Halfway Valentine | Special 7: "Irresistible"

“Irresistible”

I was engrossed in my magazine that early Monday morning in the kitchen. I was reading about the Kardashians and their surgery secrets. I wasn’t really interested in the reality show sisters; I just wanted to have a good laugh looking through their before and after photos. JJ was babbling nonstop as he made frittatas in one corner of the room. I wasn’t really listening to him. To be honest, I’d rather hear him recite the Iliad in pig Latin. I flicked to another page. I couldn’t deny I did find Ruby Rose attractive. My lips pursed as another thought hung in the air. 

But she’d look way better with . . . red hair. I stopped, my index finger on the edge of the page, as I’d realised what I’d just thought.

Red hair?

Where the fuck did that thought come from? Even over the blasting beats of Klutz Pinkies, I heard the sound of footsteps from the hallway outside. Frozen, still holding the magazine, I cocked my head to listen. A couple of Mexican girls were chatting outside, perhaps on their way to the restroom.

But now that my attention had been drawn away from the shitty gossip, my mind shot back to the same place it had been inhabiting any time I wasn’t concentrating on something else.

Emily Fitch.

I wasn’t sure why. I would say if I were into girls she wouldn’t be my type, except that I didn’t think I had a “type” in the usual sense of the word, a physical type. Unlike my lesbian friend from uni, Piper, who’s into curly-haired Latinas or my bi-curious cousin, Apple, who’s fixated with girls with cleft chins. I suppose the closest I came to specifics was I liked sparkling eyes.

Nah, my type is more of the personality thing, I thought, mindlessly spooning some yoghurt. I was drawn to people who had that sparkle in their eyes that said they were sensitive and innocent and vulnerable, yet at the same time there was a fire of passion ready to glow. The pair of orbs that twinkles only for me. The pair of orbs that calls out to me.

My ex-boyfriend David, when I’d really thought about it, somewhat bored me. He was a real gentleman, yes. He was very sweet, yes. He would change the oil in my car. He would hold my hand when we cross a street. He would cook me a special dinner after a long, shitty day. But what I really wanted was to be the one who would look after something, guide something, fix something. My mum would always tease me about it. She would tell me how whenever we’re together she felt like we’d always switch roles. I liked playing mother figure. I liked playing nanny. I liked playing knight in shining armour. Perhaps this was what made Emily so appealing to me. Because she seemed adorably useless. Because she needed some help out of that shell. Because she could very well be my lovely damsel in distress. And I wanted to be the one who’d come and save the day for her. And as much as I ironically needed some fixing myself, I wanted to fix her. I wanted to shelter Emily Fitch.

If there was any passionate sparkle in Emily, she kept it too well hidden behind that reserved demeanor for everyone else to see. She—

I heard a sound of a ringing alarm clock coming from Emily’s room. I smiled inwardly, a bit thrilled to see her come out already and wondering how she was after what happened to her last night.

I shifted back to my thoughts . . . I remember the first time I saw Emily Fitch at the basement. I had already seen her photo and read her profile on the residents’ list Cook stole from the dorm manager’s office, but I hadn’t expected her quite stunning like that. She was gorgeous—just a little over five feet, had a cute button nose, pink lips with soft curves.

Her hair was a bright shade of red, long and smooth, and she had medium-length bangs. It framed her face perfectly.

She was dressed in a black denim mini skirt and a grey tank, with a simple silver chain dangling from her neck. The sapphire pendant glittered in the hollow of her throat, looking exceptionally pretty against her pale skin.

And what really struck me was that she had the biggest eyes I’d ever seen, the same brown as my favourite chocolate.

And those eyes were staring at me as if she was trying to look into my soul. As if she was trying to peel away layer after layer of my defence. And I was letting her.

I remember standing by the vending machine in the lobby and looking forward to really meeting her, as much as my brain told me to avoid her at all costs. My good sense was telling me I had my own battles to fight and I flew to Japan to stay away from all the drama and heartache. Plus, I had no interest in being a pathetic pawn in someone else’s game. But something about the quiet, shy redhead truly fascinated me.

