CH7

After Azalea found herself stuck on the same paragraph her professor had assigned for what felt like forever, she finally gave up and decided a bathroom break was in order. Maybe stepping away would clear her head a little.

When she got there, she was relieved to find it empty. Setting her bag down on the floor, she turned the tap on and leaned forward, letting the cool water wash over her hands before splashing it onto her face.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling the water dripping down her skin. With her hands resting on the counter, Azalea stared at her reflection in the mirror. The sound of the running water filled the room as she stood there, her thoughts spinning.

Her brows knit into a frown as her mind drifted, once again, to Jackson. She couldn't make sense of what was going on between them anymore. And the thing that really got her was, why now? Why was everything starting to feel so complicated all of a sudden?

Azalea's attention snapped to the bathroom door as a loud creak broke the silence, followed by a burst of giggles that echoed through the room. Her heart sank.

"Next time Jett throws a party, I'm totally going live on I*******m. His crazy moments are gold," Megan chirped, her voice high-pitched and full of excitement.

"I'm trying to hook up with him," came Priscillia's reply, shameless and blunt. "You think he'll go for it?"

Megan's laugh quickly turned into something sharp and mocking. "Priscillia, ew." But before she could finish, their eyes locked. Megan's bright smile faded into a hard scowl, her expression turning icy in an instant.

"What do you mean ew? He's literally—" Priscillia began, but Megan cut her off with a harsh "Shh," nodding toward Azalea.

Her finger pointed in Azalea's direction, and Priscillia turned to follow it. The moment she spotted her, she gasped dramatically, her face twisting into an exaggerated look of shock.

"Oh my gosh, it's the whore from Jett's party the other night," Priscillia sneered, her words dripping with judgment.

Azalea's cheeks flushed, but she quickly turned off the faucet, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder with a swift motion, ready to escape the tension. But as she headed for the door, Megan stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"So, you and Jackson are a thing, huh?" Megan asked, her voice laced with passive-aggressive sweetness as she gave Azalea a sharp, calculating stare. Azalea cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably, and took a small step back.

"Um...n-no," she stammered, trying to steady her nerves.

Megan's eyes widened in exaggerated surprise, clearly enjoying this. "Really? But you two seemed so cute the other night. I even saw you two disappear upstairs," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The implication hung thick in the air, and Azalea's stomach twisted.

"He was helping me, that's all," Azalea said quickly, hoping to shut down any rumors before they got started.

But Megan only pouted, stepping closer and placing her hands firmly on Azalea's shoulders, her grip surprisingly strong. Azalea wanted to pull away, but Megan made sure to keep her in place, her fingers pressing down a little too tightly.

"Well, that's good," Megan said sweetly, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Because I didn't want to be the one to break it to you..." She paused for effect, leaning in closer and lowering her voice to a near whisper. "...that he was fucking me last night."

She nodded as if her words were some undeniable truth, waiting for Azalea to process what she had just said, like she expected the girl to nod in agreement.

But the words were a lie. Megan knew Jackson hadn't been with her the night before. She'd seen him come back to his dorm late, just as she was leaving to grab a late-night drink. She knew exactly where he'd been.

Azalea didn't know that Megan was lying, and what made it worse was that she actually believed her. The words stung, and she couldn't shake the feeling that maybe Megan was telling the truth.

Jackson was Jackson, after all. The only person he'd ever been secretive about was... well, Megan. But Azalea didn't know that, not yet.

Megan, with her sly smile, continued, "Jackson isn't a loyal guy. He's a free spirit, knows his way around girls, and is all about the party life. He probably only wanted to get into your pants that night and failed because I ruined it." She nodded, like her words were some kind of undeniable truth.

Azalea's heart sank as her gaze shifted to Priscillia. The other girl made a face, then nodded in agreement, confirming Megan's words like they were facts.

"Yeah, Jackson is a manwhore and everyone knows it," Priscillia added, her tone matter-of-fact. It was said with so much conviction that it made Azalea feel like the rug was being pulled out from under her, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"But hey, I think it's best if you just be friends with him, or not friends with him at all. To save your feelings from being hurt of course. Just girls looking out for each other."

Azie couldn't take it anymore and shoved past the girl.

"Tell him Megan said hi!" She shouts as the girl left in a hurry. Azalea heard their fading giggles as she got further and further away from the restroom.

Why is that every time it comes to Megan he's standoffish? Just as he was when she approached him about the girl.

Azalea wiped away the tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes, her heart heavy as she rounded the corner and left the building. The cool air outside didn't ease the sting she felt inside. She sniffled, cursing herself under her breath as more tears slid down her cheeks.

She didn't even know why she was crying, but at this point, who cared? It was just all too much.

