I woke up earlier than I needed to.
The alarm hadn’t gone off yet. For the first time in days my body felt loose instead of wound tight. The memory of the rooftop sat clear in my head—Julian on his knees, his mouth, the way I’d come harder than I ever had on my own. I’d slept through the night because of it. When I got back to the room I shared with my mother, the bags were already packed. We left an hour later. Julian was already gone. He’d left right after. My face warmed at the thought.
I hadn’t studied the night before. I’d been too tired. This morning I set the alarm early on purpose. Not to copy formulas onto a scrap of paper. To actually work through them. I still hated him. I still had the photo in my bag. But I wanted to pass. I wanted what he’d promised after the test. Part of
