Chapter Text
Chapter 1
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“Closing shift"
You wiped the sweat from your brow and poured the coffee into the dark cup. The loud hum of coffee machines and your coworkers trying to shout over each other was the only thing drowning out the immense stress you were under. Considering the time, the number of people crammed inside the little coffee shop you worked at was astonishing, but of course, a rush just had to hit before you were supposed to clock out. You clenched your jaw and snuck a look at the dinky brown clock. Annoyingly, it was just enough time for you to get home late once again.
“Who even orders coffee this late?” you thought bitterly as you passed the finished drink to the customer. If this job hadn’t been the only thing paying for your tuition plus rent in a shabby little apartment, you would've thrown your apron in the manager's face long ago. Not to mention your cat, Friday, who would not be happy for too long without food. You felt your heart twitch with longing at the thought of your poor little kitty waiting at home for you as the next customer approached your register.
After taking many more orders, you finally found an empty lobby. With a sigh, you prop the back door open with your hip and pull a pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. You look over your shoulder at your coworker, dutifully mopping. You feel yourself chuckling and shake your head at her.
“Come on, Jordan, you know we’re gonna get out of here late anyway,” you point out flatly, shaking the box of cigarettes in her direction. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she resembled a soldier who had just been through war. You smirked as she dropped the mop to the side and shuffled over to you to accept a cigarette. You offered your lighter to her and she gratefully accepted it.
“Dude, im so fucking sick of the managers leaving early,” Jordyn huffed out a cloud of smoke. “Like they can expect two of us to close the store with this many customers completely.” The irritation was thick in her tone.
“I know dude, I have way too much homework to deal with this bullshit-” you took a long drag from your cigarette and threw your hands up. “-but I dont have time to do any of it. I'm so stressed,” you groaned.
Jordyn was the type of girl you could always throw your troubles at, and she would catch them with a smile. Being in your twenties makes it hard enough to make friends, so you were very thankful you had someone like her, even if you had met in this hellhole of a job. You looked forward to seeing her newest hair color as she bobbed around work, like a bubble floating in the breeze. Her latest color was pink, and it flicked around wildly as she spoke exasperatedly.
“That sucks y/n/n. I couldn’t imagine being a student right now,” She sympathized. Her hand was cold when it rested on your shoulder comfortingly.
“I couldn’t imagine being a mom right now!” you awed as she giggled. “I mean, seriously, how the hell do you do it? I can barely get through a six-hour shift without wanting to punch someone,” you confessed, which made her laugh harder.
She was about to respond when the dreaded alarm for the doorbell rang. You grit your teeth so the customer wouldn't hear your angry groan. Jordyn's cigarette was only halfway done while yours was toast, which of course meant you were up to bat. She gave you a shit eating grin as you stomped out your cigarette and walked inside to fight the urge to flip her off.
“Hey there, sir, how are you doing tonight?” You asked in your chirpy customer service tone to mask your annoyance. You had glanced at the clock as you passed, five minutes before closing.
“I’m doing well tonight, thank you.”
The man's voice alone was enough to make you snap out of your usual customer service haze.
It was deep and gruff as the sentence rumbled out of his chest. His eyes looked incredibly tired, and his expression matched. His face was worn in with age, and his hair was dusted powdery silver as well. Suddenly, you felt like kind of an asshole for thinking he was a jackass.
“What can I get you, sir?” you asked, pulling open the registers screen. You had noticed Jordyn poke her head slightly in the back door to get a look at the smooth-talking stranger. You rolled your eyes slightly at her antics, biting back a smile.
“I’ll just have a flat black coffee, young lady,” he replied, sliding the exact amount of cash over to you. As you were about to accept the money from him, your line of sight was automatically drawn to his hand. You blinked once, twice. What? You couldn’t be THAT tired, surely. As you recounted his number of fingers in your head for the second time, his hand recoiled from the bills and disappeared into his pocket.
You snapped out of your confusion and met his eyes. They were a deep brown, the kind where you can only see their pupils in a bright room. There was shame laced within his expression for a few seconds, and you could see his face turn a darker shade. Oh fuck- you had just been staring at this poor mans hands. You bit your lip and mentally cursed yourself for taking the bills silently. The awkwardness was palpable, and it felt like it was going to fry your eyebrows off. You had to say something, anything really, to break the embarrassment you felt stabbing into your tongue.
“You know…six fingers are a sign of good luck and blessings in a lot of religions.” You want to smack yourself as soon as the words come out of your mouth. You can't bring yourself to look at him, but you can see the man visibly stiffen before his chest bounces slightly. Your brain fights with your body to get you to look him in the eyes, but you're glad you did.
The stranger is grinning, stroking his knuckles while he chuckles sheepishly. The awkwardness has dissipated a bit, yet your body is still very much on guard. Deciding not to waste any more of his time, you turn to the coffee prep station to get started on his simple order. Something feels…weird. Like a buzzing behind the back of your eyes. It almost feels electric. You blink a couple of times, trying to shake the feeling and focus.
After you pop the lid on with a satisfied smile, you turn and slide it to the man across the counter. He hesitantly reaches for the cup, and his fingers brush against yours for a few moments. His entire being is nothing short of intimidating as his aura invades your personal space. For one, he was outstandingly tall, enough to turn some heads for sure. His shoulders were squared straight, and stubble poked out of his masculine chin. You could spot some scaring across his chapped lips- the kind of scaring you only see on a man that has been through some shit. One scar leads from the bottom of his jawline, then disappears underneath his turtleneck. Your eyes trail down his chest for a moment, you really can’t help it. I mean, the guy was jacked. It was almost shocking seeing how defined his muscles were underneath his dark red sweater. He had to be at least- what- 60?
As you continued to stare at him, dumbfounded, he finally slid the cup into his hands, finishing off the motion by leaning just slightly closer to you. You could almost see your idiotic expression in the reflection of his glasses as his lips curled up into a small smile.
“Thank you,” he finally said. The way the sentence ran from his mouth was unnatural, like he was forcing himself to say something. You hardly had time to process this before he quickly turned with his coffee and practically jogged out the door. A few silent moments passed before you felt smaller hands on your shoulders.
“Well, y/n, that was painful to watch,” Jordyn exclaimed matter-of-factly, fishing the keys out of your work shirt pocket.
“Wha- Jordyn, what? What are you talking about?” She pushed past you to the front door, flicking off the open sign and locking the doors.
“I mean, I knew you had a problem talking to hot guys, but Jesus,” she laughed. You felt your face shrink in on itself, and you stammered.
“Hot? Jordy, that guy was like three billion years old,” you scoffed, his image still burned into your head. I mean…he wasn’t that bad looking, but hot? He was definitely out of both yours and Jordyn's age range. You paused, stewing in your embarrassment. The rings balanced delicately on your hands, twisted as you fought with them for some kind of comfort.