By the time she made it to the library building, she had managed to compose herself enough to wipe her eyes and skip up the few steps leading to the door. She pushed it open, stepping into the quiet, dimly lit hall. The emptiness of the place only made her feel more alone as she made her way down the corridor, her footsteps echoing off the walls.

As she turned a corner, she bumped into someone. There was a sudden splash of liquid and a low curse that followed. "Shit!" The voice groaned, clearly irritated.

"Crap, I—I'm so sorry," Azalea stammered, her face flushed with embarrassment. She immediately dropped to her knees, scrambling to gather the papers that had scattered across the floor, pressing into the coffee that had spilled across the pages.

As she quickly moved to clean up the mess, she glanced up—and froze. It was her English professor, Mr. Thompson.

Their eyes met, and Azalea's heart skipped a beat. The way his blue eyes locked onto her brown ones felt almost too familiar, and for a split second, the look in his gaze reminded her of Jackson's—distant, but sharp.

Mr. Thompson seemed momentarily stunned by the accident, but he quickly regained his composure and started picking up the rest of his papers. The two of them worked in silence, neither speaking as they continued to gather the loose sheets.

Finally, Azalea stood up and handed him the papers she had collected. Thompson rose to his feet as well, shooting her another quick glance before he took the papers from her hands. His eyes lingered on the brown stains at the bottom of the pages, and with a soft, resigned sigh, he let out a quiet breath.

"S-sorry about the papers," Azalea muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, still feeling embarrassed and guilty.

Thompson studied her for a moment, his eyes flicking over her face as he noticed the telltale signs of distress—the bright red nose, the flushed cheeks from the tears she'd wiped away.

"It's fine," he replied, his tone more measured now, though a little sarcastic. "Only about ten thousand words that need to be reprinted and handed in before five."

Azalea winced, feeling even worse. "Sorry," she said again, her voice softer this time.

Thompson glanced around the hallway, noticing how eerily quiet and empty it was. "Are you alright?"

Azalea hesitated, her throat tight. She cleared it before replying, trying to sound as normal as possible. "Uh, yes, sir." She paused, then added in a quieter voice, "I'll, um, pay for your coffee back. It's the least I could do." She mumbled, already rummaging through her bag to find any loose dollars she might have.

"No no that's fine. Just watch where you're walking next time. As for my papers, you'll be helping me with delivering this to the post office after I reprint these."

Azalea chuckled lightly and burshed her hair from her face. "Again, I'm sorry."

There was a still silence before Thompson spoke. "Well, I guess I'll print these in the teachers lounge since it's closer to the front gates." Thompson picked up his coffee cup, glancing at the pool of brown liquid on the floor.

He glanced at his attire, noticing that some got on his shoes and clothes. He'd have to change after he's done with his task.

"Come on." He motions. Azalea nodded and followed the man. Thompson tossed the empty cup into a nearby trashcan and carried on.

Azalea watched the man as he took his phone from his pocket and texted someone before shoving the phone into his front pocket.

After five minutes of walking they finally reached the lounge. Again the section is empty and the two entered.

"You could take a seat wherever, we won't be here long."

Azalea took a seat on one of the chairs by a circle table and sighed. She's stressed out now. First she was nearly two hours late to his class and now she ruined his clothes, his paper work and wasted his coffee.

Then there's Jackson and Megan. The cluster of feelings and confusion as of late.

"It's so frustrating." Azalea mindlessly says. Thompson glanced at the girl after he tossed a few paper towels into the trashcan. She's itching her scalp and slightly shaking her head.

He can tell she's in deep thought. "I hope whatever it is that's got you down doesn't distract you from your studies." He states.

Azalea glanced at him and fixed her posture. "It's nothing serious."

"You expression says otherwise." Thompson joined her at the table and pulled his computer bag from around his neck and shoulder. He set the brown bag onto the table and unzipped it, taking his laptop from it.

"It's just...everything is kind of snowballing for whatever reason as of recent. First class was a bust, and now I bumped into my professor and ruined his work and clothes."

Thompson managed a smile. When he did she noticed a dimple. Then it all came rushing towards her like a ton of bricks.

"Well-

"Are you Jackson's dad?" She cuts. She didn't mean to do so and she quickly apologized. "S-sorry to cut you off but you look a lot like my friend. His name is Jackson and I think his last name is Thompson too. He's got the same blue eyes, the same dimple and black hair. Except for his dimple being on the left side of his cheek." She rambles.

Thompson cleared his throat and retrieved the drive from his bag.

"Umm..." Thompson didn't know how to answer her query for various reasons. When Azalea caught onto his silence she spoke.

"I don't mean to assume it's just that the two of you have a lot of... similarities."

"Interesting." Was all he answered with. Azalea decided to keep her mouth shut as Thompson did his thing. There was a loud vroom and he glanced at the printer that's closest to the door.

"Could you?"

