I stared at it. I understood what the words implied, but why? The massage there had been sprawled across my scree didn't disappear no matter how much I wished it too. It was a constant reminder, a punch to the gut, that the small, intoxicated and annoying as hell things I felt under that kiss meant nothing to him. Sometimes I even wondered if it was a piece of my imagination.

     My thumb ran over the screen. I didn't even think of how weird it was to caress my phone.

     I read it once more.

     Friday night. 8 pm. The library.

     It'd been two days since I had received the message. I had yet to send a reply. And it was already Friday. I had just come up from another silent dinner with my family. Just as I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. Last night my mom had gone as far as to throw suitcases in my dad's face.

     Every morning I watched him sneak out from the guestroom. I watched the pained expression whenever he put down his guards. I watched how my mom didn't care. How her rage clouded what was important.

     I somehow knew that Mike was well aware, reply or not, that I was going to come. I was sure we wouldn't discuss what had happened and I was sure he was going to be an ass. It was who he was after all.

     My gaze shifted to the top corner of my screen. It was almost half-past five, meaning I should start getting ready.

     However, none of my limps wished to leave the bed. The rest of my body didn't want either. Except for one tiny part of my brain. One who whispered how good his lips tasted. One I wanted to punch in the face.

     With an exasperated sigh, I rolled up in a sitting position and rolled further off the bed. My muscles ached from laying down too much. Was that even possible?

     My bag was already packed, a thing I'd found myself doing right after dinner. Yeah, I had already decided when the message first had popped up. It was like I didn't have a choice, which, I hadn't. I'd signed his damn piece of paper.

     I slouched my shoulders and swung my back up upon them. It weighed me down as I proceeded to walk into the hallway. I didn't get far before the first family member crossed my path.

     Marcus strolled right past me, a foot or two from my door. His nose was buried in the pages of a thick book, his facial muscles relaxed. He walked right past me without as much as a glance.

     My eyes roamed my body. I wasn't invisible.

     I followed him with my eyes until he reached his door, walked in and slammed it behind him. I rose an eyebrow. "Nice to see you too."

     I shook my head, going over to the stairs a hurrying downstairs.

     In the living room, dad sat with the remote clutched in his hand. He zapped between different channels; never finding anything interesting.

     "Hey Dad," I said, coming up behind him. He shifted to peek over his shoulder.

     "Yes?" His voice spilled smoothly over his lips. His calm nature always one to refresh me; to comfort me.

     I provided him with the faintest of a smile. I wanted to hate my mom for how she treated him, but I couldn't. I wanted to hate him for how he treated my mom, but I couldn't. Again, everything would be easier if I just hated.

     "I'm going to the library. I have a lesson with Mike. I hope that's okay." My smile strained my cheeks, but I kept it smeared on my face. I tilted my head as I watched him regard me.

     "Yes – well. Sure. I see you later. I guess. When will you be home?" He tried to match my smile but failed.

     "In an hour or two. Love ya."

     I hurried out the door, my jacket only halfway on. I slipped into the driver seat of my car and pulled out of the driveway. My mom's scowl followed me from the window, so I did the only rational thing. I lifted a hand and waved. Which wasn't rational now that I think of it. She didn't exactly look happy to see me go.

     I sped down the road and as I neared the library, my biggest worry wasn't my mom. No. I had a greater enemy to think of. Mike Everson. The bastard himself. The devil on earth.

     Okay. I may have exaggerated a bit.

     Nevertheless, as I pulled up to the parking lot, I didn't get out right away. I sat in my car, staring at myself in the mirror, bouncing up and down. In my head, I kept repeating words of encouragement. I was badass. A fucking machine. I could do anything. I didn't care about no boy. No. He could fuck off for all that I cared.

     Yeah, I could do this. I could act as nothing happened. I could be a motherfucking fly. Always buzzing around and annoying the crap out of him.

     At least until he squeezed me.

     I shook the last thought away and jumped out of my cat. I tugged hard at the strap of my bag.

     Standing in front of the entrance, I came to a halt. I read every poster on the door, even the dull ones. I dragged out every minute. I even let the clock pass eight. That I did to piss him off.

     With a deep sigh, another round of mental encouragement, I proceeded in through the door. A man with a wide smile greeted me with a formal nod. He sat behind a large screen, clicking away as if there was something important happening.

     I walked past him, dragging my unwilling body through the library. Somehow, I knew where he would be, which table he would sit at and on which stool. I envisioned the image before even turning to face it in reality.

     Mike sat leaned over a book spread open on the table. Headphones plugged into his ears. His jacket and bag draped over the chair beside him. He sat in a t-shirt showing the lean muscles of his arms. Hair fell in front of his glasses which he had pushed as far up on his nose as he could.