“He had six fingers.” Jordyn paused from locking the door and turned to look at you. You nodded at her incredulous expression. “Yeah, dude. I was totally staring, I feel so bad.” That much was true. The other things you were thinking about, the stranger's hands, did not need to be vocalized.
“Woahh freaky. His wife is a lucky lady,” she giggled, earning a scoff and eye roll from you. You bit your lip, though. You had no idea why, but you had checked his fingers when you looked. Surprisingly, there was no ring- just scarring. All over the back of his hand. Honestly, that part was more interesting to you than the fact that he had six fingers. As if hearing your inner dialogue, Jordyn spoke, “I think it's freakier that he came in five minutes before we closed. Go wash that coffee pot you got dirty.”
As you continued your closing shift, your mind kept wandering to your classes the next day. It was already so late, and god knows you were NOT the type of woman to go to bed before sunrise. So when your schedule advisor told you you would have to tack on a late-night class to your already packed schedule, you felt like crying.
Stupid biology…cell studies…what the hell would I need science for anyway? Your art major brain thought bitterly as you angrily threw the mop at the ground. Screw Professor Pines, whoever the hell he was. Just seeing his name at the bottom of your new schedule was enough to make you foam at the mouth in rage.
On the bright side, a late-night class meant no more closing shifts. You silently cheered in your head for that. No more customers coming in five minutes before close like that guy. It meant that you and Jordyn would have to hang out mostly outside of work now, though, which was a major bummer. She had been the first person you’d called when you learned about your new mandatory class. She even brought you some edibles she had baked at home the next day because she felt bad (and they were the best things you’ve ever tasted- seriously!)
“I can hear you worrying from over here,” Jordyn chirped, looking up from the blender she was cleaning in the sink. You sighed and set the mop down in the bucket.
“It’s just that stupid biology class,” you admit, leaning against the counter. “I’ve always been shit at biology, and math.”
“And English, and history, and gym class, and-”
She was quickly silenced by your poking attack into her sides.
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The next night, you sat up in your bed in a groggy, fever-like state. You had never slept. Instead, you had just been lying on your phone for the few precious hours you had to yourself. Leaving your fuzzy black comforter felt like being led to a guillotine, but another glance at the time confirmed you were indeed about to be late for your new class.
With an annoyed huff, you shoved the comforter off and got to your feet. You examined your outfit in the mirror to conclude that you could get away with your gym shorts and hoodie as an outfit for class. You definitely could not get away with this ratty hair, though. You yank a brush through it and quickly pull your beat-up sneakers on.
At least you already knew where the class was. You were an extremely anxious person, and didn't want to be late because you didn't know where the building was. At least your mom had the sense to point out you could just find the class a few days before. You stepped out of your little car and glared at the college building as if your gaze could light it on fire somehow. You noticed a couple of other disheveled-looking people getting out of their cars and making their way to the building, so you assumed they also had to be students of this class.
You sigh and begin to drudge alongside the others. Your watch reads 11:00 pm when you enter the classroom, and you pick a random seat somewhere in the middle and sink into it, letting your bag fall onto the ground beside you. As other students file in, there are hardly any sounds of talking from any individual. Just the shuffling of bags, coats, and books. The sound is almost enough to soothe you into a slumber when your head sinks into your arms on the desk.
“Yes…yes, welcome in everyone.” The professor no doubt speaks. His voice is soothing as well. God, they should’ve renamed this class to the sleep study class. “Give me just a moment, and we can begin.”
The way he speaks is…familiar to you. Like you had heard that tone before. Curiously, you peek your head up. The man sitting behind the desk is thumbing through a textbook in his hand and scribbling in it. You squint for a moment, pursing your lips. He seemed so familiar…where had you seen him before? Students began to settle into their seats, and a quietness arose. There was a tired energy that touched every single soul in the room except one…the professor.
He seemed to be completely unaffected by what time it was or the fact that his students looked extremely sleep-deprived. In fact, he had a small smile on his lips as he wrote down a couple more things into his workbook. It was like he was surrounded by some kind of cloud, and you did your best to ignore the hairs that rose on the back of your neck. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, twisting your gaze away from the familiar-looking man. Other students tapped their pens on desks, played with their jewelry, hair, whatever, to avoid facing the atmosphere.
“Good evening, students. I hope you’re all doing well,” he greeted, adjusting his black tie slightly.
“Welcome to my biology class. I know this is a little late in the year for some of you.” The pen he had been using to scribble his notes was tucked behind his ear as he shut his notebook and got to his feet.
Good lord, was this man tall. He had to be at least six feet- if not taller. You blinked in surprise, eyeing his shoes for some kind of heel. He had black dress shoes on- not that heeled. Ok, so this guy was just a giant. You felt your stomach jerk oddly when he turned to face the large whiteboard. It was like every movement this man made was calculated, down to the very minute details. Almost robotic. You glanced around to see if any other students seemed to notice.
“My name is Stanford Pines, please refer to me as Professor when in class,” he requested, reaching for a whiteboard marker. “However, if we are outside of class, you can call me whatever you want. Except ma’am, I suppose.”
There were a couple of low chuckles at the pun by the time he turned back around to face the class. His name was now scrawled across the whiteboard in a neat cursive.
“Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, we can begin the fine work.” His voice had a low hum to it, it reminded you of a Nirvana song’s baseline. You watched as he began to walk throughout the rows of desks, eyeing some of the students through his glasses.
“Some of you may feel some…apathy. Or annoyance at the timing of this class. I do apologize for that.” His shoulders were stiff, and his arms were laced strictly behind his back. “Every year, I get a handful of students who fill in this late-night class towards the middle of the semester. Lots of art majors, architects. Aka, students who have little to no interest in this subject.” His deep voice pointed out. Every student was drawn in by his demeanor immediately- there wasn’t a single eye not on him as he paced through the aisles, looking down on different students from his high perspective. “However, I guarantee you will all leave this class with the belief that your lack of interest was foolish. I don’t like a boring lecture any more than you all would.” He paused when he reached the side of your desk, and you couldn’t help but stare up at the man.
You nearly jumped out of your skin when his dark eyes suddenly locked onto yours.
“You will find this class to be entertaining at the very least.” His poised manner, the eloquent way he spoke- it slipped. For just a moment.
The way the word entertaining growled out of his chest was such a tone that you felt embarrassed for the way you perceived it, but you couldn’t help it. He made it sound vulgar. He made it sound…wrong.
It was so subtle-so incredibly subtle, but you had noticed it. His eyes were almost a charcoal black, and they burned into yours with such intensity for just a moment, maybe two. There was an emotion you couldn’t place within his eyes. It was something that made you feel like you were being shoved underwater. A look that could only be described as belonging to a predator. Without thinking, your eyes trailed down to his fingers that he had grazed against the top of your desk.
A quick count, once, twice. Your eyes narrowed for a second, before peering back up, but he was already looking somewhere else and making his way further down the row. You blinked a few times in raw shock. Six.