"Oh, sure." Azalea got up from her seat and went over to the printer. The papers eased out one by one, filling the room with sound. Fifteen papers later it stopped and Azalea finally moved them.

She returned to the table and set them down. Thompson closed his laptop and placed everything back into his bag. Azalea didn't know what to do so she just zoned out, looking at him.

Black hair with a pinch of grey, the blue eyes, the dimple on the right side of his cheek and a mole under his lip.

Jackson has everything else except for the freckle under his bottom lip. She sat back, her arms crossing as she ventured deep into the equation.

It could be true that her professor is Jackson's father, however she needs more concrete proof. She's seen a lot of people with the same features around campus.

Black hair, blue eyes, tall frame. Some of the guys have the same brown eyes and brown hair, or same blonde hair and green eyes. None of them are related, but some of their outside features can allow them to pass as siblings or maybe even cousins.

Could it be a simple coincidence that Professor Thompson is just a regular white male, or could he be Jackson's father?

She hums. She's never heard about Jackson talk about his family before. Nor did she to him. And this is why she agreed to his dare of going out. She wants to know the things she doesn't know.

"Good to see you've calmed down." Thompson says breaking through the silence.

"Hm? Oh." Azalea gained focus and noticed that the man is smiling faintly. "I didn't...mean to stare. I was just..."

"It's fine." He reached over and grabbed the stack of papers.

Her heart skipped a beat and she got a good whiff of his cologne. The both of them stared at each other, a form of heat expanding around them. It wasn't until the door opened that professor Thompson finally pulled away.

"Well, Ms.Moore, thank you for lending a hand. I will see you next class and hopefully you're early next time." The man held out his hand and glanced at the person that stepped in.

It's Mrs.Laime, she's a Spanish professor. "Oi dios mio. I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was inside." She chuckles nervously.

Azalea cleared her throat and stood to her feet, shaking his hand. His hold is warm and firm. She noticed the watch on his hand and caught the time.

She pulled away and nodded. "You're welcome, Professor. See you in class Thursday." Azalea grabbed her bag and left the room.

The man sent Mrs.Laime a small smile and waved his papers.

"Hard work am I right?"

"Yeah, I had to get away from the young adults." The lady shuffled over to where Azalea was sitting and set her purse on the table.

"Would you like some?," She whispers, pulling a flask from her bag.

"Maybe some other time. I have to get this to the post office before five."

"Oh."

Thompson gathered his things and left the lady in the room. Mrs.Laime exhaled heavily and kicked her feet up.

"Well...more for me then."

Later that night things have become thicker than a noose. Jackson and Azalea made no remarks to the other and was practically avoiding the other.

She was far from tired but she couldn't let him know she was still awake. Jackson was feeling the same way. He doesn't want this kind of tension to be between them. Tomorrow he'll have to make it up to her completely.

"I know you're awake ugly." He finally speaks. Jackson turned around and gazed over to her side of the room.

Azalea responded by fake snoring. Jackson grinned and pulled his pillow from under his head, chucking it over to her side.

It hit her in the back and her fake snore got louder. A minute went by and Jackson caved. "If this is about what Megan did at Jett's party I'm sorry." He whispers. No answer.

"Come on fire ant talk to me. We're good friends aren't we?"

Azalea finally turned to face him and he felt like all faith was restored.

"I know you have sex with a lot of girls or whatever but Megan seems to be different for you."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugs. "She's always around. I mean, it's your life or whatever but it's like...Megan, in my opinion, seems more than a one night stand to you."

Jackson scrunched his brows. "You think I like her or something?"

"Well...she said you were with her last night."

Silence. However, Jackson didn't get quiet due to what she said, no, he got quiet because he wouldn't want to tell her the real reason as to why he came in late last night.

"Megan's a lying whore."

"Oh? When did that start? The Jackson I know don't care what kind of girl he has sex with."

"Please don't say it aloud like that," Jackson said quickly, cutting her off before she could say anything else. "And she lied. I was by myself... I was just out. Not with her, though."

Azalea opened her mouth to respond, but Jackson didn't give her a chance to question him further.

"Anyways," he continued, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, "just be ready for tomorrow, fire ant. We're going to have a blast."

Without waiting for an answer, Jackson turned around, casually pulling his sheets over his shoulder. Azalea stared at his side for a few seconds, her mind racing, before her gaze dropped to his pillow.

"Were you in my bed last night?" she asked, her voice quiet but full of curiosity.

Without waiting for an answer, Azalea grabbed her pillow and tossed it to his side of the bed, claiming the other one for herself. She sank into it, trying to make herself comfortable, but Jackson's hand shot out, grabbing the pillow with little hesitation.

At first, he didn't seem to care, but the moment he caught a whiff of her scent on it, something changed. He buried his face into the pillow, his eyes closing as a satisfied grin spread across his face.

He knew for sure he was going to get a good night's sleep tonight.