2.6 | Forget Me Not ✓

-8 || calluna vulgaris

  

IMPORTANT

 Hello my loves! I know, I owe you a huge apology for such a delayed update. I got caught up with work once again, and the new season of Killer Instinct has begun, so I've not had the time for this story. Rest assured, though, that no matter how late updates are for this, they will always come, because this story has already been completed on my end. I just haven't the time to login to wattpad, unfortunately.

That being said, because I've been between two apps constantly, and getting messages on both ends, I'm considering setting up a discord for my readers. It'll be a place where I can broadcast the latest updates, show you my updating schedule, spoil you for future stories, let me know what you think about my plots etc. You can also ask me questions you have about my stories, or any questions you may have at all!

This has been a long time coming, many of my readers have asked me to do this before, but I always hesitated because I wasn't sure if anyone was interested. If you are, could you please let me know on my profile? I would very much like a general idea before I proceed.

Thank you so much, my loves! x

  

also trigger warning for this chapter; just to be safe.

  

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– 8

c a l l u n a   v u l g a r i s

For protection.

  

(then: –8)

    

"SHIT."

The curse slips out of her mouth before she can stop herself, and even though it's muffled, he seems to hear it anyway. In an instant, he's leaning over her shoulder and reaching for her hand. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she says, pulling her hand away from his. "I just accidentally burnt myself, that's all."

"That's all?" he repeats incredulously. "Come on, I'm taking you to the nurse's office. If you don't take care of it, you'll blister and scar."

The hard glint in his eyes makes her suspect that he won't take no for an answer. So, after he's told their professor what happened, she follows him out of the lab and down the hallway. She hasn't really noticed it before, but he's quite tall. Almost half a head taller than Keith, and Keith is no slouch himself. His hair is almost bronze under the sunlight that flits in through the opened windows, and she feels like a lost little puppy as she trails behind him in his shadow.

Her feet come to a halt when she notices the nurse's office sign. "Wait." He stops and shoots her a glance over his shoulder, and she shrugs. "I think I'll go to the bathroom instead."

"Emma—"

She sidesteps him when he reaches out to stop her. "It's just a small burn, honestly," she says, as she heads for the nearest washroom. "Once I rinse my hand under cold water, I'll be fine. You'll see."

"Fine, then use the accessible one." He points her to the sole bathroom between the men's and women's. "That way I can make sure you're doing a proper job of it."

She falters for a moment, then squares her shoulders and steps into the accessible bathroom. He steps in after her, and the door swings shut behind them. She starts to wonder what will happen if someone notices them stepping into a bathroom together, but then sets her worries aside.

For now, there's a much bigger issue to worry about.

She flips on the tap and starts to run her hand under cold water. And all the while she is very, very aware of him—watching her every move. After a few minutes, the reddish swell on her hand has started to subside, and it no longer hurts. She turns off the tap and reaches for the paper towels.

Then she falters.

In the next second, his hand closes over her arm. "I knew it." His voice is so soft that she can barely hear it, but the hint of anger threaded through every syllable is there—plain and deafening in the silence. "I wondered why you always wore sweaters during the summer. People have been talking about it, and I knew—I guessed..."

Her breath lodges in her throat as he slowly, gently, turns her wrist. With his other hand, he tugs her sleeve up, so that her lower arm is completely exposed. Laid bare.

And the angry purple bruises are there, like deadly orchids blooming on her skin.

With a sharp breath, she twists away from him and tugs her sleeve back down. Her heart is racing, pounding, in her throat, and her face is hot with fresh humiliation. He's her lab partner—the easygoing, quick-witted boy who seems to admire her not because she's the girlfriend of a football player, but because she's terribly intelligent and formidable in her own right. And because of that, he's the last person she wants to know about this.

"Who?" he demands, his voice still deadly quiet. Calm. Too calm, like hell before it's unleashed. "Is it someone in your family?"

Her eyes go wide and she whirls around on him. "How could you even think that? My parents would give up their entire business and move if I ever so much as hinted that I wanted them here! They miss me more than I can even put in words, and they would never do something like this!"

"So it's him then." He pins her with a steady gaze, and she finds herself unable to look away. "It's Keith?"

She drags in a deep breath, prepared to lie through her teeth, only to find that she can't do it. She can't lie this time—not when he's looking at her with such soft sympathy, not when his hand is wrapped around her arm in such a gentle grip, gentler than anything she's ever felt before.

"Emma," he says quietly, when she remains silent. "Let me help you."

She bites down on the inside of her cheek, hard enough to taste blood. He's holding out a life buoy to her amidst drowning waters, and it takes everything in her not to reach out and grab it. "If you really want to help me," she says instead, "don't tell anyone."

She pulls her arm out of his grasp, ready to leave, but he only steps into her path. There's a knowing glint in his eyes as he asks, "What does Keith have on you to make you stay?"

Damn him. He really is too clever for his own good. Without looking at him, she turns on her heels and walks away. But all the while, her chest is tight with unease at having rejected the only person who's ever offered her help. She's made the right choice, hasn't she? Hasn't she?

  

(she hasn't. but it's this very moment that she comes back to, more often than she should.

and, for awhile, it is enough.)