When Karen called her and I saw her walking toward us, you have no idea how she’d effortlessly set my pulse off in a mad race. When we were left just the two of us, I was struggling not to look into her eyes because I knew I’d helplessly drown in them. It was a bloody awkward conversation what we had, yet all the time I was thinking, Christ, what is it about this redhead? The idea that we were probably soul mates even crossed my mind. But I didn’t believe in soul mates. Only froot loops like my Aunt G did.

I remember catching her sneaking glances at me from beneath her lashes, then looking away. And suddenly I felt like the “scourge of the town” and Emily was the shy little local girl. Like how the good girls used to look at bad boys—half-scared, half-fascinated—and would chase after them in the end. But judging from the totally uncalled for bitchy way I had treated Emily yesterday, she’d more likely run from me than after me. Then again, it was absurd for me to think this way because 1) Emily’s not gay; 2) I’m not gay; and 3) she hates my guts.

I cut off our little getting-to-know-you scene because I couldn’t bear just being near her, that dangerously close to her. And I cut off that thought, stifling a tiny shiver, irritated with myself for feeling it. Emily Fitch was simply a girl who happened to have big brown eyes. She’s a girl, I reminded myself. End of discussion.

I sank back into the chair and glanced at the wall clock. Christ, what was taking her so long? And what. The. Fuck. I had just spent about half an hour just thinking about a certain redhead. What the fuck.

Then I heard her doorknob twisting, then the door opening. Instantly, I looked down at the magazine and acted as if I were reading intently. I had the spoon in one hand which I was tapping rhythmically against the yoghurt container. Faking indifference, I was pro at.

Emily Fitch finally walked into the kitchen and stopped short after a few steps, looking as if she wasn’t sure whether to come closer. Then peripherally I saw her look at me then to the speakers, and her stunned expression transformed into a little scowl. Thank God, JJ was almost done with his first frittata as I didn’t have to make a bloody effort to initiate small talk with her. JJ did the welcoming for both of us.

I lifted my eyes to secretly glance at her as she moved to shake hands with JJ. She ran a hand through her hair. It was an unconscious move, but it was charmingly gentle. I watched, fascinated, wondering what the red, shiny, soft-looking, sweet-smelling strands felt like. She had really nice hair, I thought. It made her face glow a little more.

Then Emily flashed that gorgeous lopsided smile and turned her head, which made me quickly stray my gaze to the magazine I was supposedly reading. She moved to the kitchen counter just across the room, put her stuff on the countertop and started to make herself some toasted bread. Then she and JJ got talking again. And, of course, I kept eavesdropping. No one would want to miss hearing Emily’s raspy voice and chuckling.

Then JJ opened up about the fucked-up things from last night. I looked up again and my gaze flew to the hickey on the redhead’s neck. Something about the way Karen touched her made me want to scream last night. And that fucking Sean whispering things into Emily’s ear that in turn made her giggle—a very sexy, husky one—made me want to throw my beer bottle to the wall. And don’t make me start talking about the way Effy would stare at the redhead as if she was feasting on the sight of her. These were strange responses from me since Emily Fitch wasn’t mine or anything. And I didn’t find her . . . Okay, I found her a little attractive. Okay, perhaps unbelievably attractive. Which was weird because I never really thought of women like that before. I would compliment them on their hotness enhanced by makeup or push-up bras but only in a normal appreciating-your-own-kind sort of way and not in the I-want-to-see-you-naked-with-me-in-my-bed sort of way. Erm, not that I wanted to see Emily Fitch bare-naked in my—never mind. I felt heat suddenly rush to my cheeks. It was senseless. Totally, completely, and in all other ways wrong and fucked-up.

With an effort, I focused on what JJ and Emily were talking about. Lord, was she chattering now.

I listened as JJ kept tripping over his tongue. I couldn’t blame him. Being in front of Emily Fitch could fucking knock the common sense out of you. And something about her uncharacteristic ballsy attitude right now intrigued the bejesus out of me. I don’t know. I had never heard her talk with such confidence in the twenty-four hours that we'd been acquaintances. She always spoke so softly as if she would never, ever, deliberately hurt someone. Yet, why was I scared of her? Of being near her?