Six fingers.
More words were being thrown around the room, but they might as well have been white noise to you at that point. There was no doubt about it, that had to have been the customer from last night. You cringed at the memory of staring at his hands while he handed you the money. His energy was completely different now, though. Last night it was like talking to a normal person. But…right now it was different. He felt like a blind spot lurking in your vision that was always just out of sight. The way he had looked at you was seriously doing something to your psyche.
You were jolted out of your spiraling thoughts by the vibration of your phone in your pocket. It was a bad habit you had to get on your phone in the middle of lectures, but you really couldn’t help it. I mean, what would be so interesting about listening to the class rules anyway? You opened the message and skimmed it.
Jordyyy :3
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I miss u on nighshift girl. I’m stuck with the GM :p
You grinned.
You
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Im sorrryyy :’( at least your customer isnt your prof lol
Jordyyy :3
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Bruhhh das crazy. Which customer? The fat old guy?
You
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No, the hot old guy actually. Frm last night.
You debated tacking on the fact that he was seriously creeping you out, but decided against it. Jordy was not the type of girl you wanted to sic on this poor teacher if she thought he was being a creep. As you continued texting, you bit your nail deep in thought. Sure, this Stanford guy was very good-looking for his age; that was obvious to anyone with a working pair of eyes. But the way his gaze burned through yours was the only image in your mind, and it kept replaying over and over again. The way his voice growled out his sentence ran in your ears, and you could feel your face grow hot.
There was something dark in his demeanor- the way he leaned slightly closer to put his hand on your desk. You recalled the smell of his woody cologne flooding your senses, and the way your stomach churned. The most embarrassing fact, though, was the thought that you didn’t want him to stop looking at you. The yearning ache that bloomed in your chest when you locked eyes with you was nothing short of intense, especially because it ran alongside a heavy sense of unease. Surely it was just a little spell of enamorment. It’s not often a hot guy looks at you up close, after all.
“-and that brings me to my next topic. Phones.” Your eyes shot up to the front of the room guiltily, where Pines had settled back into his desk.
“I know a lot of you, like Miss Y/N, have a habit of using phones in class. Please refrain from doing so while I'm teaching; it just helps not to distract me.” You feel your cheeks burn as some of the class turns to look at you.
“Right, um…sorry,” you mutter sheepishly, quickly shutting your phone off and flipping it face-down onto the desk. His eyes linger on yours again, for just a moment too long. You watch, feeling a part of you crumble into yourself as he lightly bites the inside of his lower lip. In this moment of intensity, you feel a question dawn on your lips.
Before you can ask, he turns away from you again quickly. You sit there with your mouth hanging agape for a moment. He continues with whatever he had been talking about before, while you are left embarrassed and slightly confused. Every time he looked at you, it felt like he was force-feeding you that potion that made Alice shrink. You felt small. You felt like you were under a microscope. You felt like you were being studied.
How the hell did he already know my name?
You couldn’t get yourself quite comfortable for the rest of the class. How could you relax? You were swept up in your overthinking hurricane at this point, and there was no coming down any time soon. Why had he looked at you with such emotion? Had it even been purposeful? You did tend to accidentally stare…and being on your phone while he’s teaching is pretty disrespectful.
“Shit,” you thought. “He was just death glaring me cause I was being an asshole. Nothing else to it.”
That thought did little to calm your nerves, though. It was true that the teachers no doubt had files for the students who would be attending their class, but that wasn’t the weird part. The weird part was the way your name was like a prayer on his lips. He said with such a tone that you couldn’t help but think it was something he had already said many times before. But that thought was just simply ridiculous, right? It dawned on you that your work uniform did make you wear a nametag, and you felt your tense body relax just a little. That had to be it, right? He had just seen your name and remembered your face. You fidgeted with your fingers anxiously.
When the class was finally dismissed, you swore you almost tripped over your own feet trying to escape the awkwardness you felt suffocating you. You began to wade through the sea of students crowding out of the classroom. There was slight chatter from friends as you all left the dim lighting and stepped into the hallway. You felt your mood immediately shift from the previous anxiety to a lesser sense of unease. Seems like that classroom was seriously giving you the willies. You wanted nothing more than to be snuggled up in your bed again, maybe with a bag of popcorn to soothe your nerves.
“Yeah, he was kinda cool- did you notice he had six fingers?”
You pushed past the two boys conversing in front of you.
“I know, dude. I saw when he was writing that homework assignment for us,” the other boy responded. You felt a lump form in your throat, and you turned to face the two.
“He gave us homework?” The pair looked at you for a moment. Had you been that lost in your head? You thanked the boys after they explained the assignment to you and took off on your trek to your car in the parking lot.
As you briskly walked through the cold night air, there was only one thing plaguing your racing mind. The way that Stanford had looked at you was seared into your vision as you entered your car and slammed the door shut, making sure you locked the doors immediately. You didn't feel any kind of security from this action, though. In fact, you felt the most vulnerable and exposed you had ever been. It felt like the entire universe was peering directly through your soul, and a thought dawned on you that you discarded roughly to spare yourself any more anxiety.
Nametags don’t have last names on them.
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A deep sigh echoed through the now-empty classroom like a song of exhaustion. The only other sounds besides the methodical ticking of the clock were the scratching of a pen on paper and, of course, Ford's ragged breathing as he poured over a document. Whoever had written this absolute piece of garbage needed to be thrown into a bottomless pit- immediately. How the hell was he supposed to make lesson plans when his higher-ups were giving him nothing but practically elementary school toys to work with? It’s not like adults this age were the most excitable bunch in the first place.
His calloused hand rubbed through his hair with fever as he bit his lip, trying to figure out how he could stretch this so-called “budget” for one semester. (And this was just one semester! How on earth would next year's budget look?!) It seemed that each year he taught this class, the less and less money went into it. Which was an absolute disgrace, in Ford's opinion. How could an individual not want to fund the noble sciences? He shook his head disapprovingly.
This whole teaching gig was gonna make his back give out. He felt his entire spine pop in a painful symphony that reminded him he was getting old as he stretched his arms above his head. He would either die before he could retire or give himself a heart attack from caffeine. Excellent options. As he took a sip from his mug (a very notable nerdy mug- it had a pun about cells on it-), he allowed his eyes to settle on one desk. Just that one desk, in the rows and rows of them in the large classroom. Your desk.
He drummed his fingers against his thigh, jaw clenched into a tight line. It was almost like she had never left the room in the first place. He could still picture her leaning into the hard table, staring up at him with an intensity that burned like a cigarette. He had noticed the way her hands fluttered anxiously, the way her breath caught in her throat. He had even noticed the goosebumps that spread across her beautifully delicate legs and arms. It was so alien to him, he had pictured you like some kind of porcelain doll. Seeing you display such human emotion unintentionally was a knee-jerker.