     I cleared my throat. His head snapped in my direction. The beautiful eyes he possessed narrowed into slits. He yanked out the headphones, letting them fall onto the table.

     I put on a smirk, walking towards him without a care in the world. I put my bag on the table and swung into a chair opposite him. I leaned back, watching him.

     "You're late," he said, snapping the book close and sliding it into his bag.

     "Fashionable late." I provided him with a dashing smile and a flick of my hair. It fell in loose strands over my back there was only covered in a tight, white t-shirt.

     He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and extracted another book from his bag. He slid it towards me, his hands just out of reach as if he was afraid to touch me. Auch.

     "I advise you to read chapter fourteen. Write everything down you don't understand and then we'll take it from there." His voice, so full of nothing, hit me like a brick wall.

     I dipped my eyebrows in confusion. My hands traced the cover of the book. The smooth surface an odd reassurance. "That's all?"

     Mike nodded as he found a notebook in his bag. He put it down, leaned over it and started scribbling. His hands moved smoothly over the paper, working fast. His handwriting was neat.

     He didn't do anything to show he was going to answer me with more than his nod. He kept his head low.

     Fine.

     If he was going to ignore me, I was going to ignore him as well. Two could play this game. But only one could win. And it was going to be me.

     I read the chapter. I wrote down the things I didn't understand, which, much to my dismay, filled about an entire page. My words were... questionable. With spelling mistakes, weird commas between weird words and letters crossed-out to an extreme and rewritten above.

     I gazed at my work, unsatisfied. Maybe I should have made an effort? Nargh.

     I pushed my notebook towards him. It nudged at his own and gained his attention. "I'm done," I said, leaning back and moving my hands to support my neck.

     He looked at my notes and rolled his eyes. I watched him take my notebook and give me his. Sprawled across two pages were math problems. It brimmed both pages! Both fucking pages.

     I fought to keep a neutral expression; however, I was sure he could see the dread in my eyes. He did not pity me, no, he ripped out the page with my notes and dragged it into his bag. Apparently, he just thought I would begin working. Well, of course not.

     I was going to give him a hard time because I could.

     I found my phone and opened different apps. I watched as party videos flashed before my eyes. I watched my friends have fun while I was locked up in a library with Mike Everson. God must not like me.

     I sighed, raising my elbows upon the table. One to hold my phone, the other to support my head.

     However, as I skipped to watch another video, my phone was snatched right out of my hand. "Hey!" I shot up, a sudden burst of adrenaline shooting through me. I shouldn't feel like this because of my phone.

     I narrowed my eyes as I watched Mike wave my phone in front of me. It was just out of reach. Like him.He holstered an eyebrow, eyes watching me with great care; with emotion, but not the good kind. "You're supposed to study."

     "You're supposed to not be a pig," I spat back, leaning forward to take my phone back. He moved out of reach, shaking his head. I watched in horror and anger as he slid the phone into his bag.

     I clenched my pencil hard, so hard the edges drilled into my skin. I was angry, though it had nothing to do with the phone. This guy was hopeless. I didn't like him. That's what I tried to tell myself.

     "Fine." I drew my gaze away from him. I focused on the paper, the numbers, the knowledge there didn't make sense. Where some saw solutions, I only saw obstacles. I didn't see how you solved the problem, I only saw the problem, but that was my fight. And I will be damned if I let Mike help me.

     Minutes went by as I struggled to get through.

     I cracked my neck, rolled my shoulder. My hand felt numb, the pencil still pressed firmly into my hand.

     Opposite of me, Mike pushed out the chair and stood. I peeped up at him. "Toilet," he said, and turned to leave. I watched him as he left me alone. I watched him until I no longer could see him.

     And then I leaped.

     I leaped from my seat and over the table, somehow forgetting I could walk around it. My foot caught the edge of the table. I widened my eyes, noticing my mistake.

     I darted towards the chairs on the other side, towards his bag. Nevertheless, I pulled the table down along with me. I fumbled into the chairs, trying to hold onto something; to stop what was happening.

     It ended with me falling onto the floor. One leg trapped under the table, chairs falling onto my shoulder and back. The bag laid right in front of me and just out of reach. Perfect. Every damn thing was out of reach today.

     The entire ordeal had created a terrible amount of noise. The thumps of the furniture and my own body landing upon the floor rang through the entire library. Suddenly it wasn't quiet anymore.

     I heard his footsteps before I saw him. He came running around the corner, his mouth ajar as he gazed down at me. I noticed the question on his lips before he spoke the words.

     I shrugged, or, well, tried to. "In my defense," I said. "I was left unsupervised."