And JJ . . . Poor JJ. I confess I did the tackiest thing ever last night when I flirted with the boy. I knew he was engaged and an oddball and all, but I just couldn’t stomach seeing Emily with Sean. It caused a weird knot in my tummy. It was a desperate move and I was a little drunk, I admit, but I just wanted to see the redhead’s reaction, see if she was paying any attention to me. And I was quite surprised she was somehow affected. I caught her sneaking glances at me, sometimes with a disappointed scowl, maybe less frequent than I was sneaking glances at her, but I couldn’t help it. The little redhead looked so irresistibly sexy in her black tank top and white mini skirt. If you saw Emily Fitch in her mini skirts, you would completely understand what I was talking about.

There was a long moment where the only sound I could hear was her voice. Maybe I had instinctively built a special device in my ears that blocked other sounds apart from Emily Fitch’s honey-smooth voice and throaty laughter.

“Are you kidding me? With this heat? No, thank you,” she was saying, and I chuckled—more like giggled—out of nowhere, shocking even myself. I instantly bit my lip and kept my eyes on the magazine, feeling my cheeks blush. I wasn’t prone to blushing. Not at all! So why now? Why with her? It was practically beyond bearing.

Emily seemed to have heard my giggle as her laughter came to a halt. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her turn to look at me completely, could feel her gaze burning me. I straightened up, tightening my fingers around the small spoon because I was afraid they would shake.

I would rather have been just about anywhere else. It was the only way I could avoid looking at Emily. But I knew she was there, right across the room, and I knew she was as aware of me as I was of her. Aware and just being so fucking irresistible.

Then from resting against the kitchen counter, the redhead walked toward my direction and stopped in front of me across the table. Too closely in front of me. I could feel her heat, could smell the candy-sweet scent of her shampoo, and suddenly I could barely breathe.

She pulled out a chair, seemed to hesitate for a moment, then sat down. The way she unabashedly stared at my face afterward caused me to fidget uncomfortably in my seat. She seemed like she was weighing her words first, which surprised me because I had expected her to ignore me. I knew I had acted like a total cunt of a cow, badly in need of emotional Viagra. Because when it came to simple human kindness, I just couldn’t get it up. I was fully aware I was doing it, but was too . . . numb and cowardly not to stop myself from doing it. I needed that bitch of a wall. Even if that meant pushing this poor little redhead away.

“Hi,” she said, in a casual tone that didn’t seem to be congruous with the smile that made my chest tighten oddly. Her fingertips rapping on the table didn’t help. Christ, was she fucking adorable struggling to act oh so casual.

But unlike her, I was a good actress. I lifted my gaze to her, and raised my brows. “Hey,” I returned, adopting a disinterested expression. So much for witty conversation.

That shy smile that curled her lips drove everything else out of my mind. When I found myself gazing longer than necessary at her lips, I quickly lowered my eyes back to the magazine.

The red-haired beauty seemed to feel the same awkwardness as I had, and I saw her on the brink of shying away. I was scaring her away. Like I did with everyone that I felt like effortlessly easing toward my barrier. But I didn’t want Emily to go, even though my defence mechanism urged me to feel the opposite.

Say something, I chided myself. Don’t just sit there like some drooling stupid twat who can’t say two words to someone just because she happens to be an irresistible girl. A dangerously irresistible girl. In ways more than one.

I hated to see her leave, period. But I didn’t open my mouth to say something; I just silently flipped another page of the magazine and kept my eyes there, more to battle with my nearly-flushing face. What an arse I could be sometimes. When it came to Emily Fitch, I was always an arse.

But I would hate to see her leave. If nothing else, I thought, I never got tired of looking at her or sneaking glances at her. There was something about her shyness and vulnerability I sensed, the way she moved, the way she would sometimes stare down at something—like she is staring at the coffee stain on the table now—as if she were used to only gazing on horizons a little wider than her arm’s embrace. And I wanted to tell her—assure her—she can look off into the distance, gaze on horizons much broader than her little personal space.