His fists clenched into a tight ball like he was holding the memory in his hand, desperate not to let go. His bruised and scabbed-over knuckles peered out from under his silvery hair that adorned not only his arms, but his hands as well. It was clear that old age was making itself very comfortable in Ford's body, much to his dismay. He fought it the best he could, though, taking extra time to follow a clinically proven diet and exercise to help his overall health. He still had things to do, after all. Important things. He couldn’t let his body get in the way of anything. He took a sip of his coffee, his one and only “cheat meal” as some would call it.
The taste of black coffee in his mouth gave him a pleasant reminder of yesterday's coffee shop visit. He gazed into the cup thoughtfully, running his finger against the rim of it, lost in thought. He always looked like he had a lot on his mind, because he did. A brain as brilliant as his was something like a train stuck on a track that only stops when you die. A cup can only hold so much before it overflows. Ford knew that better than anyone. That was the reason he had taken this teaching job in the first place; who else better to listen to him than those who didn’t have a choice? The silence never helped soothe his horse-race of a brain, though. There was nothing that calmed his racing thoughts anymore, none of the old tricks that a shrink would teach you worked for him after what he’d seen- what he'd been through. There was only one thing that stopped the train.
Ford's gaze trailed slowly from his mug to your desk once again. His lips pressed into a tight line at the memory of how absolutely tired you had looked. It was no secret that college students didn’t have great sleep schedules, but this bothered Ford immensely. He knew his class was late, but he didn’t have a choice- he had to put you in his class, there was no getting around that anymore. He wore a frown like a familiar pair of sweatpants as he remembered your exhausted, blank stare.
The image of your embarrassed face flashed through his mind, which raced alongside his heart. Ford was an ass for calling you out specifically like that, he knew it. But the way your eyes widened in surprise, and the way your lips parted and closed a couple of times as an apology whined from your mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world. Ford bit the inside of his lip. He didn’t even give a shit about phones in class, not until that very moment at least. Every eye in the room had been on him- except hers. And that was completely unacceptable.
He eyed the desk with an intense stare. Something like pride swelled in him at the sight, the way that you had unintentionally leaned closer to him when he approached. He pictured the pink of your lips and the way your eyes shot down to his fingers. His gaze had slipped down your face to your beautifully structured collarbones, and his mouth watered at the memory. He could picture how soft you would be underneath his calloused touch, and he found himself morbidly wondering about what magic must lie underneath that pretty skin of yours. He wanted to see the electricity that buzzed inside your organs and very soul.
There was a small flash of light that garnered his attention away from the somewhat graphic imagery in his mind. He heard a small buzzing sound that was no doubt someone's phone, sitting near your desk on the floor. He grunted as he got to his feet begrudgingly, upset at the notion of interrupting his red-tinted daydreams. As he approached your desk, his eyes fluttered shut, and he deeply inhaled. The scent of your vanilla perfume invaded his lungs like a disease. His fist clenched tightly, acting as an invisible leash to keep him tethered to whatever shred of decency he had left. He peered onto the ground.
A phone lay face up on the floor, buzzing with missed calls. Ford curiously bent down to pick it up. He flipped it over in his hands to examine the case.
It was a dark red phone case adorned with an incredible amount of stickers from all sorts of different media, from books to cartoons. He grinned at the few he recognized. He had to admit he wasn’t the most up-to-date on the latest movies and such, which was just another reminder of his age, which made him cringe.
When he flipped the phone over, it was lighting up with several alerts. His eyes narrowed as he scanned them, reading over each one. Most were missed calls from a person called…Jordyn. Ford's lips twitched, and he sat with the phone in his hand for a good few moments. The phone must have fallen out of someone's pocket when they were leaving class, but he saw no signs of a name.
Curiously, he slid up on the screen. To his surprise, it opened with no password required. He stared at the lockscreen and apps, his thumb hesitating over the message icon.
No-no. This was wrong.
Ford cursed himself in his head as he shut the phone off hastily, walking back to his desk and shoving it into a drawer before slamming it closed. Of course, he wouldn’t look through a student's phone; that would be incredibly uncouth. He scoffed at himself for even considering such a ridiculous notion in the first place. Whoever had dropped it could simply retrieve the phone when the weekend was over. No need for him to worry. He just needed to focus on his work, that's all.
But was he continuing to work on his budgeting and lesson plans? The sound of the buzzing in the drawer was starting to grate on him. Each alert was like a desperate cry, begging to be heard. Ford bit the inside of his lower lip and death glared at the drawer. Whoever this Jordyn person was…they were certainly persistent.
He tapped his pen erratically against his notebook. It shouldn’t concern him. He knew that. People had left their phones in his class plenty of times, and they had always claimed them within the following few days; this time would be no different. But something was clawing at his chest. There was something in the pit of his stomach that bore an ugly snarl as it tore at his insides with relentlessness. The phone was sitting next to your desk, and the stickers matched a lot of the ones on your laptop, which meant this was probably your phone. He felt his teeth grind together unintentionally. His fingers danced along the drawer handle as he fought with himself silently, in a war over what would be deemed “invading privacy.”
But privacy could go to hell in that moment, because Ford's mind was only focused on one thing. Who the hell was Jordyn? His nails dug unpleasantly into his palms. “Could they be a brother?” he wondered. That couldn’t be possible, though, since Ford knew you had no siblings. His brain raced with hypotheses about who this person was and how they were possibly connected to you. Though it was the last thing he wanted to consider, the term “boyfriend” whispered across his mind like a ripple in water. His racing thoughts never stopped as he pulled at his hair in frustration. He didn’t want to see something that he shouldn’t. What if she had sensitive information in her messages? What if she had work from another class that he shouldn’t tab out of? What if…she had compromising photographs of herself on display for whoever was calling her over and over again?
He bit the inside of his lip so roughly, he tasted copper. His finger hovered over the screen, which taunted him with message alerts.
It would be the right thing to return the phone immediately. He couldn’t keep this “Jordyn” fellow worried, now could he?
He flung open his desk and retrieved the phone with haste. He did not hesitate when he unlocked the phone with ease, and he certainly didn't hesitate to open the messaging app this time. There, pinned to the top, was the thread of Jordyn's messages. He clicked on it anxiously, and he began to scan the texts.
Jordyyy :3: Are you still coming over 2nite?
Jordyyy :3: Helloooo?
Jordyyy :3: Where did you goo? Dont leave me hangin :’(
Jordyyy :3: Did that professor kill you or what?
Ford's eyebrow raised at that last message. The thread told him a couple of things, like the fact that this phone did, in fact, belong to you. That you had been texting this ‘Jordy’ person about him. It also brought up the fact that you were supposed to be visiting this person tonight. Ford felt a pang in his stomach like a mission bell-loud and inescapable. Any voice of reason, angel or devil on the shoulder, whatever, nothing was telling him to stop looking. He scrolled up further in the conversation. It was mostly teenage nonsense, talking about some frat party they had gotten an invite to.
