at me. “I’ve got leverage,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m versatile.”

“No, you’re a sparkly dance boy,” I laugh and he narrows his eyes at me.

He opens his mouth to retort but then I hear the fax machine going off. I practically bolt from my chair, zigzagging a little through the stacks before getting to the small table holding the public fax machine. I bounce on the balls of my feet when I see it’s my paper and I turn away, waiting for it to finish coming through before looking. The suspense is killing me. I want to know what he thinks. I want to know if I did well. More than anything I want him to tell me I did well.

After what seems like an eternity, I finally hear the machine stop and I turn around, gripping the long roll of paper that is coming out of the device. I grip the paper in my hands, trying to find the beginning but I stop when I see all the little scribbles of writing in the margins.

I furrow my brow as the words “ill-thought” and “rambling here” jump out at me. I run the long paper through my hands, reading more of the scribbled criticism, none of it praising as I was sure it would be. My entire body is tense, my heart racing as a panic settles in my chest. I make it to the first page, going through the entire thing, reading every harsh word, every scathing remark. I’m panting by the time I get to the end, where the following words are jotted below my final paragraph

This is unacceptable work. Your sources are weak and your language is sub-par. I suggest starting over. Send me your improved draft ASAP – Prof H.

I stand in shocked silence, my mouth slightly open, breath coming in short pants. And it all just hits me then, being kicked off the dig of my dreams, losing a man who was perfect for me, and now, now my paper, this thesis that I have poured my heart and soul into, all of it just decimated, blown to bits right before my eyes.

And I just can’t take it anymore. I can’t do it. All this disappointment is just too much as I slide down the bookshelf, tears stinging my eyes. Why does everything always have to be so hard? Why can’t for just once in my life things work out and not require a constant struggle for attention and excellence.

My breathing is hitching now, my fingers fisting in the paper, crumpling my professor’s criticism in my palms as I pull my knees to my chest, and sob bitterly. Every pent up emotion just pours from me as I rest my elbows on my knees and cradle my head in my hands.

“Okay Sky…seriously I can’t make this into ten pages-”

Justin appears from around one of the shelves of books and stops dead in his tracks at the sight of my crumpled, sniveling form. He just stands there, frozen and I turn my face away from him, ashamed of my emotion but still unable to stop the flow of tears. Great…just fucking great. This is all I need, for the pop prince to see me this way, to give him the opportunity to kick me when I’m down.

“Oh,” he says, shifting awkwardly and I feel him crouch next to me, his large hand resting hesitantly on my shoulder. “Um…it’s okay…what’s wrong?”

His voice is strained and his touch is clumsy and it almost makes me laugh. He tries so hard sometimes. His fingers pry my hands from around the long ream of paper, the shreds of my former thesis, and looks over it briefly. I watch his brow furrow deeper and deeper as he reads along and I cover my face with my hands in embarrassment, hiccoughing as I begin to sob harder.

“Sky,” he whispers, his voice soft and deep and I just can’t stop, pressing my hands to my face and shaking my head at him. This is horrible.

I gasp slightly when I feel his arm slide under my knees, pulling my body over and into his lap. Before I can fully understand what is happening to me, I’m cradled in his arms, my face tucked into his neck. He’s rocking me slowly, shushing me gently as one of his large hands holds my hip while the other combs through my hair. My nose is pressed against his pulse point and my senses are overwhelmed with the deep, woodsy scent of him.

I’m astounded at his compassion. After all that I have done to him over the past three days, all the scathing remarks, all the bitch work I had him do. It all just crashes down on me and I feel terrible. I’m not used to this. I’m not used to guys being there for me when I’m freaking out. I’m not used to guys taking care of me.

“Don’t listen to him, Skylar,” Justin whispers into my hair, his breath stirring the hair at my temple, and my hand fists in his shirt. “He’s a dick and he wouldn’t know art history if it bit him in the ass.”

I cough out a laugh because really, my professor is one of the greatest in his field but Justin doesn’t know this. He’s just trying to comfort me. This realization causes me to gasp and then a new flow of tears works its way through my body, shaking my frame with the force of it. I’ve been a complete bitch to him and here he is, holding me, taking care of me.

He’s shushing me, rocking me slowly, humming in my ear and I finally calm down a little, pulling my face from his neck to meet his eyes. He smiles softly at me, one of his large hands smoothing across my cheekbone, wiping my wet face. His eyes are soft and deep and I feel like I can see forever just looking at him. I shift my head and my nose nuzzles his a little and he smiles more, nuzzling back.

My breath hitches as I look at his lips, plush and pink and all I want to do is…

His lips descend on mine and it’s all I can do to keep from moaning into his mouth. His hand slides down my cheek to hold my jaw gently, his mouth slanting over mine. I’m shocked, not only by the kiss but by how sweet he tastes, how good he tastes. I don’t even realize I’ve gasped until his tongue slides in, mingling with mine, tasting me thoroughly before retreating and I find myself almost whining at the loss.

He pulls back just slightly, nuzzling my nose with his again and grinning at me. And that’s when I snap back to myself. My eyes widen and I scramble from his lap, pressing my back against the stacks across from him and just looking at him panting. What the hell did we just do?

What the hell did I just do?