And, I admitted, determined to be honest at least with myself, I did feel flattered by her attention, even though I knew fully well that I had been a total cunt to her from day one. Before I could dwell on the arseness of my frosty silence, Emily opened her mouth to speak, to my great relief and delight.

“So,” she cleared her throat, “what band is this?”

I had always been commended for my eccentric, interesting taste in music. I took pride in introducing indie artists to all of my mates. So when Emily Fitch took notice of that, I felt a tad too stoked.

I lifted my head to look at her. “Klutz Pinkies,” I answered, squinting at her as if surprised she inquired about such a random thing.

I noticed her swallow a laugh or more like choke. “What?”

“Klutz Pinkies,” I repeated, finding the name hilariously horrendous as well, but kept my calm.

“Klutz Pinkies?” she echoed incredulously, then she burst out laughing.

I was stifling laughter, too. “Yep. An Aussie indie rock band,” I said. “They’re pretty spiffy.”

“Hear, hear. They’re flaming spiffy!” JJ piped up from the corner.

“Yea,” Emily said. “’Cept for that time when they all got fucking high on weed and decided to name their band after a tranny doll.” That made me laugh. “Klutz Pinkies,” she snorted. “Spiffy indeed.”

God, was she cute making fun of something like that. And I laughed with her, feeling the tension between us fade altogether. Thank God, JJ was there, too, to help ease it.

Then Emily accidentally dropped her apple to the floor. And she got down on her knees to pick it up. I waited for her head to resurface. What was taking her a long time? I thought, when I felt like she had dozed off under the table or something. I pushed my chair back, crouched down to help. But I came upon a deadly distraction. Emily had on a pair of skimpy grey boxer shorts, revealing much skin of her lower limbs which was quite a stupefying sight. Her head was bent close to mine. She was so near, I could feel the warmth of her body. I fought to keep from staring at her bare, velvety legs. If I crawled toward her just a few inches, I could brush my fingers against her skin . . .

Should I? I wondered dizzily, feeling as if I were drifting through a dream. It would be easy—just a slight, almost imperceptible motion after I give her the apple. Could I?

It was an insane idea. But at that moment I couldn’t recall why exactly it was such an insane idea. Emily, thankfully, tried to self-consciously tuck her oversized T-shirt under her knees. My eyes flew to her face, straight into her luminous eyes which fearlessly held mine, and I was drowning yet again.

Emily’s bright brown eyes that were still trained on me had on that certain sparkle, and I was soon slammed back to reality. I gave myself a shake, picked the apple up and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said so huskily, sending shivers up my spine. “This will go straight into the trash, anyway.” Then she let out a shaky laugh. I giggled with her.

I flashed her a quick smile then got to my feet, a little surprised that I was fairly steady; being with Emily was, in its own way, as unsettling as seeing half a bunch of my uni orgmates clad in lettuce bras during a vegetarianism campaign.

I sat back in the chair, and heard a soft thud under the table then Emily’s cute grunt of pain. I let out a laugh. Christ, was she adorable. And clumsy. Just useless.

Emily appeared, stroking her head yet looking incredibly cute in pain. She pivoted for the garbage bins. What were you fucking thinking? my mind screamed as the redhead moved to the other side of the room. I’d actually been on the verge of making a huge arse of myself. It was one thing to be fascinated by the redhead—I was human, after all. But what had fucking possessed me even to think about making a move on Emily Fitch?

“Perishable is on the left,” I called after her, then went back to reading some horoscopes.

When Emily came back and took her seat again, a silent moment spun out between us. And this time it was me who seemed in a hurry to break it.

I flipped my magazine closed and put it down on the table. “Listen, Emily,” I began, “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

She seemed taken aback for a second.

“I’m really sorry,” I repeated. “I know I was a bit of a tit.”

“A bit of a tit?” she scoffed. Oh, now Emily Fitch scoffs. “You were a complete tit, Naomi. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I learned a long time ago to call 'em as I see 'em.”

“I know and I’m sorry,” I offered, smiling a little. “I was simply out of sorts that time, just a little stressed out from the shitty phone calls I’ve been getting and other shitty stuff.” Including these strange, confusing sensations I get just thinking about you, I silently added.