Ford scoffed at the notion. A frat party, really? He was shocked that any woman would willingly go to those cockroach colonies, always infested with disturbing young men and women. Whoever this Jordyn person was clearly had to be forcing you to go to this party, no doubt about it.
“Why would someone as delicate as y/n want to go to a party?” he thought bitterly. He held a stern expression as he scrolled through the messages further. After reading more nonsense about where the party would be located and what she should wear, his eyes jumped over a message that made him pause for a moment before scrolling back down to re-read.
Y/n: Im sorrryyy :’( at least your customer isnt your prof lol
Jordyyy :3: Bruhh das crazy. The fat Old guy?
Y/n: No, the hot old guy actually. Frm last night.
He scanned the text once, twice, even a third time. He felt his hands tremble as he continued to scan the messages breathlessly. His eyes were glued to the screen with such an intense focus, like a detective on the trail of a killer, no distractions. You could probably count the man's pulse if you looked at his neck for long enough. He could hardly contain the electrifying buzz that hummed through his skull and body, and it seemed like he could run a marathon if he desired. The information he had just received- it made complete sense. It was like reading that one simple text was the final clue he needed to connect himself to her, to the killer. His manhunt was over. It was over. Over.
This was how it was always supposed to be, and he knew he had been right all along. He was always right.
The high that this realization gave him was palpable, comparable to that of a straight line of coke or jumping from an aircraft. He felt like the world was in his fingers, and he did not have plans to let go any time soon. He tilted the phone to his line of sight again, curiously as it rang once again. His heart raced with pride, and he felt no qualms as he pressed the accept call button.
“Ah! Uhm- hello?” The voice on the other end wasn’t y/ns. Ford frowned. But it wasn't a boy either. He frowned slightly less.
“Good evening. I believe this phone belongs to a miss y/n?” Ford greeted- her name melting on his tongue like a sour candy. He could hear a small voice in the background, followed by some shuffling of the phone being passed before another voice spoke.
“This is y/n, who is this?” Her tone sent a ripple through Ford's chest. She was trying hard to sound intimidating, and Ford had to clear his throat to clear his mind as well.
“It's Pines, your chemistry professor. Seems I might have something of yours,” he purred. There was a short pause.
“You didn't look through it, did you?” she asked after a moment. A lump jumped into Ford's throat, and he suddenly felt like he was being called out in a court of law. He swallowed quietly. It was like she had known. Like she had wanted him to find those texts. He suddenly felt very aware of his breathing and the fact that a suspicious amount of time had passed.
“Of course not, y/n. I just figured I’d be kind and figure out who to return the phone to,” he explained, biting the inside of his lip as he did so. There was another unsure silence, and Ford drummed his fingers against the desk.
“Right, right…stupid question,” she murmured over the line. After a brief pause and quiet voices talking in the background, she spoke again. “There's uhh. Is there any way you’d be able to bring it to me?”
Ford felt his stomach somersault. The way she was speaking, it was clear she was inebriated in some way, and so was the other girl she was with. He felt his leg shake and his head spin at the imagery of you that danced in his head like a drunken angel.
“Sure thing, y/n. What's the address?” Asking the question felt like asking her to reveal some kind of secret. Something Ford was not supposed to know about. Because it had been exactly that: something that Ford kept off limits no matter how hard he tried to justify it, he could not seek her out.
But he wasn’t seeking. She was asking. She was inviting.
His usually neat handwriting was a shaky mess as he took down the fraternity house's address, trying to ignore the way her laugh sounded in the background. He knew he would play that sound over and over again in his head, though.
“Give me about 20 minutes and I’ll be there,” he gruffed into the receiver. He needed to end this conversation before he said something stupid.
“Ok, thank you, Professor.” The way she slurred his title felt like something from an adult film. It clouded Ford's mind immediately with images of her in scenarios he had imagined a thousand times over. It was the fact that he had pictured her calling him that so so many times. He quickly bit his knuckle to escape the noise that bubbled in his throat.
“Any time, y/n,” he quickly spat, before ending the call. He sat with her phone clenched tightly in one hand and a small sticky note with her address on it in the other. He looked down at the small bright slip of paper intensely.
He could feel the arousal clawing at his throat and groin as the word “professor” panged around in his head like a stray bullet. Surely, her tone was purposeful. Surely she meant something by it. The way she mumbled into the receiver…it had to be for him. He could feel the heat rising through his body and sting his ears and cheeks aggressively. She invited him over. She wanted him to come over. She wanted to see him.
He wasted no time fumbling for his car keys.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Y/n, you look so hot right now.”
Your gaze shot up wildly, and you locked eyes with Jordyn, cup in hand, who stumbled over to your seat on the couch.
“Says the one, I’d get up in there right now, baby,” you smirk, flashing her a crooked grin. She took a seat on your lap in a giggling fit, making sure to pull up her shorts higher as she took a seat. You snaked your arm around her shoulder and cackled.
“What are you drinking?” Jordyn asked, reaching for your cup. “It looks pink and I like pink. Is it strawberry flavoured?” Before you could stop her, she took a large swig and promptly started choking.
“Fuck Jordy- this is why you dont steal drinks,” you scolded playfully, patting her on the back and lifting your cup from her hand which was now flipping you off.
“Fuck- oh god- fuck you, who the hell drinks the jungle juice at a frat party?” She gasped out in between gagging.
“Uhh broke ass college students who don’t have alcohol money?” you slurred back, taking another sip.
As you fixed the strap of your tank top, you felt Jordyn's phone vibrate in her back pocket. Since she was still in her coughing fit, you fished the phone out of her back pocket. You gave it a playful smack as you answered, and she laughed in a beautiful tone.
“Hello?” You answered, trying to lean away from Jordyn and her loud ass laugh-cough.
“I’m here with the phone,” Professor Pines' voice answered. “Are you seriously at a frat party? I gave you homework,” He said sternly.
“Ok-ok whatever. I’m coming outside,” you quipped, ending the call. You pat Jordyn's back lightly. “Alright, fat-butt, get off me,” you grinned. She groaned but eventually rolled off you onto a free space on the couch next to another girl. You shot her a glance, and she nodded, like a silent girl pact to keep each other safe. Feeling good about the security, you got to your feet and began to shove your way through the crowd of drunk students.
Music blasted in your ears as you navigated the house through stoned eyes. The flashing strobe lights danced across all the people when you finally reached the front door. Your hand was extremely uncoordinated, which made it a bit hard to get the door to open for a second. You debated whether or not you should let your professor you had just met, see you crossfaded. But ultimately decided you didn't care.
