She watched, from across the room, as their lips met for a quick, stolen moment. Her stomach churned inside of her as the bitter jealousy coursed through her body. She had only recently experienced this awful, tilting feeling—the boiling of the rage-filled blood and the desperate twisting of her heart. It sent the whole world into strange spirals around her.

“I deserve this,” she thought, mentally scoffing. “Completely ignorant and confident inside the warm, security blanket of my old relationship. I deserve to finally know this awful longing that others have had to bear while I made my way in this world, blissfully, naively ignorant”

It seemed only fitting, then, that she should feel this gnarled knot of want so acutely; not only was it a retributional slap of reality for unceremoniously dumping the most loyal, loving person in her life (for what?), it was also a flood of all the emotional anguish that she owed to the romantic community.

She tore her eyes away from the crippling sight and laughed at the joke the came from someone nearby, to her left.

Their last, real conversation played through her mind.

“We have to figure out what we’re doing—whether we’re going to start or stop this…”

God, why couldn’t she stop talking about him? …Thinking about him? What was she—14?

No.

She’d been far more mature then!—much less boring and obsessive.

Much more confident.

Her mind spun with all her hopeful fantasies. The memory of his face…so close…

if only…

Bah!

She watched him place his arm around her, laughing at something she said. What were they doing? Why couldn’t they decide whether or not they wanted to be a couple?

Oh, lord. This was so unhealthy. Clearly, this was someone’s idea of irony—to not only knock her from the top of the totem pole, but to throw her under it!

There was so much else she should be doing…

God, when her grades came in, she knew she’d loathe herself. Where was her self-control?

…Did she dare ask herself if she enjoyed this madness…?

But who would want something delicious paraded in front of them, only to have it torn away when they finally stepped up to it?

The image of a dog and his bone flashed through her mind.

Oh, yes. This was hilarious.

But why did he have to wear that shirt and those jeans when his hair looked like that?

Their eyes met.

She held a moment, then tore away, wondering why he had been so cold all day.

No more. No more.

Completely avoid him.

…Why was he avoiding her? Oh! If only it was a desperate attempt on his part to deny himself of her because he believed he should try to stay true to the one sitting next to him—to her.

Did she really believe he was so complex?

Were men, in general, that complex?

Only in the movies.

No. It was more hoping! Futile!

Oh, God. What was going to happen later in the week? Would he show up to class? And if he did, how would they act? Would she still be invited to his study session later, as planned?

Lord, how would she act?

Could she handle it if he did invite her and then was cold like this?

And what if he didn’t say a word? Should she ask him about it?

No.

He’d ignored her earlier.

“Oh, let’s face it,” she thought. “He’s not going to talk to me anymore. I ruined it when I asked. That’s the end of it.”

But oh! If only she could get him alone somewhere! They needed a private discussion, just the two of them—no interruptions, no holds barred…

Hmph. Even if she got that (talk about asking for the moon), how would she not come across as the whiny, jealous, desperate fool she felt like?

Damn it all.

DAMN IT.

Her jaw clenched as frustration flowed through her.

Why was this so damn difficult?

It would be one thing if she knew she’d win this race. But she’d never enjoyed running—especially not long distance. And there was no end—no prize—in sight on this haul.

She sighed.

She was attractive, wasn’t she?

Well, she’d been feeling it, lately, but…

…what did she have that she didn’t?

Ugh. How was this not obvious to him?

Was it?

Oh, he had been so nice.

Her fingertips tingled and she felt fluttering as she recalled that moment when he’d leaned over her…smiled. He had teased and flirted, lightly touching her as he curved over her, smiling in the way he’d known she’d like…

Oh, they’d both known he’d been enticing her on purpose. But it had been so…exquisite.

Had she only imagined that electricity?

If she had never asked him…would they still be that way now? Or had she pushed him back to her?

She longed to run into the hallway and scream. This pent-up craving, this hungering, had to be released, be satisfied, somehow.

And yet, she also wished she’d never told a soul. Why, oh why had she shared her…

…what could she even call it?

Humiliation?

Secret?

…Joy?

Well. Not that anymore. Now it was simply a scourge within her. Though it was buried deep, red, hot, and glowing, it was plainly visible for her abject mortification.

And he simply carried on. Each time he looked at her (those rare moments, lately), she felt like he was angry. God, could he sense her obsession? His anger felt almost like frigid, numbing fury. It was completely silent—stealthy, invisible to the careless observer—but she felt the blow of each icy dagger that his cold shoulder buried into her.

There was no urge to cry—only to confront. Her mind insisted on repeatedly showing her how the moment would go: his face set in the same, stony glare and all the resentment and vexation obvious in her tight, direct stance.

She sighed again. Everyone was finished; it was time to leave. The project was finished and this chapter was sadly, officially closed. She could only turn to the next page, hoping for the best…

And remind herself that everything happens for a reason.

Whatever comfort that brought.