“Must be a real shitty day for you, eh?” Emily said softly, momentarily frowning. “Okay, I understand.” She then smiled so sweetly.

Too softhearted for this cruel world, I thought with an inward sympathetic smile. Good girls like Emily Fitch didn’t indulge in hating. I silently wished I could be a little more like her. But not now. Not when I was still hurting. Not when my wounds were still fresh.

I smiled back. “So I’m forgiven?”

“You’re forgiven,” she answered, now grinning.

I returned her grin. “Thanks.”

I stared across the table at her, looked into her brown eyes and didn’t look away. The more I got to know about Emily, the more I liked her.

Jesus. What is wrong with me? I asked myself sharply. This was just so wrong, I reminded myself. But I’d never been so physically drawn to anyone before, not like this. It just didn’t make any sense.

Then Emily flashed a never-before-seen smile—a sweet curling of her lips that did strange things to my heartbeat. I wondered what they felt like. Were they as soft and sweet as they looked like? Perhaps she could kiss like an angel, I thought, feeling an odd heat ripple through me. As soon as I had realised I was staring at her mouth, I felt myself give a little start and pretended to eat my yoghurt although the container was nearly empty.

Suddenly Emily’s smile vanished to be replaced by a stricken expression as she rubbed her forehead. The aftermath of the chaos of last night, I concluded.

But the only thing I could manage was the well-worn, idiotic query that made me wince even as I said it. “Are you all right?” I mentally hit myself in the head. “Okay. That was fucking stupid of me to ask. Obviously you are in pain. So, uhm,” I stood up on unusually shaky knees and swiftly moved to the refrigerator, “I got some tomato juice here. It’s a good anti-hangover, you know.”

“That would be awesome. Thanks,” I heard her say back, and a smile curved my mouth at the sweetness of her raspy voice. “I have a cunt of a headache right now.”

I reached for the carton. “Seems like it.” Then after grabbing a glass from one of the cupboards, I walked back to the table and poured her some juice. “Here you are . . .”

“Thanks. Again,” Emily said sweetly. Then before the rim of her glass reached her lips, she looked up at me. “Uhm . . . You got some yoghurt right here . . .” She reached out and brushed the backs of her fingers over my chin. It was the merest feather of a touch, but it seared like flame, and I felt my breath catch in my throat, as if my body had forgotten how to go about the process of breathing.

Emily pulled her hand back and gazed at her fingers. And her actions meant that she’d felt it too. My breath came back in a rush that would have been a loud gasp if I had not been able to muffle it.

“Knock, knock.” Freddie’s head popped into the kitchen. To my great relief. “Sorry to interrupt. But I’d just like to glimpse into the workings of the female mind.”

I managed to grin back at him, and prayed that my face wasn’t turning hideously red. Right now, this female mind is barely working at all, I thought, sinking back into my chair. Because of the beautiful, fascinating redhead sitting in front of me. And to think I was going to see her every day for the rest of my stay here in Japan. I was sure it would be a bloody struggle to keep away from her. Not when she was this irresistible.

I watched Emily as she talked to Freddie about Karen’s mark on the redhead’s skin. I saw her expression change from something almost displeased to something much, much softer. And when she spoke, her voice was almost unbearably gentle.

“Is she all right?” She was asking about Karen.

Then the conversation rolled to the creepy Keith’s Pub manager. Freddie was saying something about the balding bloke sniffing through Karen's stuff in the locker.

I leant back in the chair, trying to steady myself. “That’s fucking creepy,” I said, just to hide the fact that my mind was off somewhere else . . . or, erm, someone else.

Then JJ said that he caught the man jacking off to Karen’s "Employee of the Month" photo. That really caught my attention, and I let out a disgusted "Eew!" with the others.

Then Cook came and suddenly there were five of us in the kitchen. But my mind was still set on the redhead . . . I didn’t know what it was about the quiet, shy Emily Fitch that kept me thinking about her; I only knew it happened. From our first confounding meeting at the basement that felt more like an awkward staring contest, the girl already became a sizable distraction to my already distracted brain. And I couldn’t quite convince myself it was solely because of her sparkling big brown eyes.