You didn't even think about your outfit as you stepped into the cold air, and goosebumps erupted across your skin. The fact that it was February should have been a no-brainer to at least put a jacket on, but that was a thought you had too late. The tight hot pants clinging to your body did little to raise your body temperature, and you eagerly yearned to go back inside. You scanned lazily for a moment before spotting the 1970s Ford 5150 parked close by. It stood out from the other cars somehow, like the universe knew it was out of place at a college party. You wrapped your arms around your chilly torso and stumbled your way to his truck.
“Hey Professor, sorry to make you drive all this way,” you apologized, peering into the open window. He peered back, but it was too dark to make out any expression.
“That's quite alright, y/n. I wouldn’t want one of my students driving drunk,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “I was finished with my paperwork anyway.” You watched as he leaned out of the driver's side window slightly to hand you your phone.
As he drew closer, you felt something odd bloom in your stomach and chest. It was a strange sensation, and you couldn’t quite place your finger on what it was. But it was heavy. Like a large gust of wind that threatened to knock you back. In your drunken-high state, you felt nearly paralysed when his eyes met yours again. The dim porch light was the only thing reflecting his face, and it made him appear like a shadowy figure in the dark. His gaze was something like a spell, sinking its hooks into you violently. No matter how much you struggled and thrashed, you couldn’t look away or even move, for that matter. Your brain had only one thing screaming at you.
Run. Get away from this car.
NOW!
“Yooo, is that Mister Pines?”
The sudden voice behind you made you snap out of your prey-like trance and peel your eyes off the older man. A small group of frat boys was moving in a herd towards the car, and you felt your growing anxiety spike.
“Thank you, professor,” you quickly spat, taking the phone from his hand. You were eager to rush away and get back to the safety of your girlfriends, but this was disrupted by the feeling of a strong grip on your wrist.
It was in slow motion when you turned to look at him. The peak of your intoxication was hitting, and it was making everything spin violently. He was looking at you with that expression again. The same one from class.
“Please, y/n. Be careful,” He grunted lowly. You could've sworn his eyes trailed to the group of boys approaching, but he quickly let go of your wrist. You stumbled back a bit and watched in a blurred awe as his demeanor immediately shifted from just seconds ago. His serious manner had evaporated, that look in his eyes gone away like it was all in your head, and you blinked in shock.
Had you imagined it?
You turned back to the house as the boys swarmed the truck. The nausea bubbling in your stomach was something fierce, and you could only think about finding Jordyn. The back of your throat stung with bile as you stumbled recklessly into the house, pushing carelessly past others. You heard someone shout at you over the loud bass in the speakers, and you turned to look at them. It was some jackass frat boy, and he was clearly pissed about something you had done, though you couldnt hear his bitching over the music. After a moment of watching him flail angrily in your general direction, your eyes widened in horror.
You were gonna throw up number one. And number two, there was no way you could aim anywhere else.
In a drunken flash, you felt your entire body retch as it emptied itself of all the alcohol and food of the night onto the boy's shoes.
Chaos ensued quickly after that, though you couldn’t tell what was going on if you tried. You heard shouting, something like a girl screaming, maybe? Your vision blurred in and out as you felt your body being shoved around by what had to be a couple of people at once. Your eyes shot open at the sensation of pain running through your cheek.
You found yourself trying to focus on a girl in front of you with throw-up partially on her purse and shoes. She wore a furious expression, and it was now apparent she must have hit you. You mumbled some kind of insult with “stupid bitch” in it, and attempted to lunge at her.
Your drunken antics were stopped short by a pair of arms wrapping around your waist and a stern voice in your ear. The last thing you remember was the cold night air hitting your stinging cheek and the grass as you felt your knees get dragged half-hazardously through the lawn.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oh fuck…my face hurts…and my legs…and my arms…jesus.
The small beam of light from the window managed to find its way directly into your eyeballs, beaming a headache directly into your skull. With a small groan, you shifted to move your arm over your face.
“What the-” you flinched hard as your hand landed on something soft but firm. You pried your eyes open that had been crusted shut by mascara, and peered beside you.
Relief washed over you as you realized you were not in a random man's house, and were in fact, just in Jordyn's bedroom. You sighed, rubbing your face.
Your panic must have stirred your bedmate, as you heard a low groan and long, drawn-out sigh. Jordyn blinked her eyes open and glanced at you over her shoulder. You realized the softness you felt was you holding her shoulder, so you awkwardly stroked her skin.
“Mornin’ princess. Have a good night?” You jokingly asked in a low, manly voice.
“Ha. Ha. Hilarious,” Jordyn groaned. “My head feels like bees.” You chuckled at this, but quickly hissed at your head pain.
“Same dude. I didn’t know it was possible to get this hungover,” you flopped down into the pillow tiredly, smushing it into the fabric in a futile attempt to find some relief. “How much did we drink?” You asked. Jordyn turned to look at you with wide eyes.
“You were fucking smashed,” she laughed weakly, wincing at the pain. “The only thing I remember is getting home and…” she trailed off quietly. You paused, examining her facial expression. Your grin quickly twisted into a worried line. You knew that look. That was the look of a friend who loves you deeply, but is about to drop some information on you.
“And? And what?” You asked nervously. “What happened?” you prodded. She covered her mouth, trying to keep her laughter from escaping. You continued pestering her for answers as she chuckled and hee-hawed. “Dude, I'm serious! Why do I hurt so bad??”
“I think you got in a fight last night, y/n/n,” she admitted finally. You felt your mouth fall agape. You groaned, covering your face with your hands. So maybe the dream about trying to fistfight that short white chick wasn't just a dream after all… and the vomit probably happened too. You threw the covers off and stepped onto the cold wooden floor. You hissed at the sensation; everything that touched your skin felt like acid. You felt like an elderly woman as you shuffled over to Jordyn's vanity and peered in the mirror.
You gasped in horror at the ripe bruise blooming across your cheek, along with the various cuts and scrapes etched into your arms. Your bloodshot eyes glared back at you, and you could feel their disconnected urge to water at the state you were in. Your hair was also notably- EXTREMELY purple. It was a deep, rich violet, dyed from its previous color, no doubt during last night's events. You were dressed in a large Winnie the Pooh shirt and your underwear, which made you grateful the shirt was so long.
“What. Help. Jordyn.” You stammered, looking over to her exasperatedly. She was too busy laughing to hear your plight.
“I think I remember a Waffle House, a Walmart trip, and some box dye,” she commented as she scanned a small box of empty hair dye she held in her hands. You groaned, putting your face in your hands.
“What am I gonna do? What is the boss gonna say?” You fussed, plucking at the hair and examining it in the mirror. You could hear Jordyn get to her feet behind you, and you turned as she tied her robe on.
“Oh please, that moron does coke in front of the cameras. If he says anything, you come tell me,” she growled, putting her hands on your shoulders. “It suits you, y/n/n. I love it,” she smiled. You couldn't help but smile back at her.
“Well, thanks for babysitting my drunk ass. Let's go get some breakfast, on me.” Jordyn nodded and clutched her head.