I sat up slowly, blinking bleary eyes as something Karen had told me came back to me. She’s a little quiet. You never know what she is thinking.

Well, I sure did. She seemed jumpy and on the verge of running at some point during every contact she’d had with me. Every time I saw her, there was at least one moment when she seemed to draw back from me warily, when I had the idea she was looking for an escape route.

Another thought came to me. Maybe it was the other way around? Maybe she was only rattled enough to let it show when I was around?

That made me smile. I couldn’t deny I liked the idea of shaking her out of that shell, just on general principle. Maybe that was why I was so drawn to her.

I wondered if Emily was nervous around me because she was afraid of me. That she was, too, afraid because of the same reason as mine. That she felt it, too. Um. Felt what too?

I sat there, barely paying any attention to what Cook and the others were saying. Instead I let the low rhythms of Emily’s voice take me into a little daydream. I looked at her. Edges blurred. And I saw an Emily with that coy smile that hid her true, amazing self from everyone.

Maybe the shy, boring Emily Fitch mould was really starting to crumble.

I was snapped out of my daze by my vibrating mobile phone on the table. It was David. For the bazillionth time this morning. I pressed Reject Call and tried to ignore the sudden twinge in my heart.

Fucking David.

I felt unwanted tears stinging my eyelids. Chrissakes. That fucking dickhead won’t just leave me alone! I stared down at the table, trying to blot out the memory of how David used to be my bestest best friend, and how, in the end, he morphed into this heartless bastard who would shamelessly crush me into pieces. It was all a big fucking joke, I reminded myself bitterly. Love’s a big fucking joke.

David would admit he had no excuse for what happened. But that I should know that there was nothing going on between him and my ex-best mate Rachel. It was an impulse, he said. Purely physical and meaningless sex. And it had nothing to do with what he felt for me.

I believed him. I really did. What he did with Rachel had nothing to do with his feelings for me. However, it had everything to do with mine for him.

I trusted him, and he betrayed that trust. That made it impossible for us to be friends. So I had decided we had to part. It was just timely that I got the scholarship to Hamada U, and that made my running away more reasonable.

I wanted to really run away from all the pain of the past and the potential pain in the future. I told myself to never again get tangled in the drama and rubbish that were love and relationships. I told myself to build a wall strong and high enough to keep anyone away, to save me from falling all over myself and shattering into fucking pieces once more. And now here’s this redhead waltzing into my life all bright eyed and innocent, scaling my defences so easily. She was making everything so fucking difficult for me. The closer she got, the more I felt my resistance wearing down, the wall of fear—if that’s what it was—crumbling.

I lifted my head and my gaze immediately fell on Emily’s. I straightened up in my seat and held her gaze, in spite of myself. Her big eyes were widened even further, and they glowed with unbearable compassion. She was looking at me as if she could read into my soul, as if she could feel my pain. And for a moment I felt as if the two of us were standing still in time, two points bound together by an invisible line.

No, I’m sitting here in the kitchen, merely having a breakfast chat with half a bunch of strangers who don’t know a fucking thing about me, my rational mind interjected.

I blinked a few times before I’d reached a decision.

Distance. That was all I needed. If I wanted to heal my heart, if I wanted to pick up the pieces of my life and move on, if I wanted to find myself again, I needed to chuck out all the distractions and do it alone. On my own. And Emily Fitch was a dangerous distraction. An irresistible one.

The safest, wisest, easiest thing to do would be to part company here and now. I always did the safest, wisest, easiest thing which also turned out to be the bitchiest, shittiest, most coward thing. So I stood up from my chair and wordlessly walked out of the kitchen, and tried to ignore everyone’s reactions—especially the redhead’s. I needed to run away.

Emily Fitch meant nothing to me twenty-four hours ago, and she should mean nothing to me now.

Later that morning, I hurried down the basement as I forgot my bracelet in the shower room. I opened the door to the shower room and my eyes instantly bulged when I saw two girls on the floor having an intimate moment. I would’ve stepped back immediately and just laughed it off, but I recognised the hair.