“Yeah, right after I get us some Advil. I know your head is killing you right now.” As if on cue, you felt a sharp twinge of pain spread through your brain, and you groaned and nodded, squeezing your eyes shut.
“You're the best, Jordy.” As she disappeared out of the room, you trudged over to the nightstand where your phone sat charging. You smiled lightly as you picked it up. Even when she was plastered as fuck, she always made sure to take care of you.
You unplugged it from the charger and examined it for a moment. A flash of memory slowly poured into your head from the night before. It was small snippets, but you recalled walking up to a pickup truck and retrieving your phone from…somebody. Why did a stranger have your phone? You racked your brain trying to remember where you had seen that pickup truck before, if it belonged to a friend or something. You shrugged and opened your phone, checking any text messages.
You tenderly rubbed the bruise on your cheek, the pain stinging. Whoever that girl was had some hands on her. You just hoped you won, but based on the state you were in, it was not something you’d bet on. After scrolling through your phone for what seemed like forever, you got a notification from one of your friends. It was a video that was a couple of seconds long, and you knew it might give you some answers. You opened the video curiously.
The camera panned around the frat party you were at last night. The friend who had sent the video was dancing along to the music, grinding on some random guy on the dance floor. You heard the front door swing open in the video, and the camera was flipped to face the other way. Lo and behold, there you stood in the doorway, drunkenly trying to push past people. The shaky camera captured the moment you threw up on that guy's shoes, and the moment everyone began yelling in disgust. You watched in horror as the events of last night's fiasco unfolded so quickly in front of you. The video ended with a girl from the crowd walking up and slapping you in the face.
You groan in agony from the pain in your head and the social suicide you had just committed. The video replayed tauntingly in your fingers, the gross sound of vomit echoing in your ears that were flushed red. As you motioned to turn your phone off, something you saw made you pause. It was that truck you remembered. It was only for a couple of seconds, but it was just in frame behind you as you came inside.
You squinted as you zoomed in on the video, eyeing the truck like it held some kind of answer. It wasn’t one you recognized, and it definitely wasn’t the type of car one of your friends would drive. There was a dark figure in the car, but it was impossible to make out. You were torn away from your sleuthing by the sound of the bedroom door opening.
“Here, to cover your buns.” You looked up just in time to catch the pajama pants thrown in your direction.
“Thanks. My buns are quite cold,” you commented, eyeing the small pajama pants adorned with cats. They would fit- but not well. You also took the Advil she offered and swallowed it desperately. The sound of small thumping footsteps echoed through the hallway outside the bedroom door, and you looked up curiously.
“Ma! When are we going to Denny's!?”
Your eyes trailed to the door where a small voice whined on the other side. Right, Jordyn had kids. You almost forgot.
“Give Auntie y/n a second, honey, she's gotta get dressed!” Jordyn shouted back. You chuckled as you got to your feet to get dressed.
“I guess that means Lilly decided we’re going to Denny’s?” You hiss as the fabric scrapes against your open cuts and bruised legs.
“Yep. And she insists she has to sit next to her auntie,” Jordyn smirks. You smile back and shake your head as you slip into a pair of Jordyn's slippers.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Denny's feels like a fever dream as you enter and take a seat with Jordyn and Lilli. The harsh yellow lights beam directly into your eyes. You pick at the strange plate you’ve gathered; you’ve never been the type to go for a normal-looking plate at buffets. You're so hungry that it feels like you haven’t eaten in days. You practically inhale your eggs as Lilly excitedly chatters.
“It’s called a cootie catcher, auntie y/n,” she explained, holding up a small folded piece of paper. You gently plucked it out of her hands to examine it, and she beamed proudly. “It’s supposed to predict the future. Ain’t that cool?!”
“Can it predict that your breakfast is gonna get cold?” Jordyn joked, pointing to her plate with her fork. Lilly huffed and began to pick at her plate. “You gotta eat, girl. Or you won't have muscles like me,” she joked, flashing her built bicep.
“Aw come on Jordy, you dont remember cootie catchers?” You exclaimed. “I hear they can predict your love life,” you raised your eyebrows at Lilly mischievously, and she giggled as you sipped your coffee.
“Aye, she dudn’t need no love life,” Jordyn drawled. “You can't even spell the word romance.”
She wiggled a playful finger at Lilly, who giggled and shooed her away with a tiny hand. You bit down hungrily into your chocolate-covered strawberries and passed the origami back.
“Wanna try it, auntie?” Lilly questioned. You swallowed your bite and smiled at her.
“Of course, sweet girl.” You nod, turning your full attention to her.
She brings up her little folded paper below you. There are a couple of colours dotted onto the four edges, and she looks up at you expectantly. You pause for a moment, scanning your options, before choosing the mighty but humble Dark red. She maneuvers the paper to the other side.
After picking a variety of colors and numbers, you land on the last round of questioning. It's a couple of hand-drawn symbols, four to be exact. There's a poorly drawn camera on one. Another one has a bird. The other two are a car and a book. You ponder a moment, poring over the symbols and their possible meanings.
“I like…this one.” You point to the car. Lilly nods and unfolds a flap of the paper to read the poorly spelled prediction hidden beneath.
“You will find something that surprises you soon,” she reads out. Jordyn laughs.
“What, the vomit video wasn’t surprising enough?” She joked lowly at you, and you groan and throw a wad of a straw cover at her.
“Something surprising, huh?” You repeat. “That could mean a lot, like, a good surprise, or a bad surprise?” You debate out loud. “What if a piano falls on my head when I'm walking down the street?” you worry, half joking.
“What if you find a penny on the ground?” Lilly interrupts.
“Yeah, or you get cursed,” Jordyn predicted, waving her hands like a wizard.
As breakfast continued, you found yourself contemplating the so called ‘cootie catcher’ when you looked out of the window. A surprise, huh? What could possibly surprise you at this point? You're a twenty-something college student; nothing really interesting happens to those kinds of people. You take a bite of your food contemplatively. Your mind eventually wanders to the broken memories of last night. You hadn’t drunk that much in quite some time, and you certainly hadn’t blacked out in a longer time. It was odd to you, the fact that you remembered being totally fine one second, then sick to your stomach the next. What had happened in between? You thought back to the video your friend had sent to you. You were coming back inside from doing something…was that when you got your phone from the guy in the truck?
You rubbed your achy head and sighed quietly. You really needed to stop drinking, but Christ, it's like school was invented to make you an alcoholic drug addict. Sure, being a painting major wasn’t the most stressful major to have, but it was stressful nonetheless. You had three paintings sitting in your apartment, screaming to be finished before the deadline. You felt stress weigh heavily on your shoulders. You had the time to finish them, usually- that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the complete lack of inspiration you felt. Every time you stared at the unfinished painting, it just made you want to throw the entire thing away. None of the others in your class seemed to be struggling as badly as you did, and it made you feel like a huge screw up. You eyed the dried paint under your fingernails with intensity. Sometimes it felt as if you’d picked the wrong major.
You glanced at Lilly and Jordyn talking happily while they chowed down on their breakfast. Lilly looked so much like Jordyn, it was insane. Right down to the curly brown locks and plump, rosy cheeks. It was like the dad's genetics just quit the competition halfway through, but that was a good thing in your opinion. He could eat lead for all you cared. Besides, it was clear Jordyn was doing just fine without him, seeing as she was only two years older than you, and she was much more put together than you ever were. Owning her own house, raising a kid, and working a steady job. You knew better, though. You knew that Jordyn struggled just like everybody else, but it just didn’t seem like it.
Jordyn had already graduated from college while you were stuck taking an extra class to boost your GPA enough to graduate. What a joke. You worked at the coffee shop to pay your tuition; Jordyn worked at the coffee shop to pay her mortgage. You always babysat when she needed it, whenever you weren't at school, that is. Between those awful closing shifts and your ten billion unfinished paintings, you and Lilly were pretty close in the time you did get to spend with her. She was like a butterfly gracing your presence when she wasn’t screaming over her fruit snacks tasting too “fruity.” She had even started to draw, saying that she wanted to be just like auntie y/n. You beamed at the memory, laughing ironically in your head about the fact that you were practically an honorary dad.
“Hey, did you hear me?” Jordyn's voice cut through your internal monologue, and you turned to face her. “There you go, felt like I was talking to a sack of rocks for a sec. Me and Lilly were gonna go to the park after this, did you wanna come with?” she questioned. You thought about the unfinished paintings in your apartment and sighed dejectedly, shaking your head. “Whatt? Come on, dude, you can’t be that hungover,” Jordyn argued.
“Yeah, who’s gonna push me on the swings?” Lilly asked, pulling her classic pouty face. You smiled apologetically at the pair.
“Sorry, guys. I have way too much homework to get done this weekend. We should go get some dinner sometime, though,” You grinned, standing from your chair and slipping your phone into your pocket. Jordyn hummed in agreement as she also stood, gathering Lilly's many belongings, which she insisted on bringing with her (why would a kid need a toy shark at breakfast anyway?) As you left the restaurant in your little group, you pondered over each of Llillys toys, and of course the cootie catcher she had clutched in her little hand.
“Alright, y/n/n, we’ll catch you later. You drive safe, ok? Lots of crazies out today,” You nodded dutifully and bent in to give her a tight hug.
“Y’all drive safe, too. Look out for weirdos at the park,” you waved at Lilly, who nodded back.
After kissing your goodbyes, you pulled your keys out of your pocket and began to make your way to your car across the lot. It was a beautiful morning, you were almost regretful that you had slept through most of it, since it was now almost five in the afternoon. The dark clouds overhead threatened to spill at any moment, but you didn’t mind that. It was why you had moved to Oregon in the first place- the beautiful rainy weather. You took in a deep breath of that pre-rain smell as you opened your small car door and stepped inside, when the raindrops began to spatter across your head.
You felt a dampness on the seat, which made you slightly jump in surprise. Your eyes scanned the cupholder, dismayed to find the coffee in your cupholder was now open sideways over your seat.
“Ugh, great.” You thought bitterly, hovering above the damp grossness. “How the hell did that even happen?”
You threw open your glove box, where you had stashed away many, many drive-through napkins just in case. You awkwardly shimmied the little papers underneath you to create a barrier so your butt wouldn’t get all soggy on the drive home. You sighed, tossing the empty cup into the back seat where it joined the rest of the trash shoved there beside your backpack. As you glanced over your shoulder, you took notice of the raindrops that were invading your car through the cracked back window. Looks like you forgot to roll it back up when you parked.
You shoved your phone into the cupholder and plugged your keys into the ignition to start the warm air and soothe your shivering. The street in front of you was lined with cars passing at speeds way above the limit, typical for five o'clock traffic. There was no way you could pull out of the parking lot without getting a VIP pass to hell, so you boredly pulled your visor down to inspect your face in the small mirror.
You sucked a breath in through your teeth at the sight. Getting a closer look at the bruise was a bit of a blow to your self-esteem. The ugly purple and yellow spread across your cheek was glaringly obvious from miles away. Looks like the girl had rings on too, because upon closer inspection, you could see a deep, short cut in your cheek fat. You flipped open your center console, which contained your travel makeup kit. After cleaning the dried blood with a crusty Q-tip at the bottom of the bag, you gently tapped in concealer around the wound.
You couldn’t help but feel embarrassment creep into your stomach as you dabbed at the bruise. It wasn’t the fact that the injury was painful, or the fact that you had thrown up all over a stranger's shoes, that made you hiss. Your pride was bruised, too. You reflected on the days of your high school angry-at-everything phase. You weren’t exactly proud of the behavior you had in the past, but at least you could defend yourself. This was just straight up humiliating. Did the girl even have a scratch on her? You frowned hard, throwing the makeup back into the center console and flipping the visor back up hastily.
It shouldn’t matter to you as much as it did; you knew that. But it hurt nonetheless. Your mind aimlessly danced around the cars that had dissipated a bit, and decided it was a good idea to get home before you threw yourself into a self-loathing spiral. You clicked your seatbelt into place and looked up into the slightly askew rearview mirror. You adjusted it absentmindedly and rested your hand on the stick. Your eyes combed through the passing cars behind you, scanning for anyone you could accidentally hit. After checking thoroughly, you turned back around to begin to pull out.
Your line of vision felt obscured momentarily when there was a sensation that suddenly pierced into your skull like angry knives. You paused for a moment, tapping your foot on the breaks and sucking in a deep breath that felt like breathing in murky pond water. The atmosphere around you grew darker as the rain pattered aggressively against the windshield now. You flicked on your windshield wipers to distract yourself from the creeping feeling that whispered against your skin. Something felt incredibly wrong, and your stomach knotted with a desperate urge to leave the parking lot immediately. You broke into a cold sweat, looking through each window like a madman to spot the source of discomfort, but ultimately found nothing of note. Just passing cars, and people leaving the restaurant.
Your soul nearly separated from your body when the sudden jarring sound of a car horn blared in your ear. You turned and waved apologetically at the car beside you, whose driver was waving road ragey hand gestures at you. You forced your arm to throw the car into reverse, and you backed out in a small flurry of embarrassing stops-and-starts. This day was sucking majorly. It was going so poorly that you were too engulfed in your thoughts, and you almost missed two exits to get to your house. You were so distracted, you didn’t notice that you hadn’t bothered to roll your back window up. Your mind was like a chasm of passing thoughts, flying by you like a train that couldn't be stopped, and you struggled to still your mind as the rain aggressively poured over your vision.
You were so distracted that you didn't even notice the six-fingered handprint smudged into the back window.