Emily was on top of a naked Effy, her hands on the brunette’s breasts. Even in the haze of my shock, I sensed Effy felt my eyes on them as a ghost of a smile—a cagey delight—flitted around her mouth as if its purpose was to provoke me. Fuck’s sake.

Swiftly I spun round my heel and strode off, trying to get rid of this weird pain in my chest and trying to deny it was there. I couldn’t stand still, couldn’t think. But it was just senseless. Totally, utterly fucking absurd. Both people were insignificant in my messy little life. I heard rushing footsteps behind me and was stopped short when a familiar bracelet appeared before my eyes.

“Hey, Miss Peroxide, were you looking for this?” Effy was holding the bracelet up to my face.

I quickly snatched it from her fingers. “Yes. And my name’s not fucking Miss Peroxide.”

“You ought to thank me,” the brunette said unflappably. “And I didn’t call you ‘fucking Miss Peroxide.”’

“Oh, you've got a sense of humour, who knew,” I scoffed. I then twisted on my heel and started down the hallway again when a cold, fresh-from-shower hand caught my elbow and stopped me. I whirled around, casting the girl a sharp, icy look.

“Whoa. Do you have to be a bitch?” Effy’s face wasn’t really pissed off. It was so easy to take a rise out of everyone, but not with this one. She was too calm, very much in control of her emotions. Or perhaps she just lacked emotions.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I grounded out.

The brunette did, and then she smirked. “Why? You got a disease or something?”

“No,” I said shortly. “But perhaps you do.”

“Where is all this hate coming from, Miss Peroxide?” she asked, chuckling dryly. “You got a problem with this place or something?”

I snorted. “Where do I start?”

Actually, it was a thorny question. Where should I start? Not with the deeply affecting thoughts that had forced me to admit that my dorm mate Emily Fitch is more than just a vapid redhead. Not with the intimate moments I had run away from in order to avoid her. Definitely not how sexy she looked when her face flared red as her hair with embarrassment or anger or how cute she looked scowling at the dull taste of boiled peas. But probably how fucking frustrated I was not to be able to touch her the way this girl in front of me did earlier, and how Karen had—

My mobile phone rang. I took it out of my pocket. It was David. Again. Chrissakes.

“You know what? Forget it,” I said to Effy finally. I bowed my head slightly and stared down at the ringing phone in my hand. All I could do was just stand there, choking on confusion over my real reasons. I was a bit startled by them—these strange tumultuous emotions, my unusual possessiveness of someone who didn’t even belong to me, my fixation with this luminous-eyed redhead I just met less than twenty-four hours ago. It made no fucking sense at all.

Shaking her head, Effy’s lips curved up into that strange—kind of knowing—smirk, but her eyes were narrowed and unchanging. Then she breezed past me and walked away without another word.

Once the brunette was out of sight, I blew out a heavy sigh of exasperation.

No. I couldn’t become fucking entrapped again. I’d have to bring things to a screeching halt now, I decided as I sagged back against the wall. Why had I ever let this little redhead have this effect over me?

“Fuck’s sake,” I muttered, lifting my head to glance sideways at door of the shower room.

I suddenly felt more caged in and threatened than usual. Emily was going to be in my face 24/7. How would I keep my secrets to myself? When the redhead could effortlessly burst through my vault doors? And when I felt that she was determined to do so, too?

Fucking Emily Fitch.

The only one who had this unusual sway over me—who shook up the arrangement of things in my life. She was invading my life. And that meant I could never let myself get close to her. I knew when to close myself off to trouble and disappointment and hurt. I’d practically turned it into an art form after the many times I had been shamelessly let down by the people I had deeply cared for. But just the effort of not finding Emily Fitch irresistible was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Then again, perhaps that was just the after-effect of Effy’s cold, damp hand on my skin.

Fucking Emily Fitch, I thought, as I lifted my chin and started down the hallway again.

The only one that got me thinking: What is this weird yet wonderful thing I’m feeling? Just before I reach the stairs, I glanced over my shoulder back at the shower room door where Emily was probably enjoying her hot shower now. I’d had to physically restrain myself from going in there. 

Really, though, why did she have to be so fucking irresistible?