Chapter 7: Everyone Is Looking
I knew I was cooked the second I stepped outside.
Not nervous cooked. Not embarrassed cooked. Publicly roasted. Like my name had been slapped onto a group chat called Damn and everyone had already seen it before I even got dressed.
The air felt thick. Like walking into a room wheBy the time we got to class, I was already fried.
Like nerves shot. Skin buzzing. That wired, pissed-off feeling where everything feels too close and too loud. I got there early on purpose, which should’ve been my first red flag. Middle row. End seat. Same one I always took. Backpack looped around my ankle like that was gonna protect me from anything.
Notebook out. Pen ready. Head down.
Normal. Chill. Whatever.
Didn’t matter.
Jessy walked in late.
Of course he did.
The door creaked and it was like the room leaned toward it. A couple guys laughed under their breath. Someone behind me muttered, “There he is,” like this was a show they were tracking.
There were a million empty seats.
Front row. Back row. Whole-ass rows untouched.
Jessy sat next to me.
Just slid right in like it was the most obvious choice in the world.
The second he sat, our knees brushed under the desk.
Barely anything. Could’ve been nothing.
I yanked my leg back like I’d touched a hot stove. My chair scraped loud as hell. Way louder than I meant it to.
A few heads turned.
Jessy didn’t even look at me.
Didn’t say sorry. Didn’t shift. Didn’t react at all.
He just stayed there.
Like that was his space.
The room went quiet in that weird way. Not professor-starting quiet. The kind where people are pretending to take notes but absolutely are not.
I stared at my notebook. The page was blank. My hand was shaking enough that the pen left a stupid little squiggle.
Jessy leaned back in his chair and stretched, arms over his head, chest out like he was in his own bedroom. His shirt pulled tight across him. I didn’t mean to look. I really didn’t.
I immediately snapped my eyes down. My heart threatening to explode out of my chest.
Big Mistake. Because as my eyes shot down, I saw Jessy adjusting his dick in his pants. I saw that hard shape, that looked all too familiar, even through the thich fabric. And for reasons that deeply disturbed me, I felt my own crotch going harder.
I looked away. But I could feel his gaze on me immediately. Not heavy. Just aware. Like he’d clocked it and filed it away.
Then he shifted.
I snapped my gaze back down, jaw tight, face burning.
Then he shifted again.
Slow. Lazy. Like he had all day.
His knee pressed into mine this time. Not hard. Not aggressive. Just… there. Solid. Warm.
He didn’t pull away.
Didn’t fake an accident.
Didn’t do that awkward straight-guy “oops my bad” thing.
He just left it.
My whole body went hot. Not just embarrassed-hot. That deeper, pissed-off heat that crawls under your skin. I shoved my leg aside again, harder this time, teeth clenched.
Jessy stayed relaxed.
Like I was the only one making this weird.
Like I was the problem.
Someone in front of us turned around and smirked. Actually smirked. Like he’d just gotten confirmation on a bet.
I tried to listen to the lecture. I tried so hard. Every word went in one ear and died there.
All I could track was Jessy.
The way he leaned forward to write.
The way he leaned back again.
The way his arm brushed mine like it was nothing.
Every time he moved, my body reacted like an idiot.
That was the worst part.
He wasn’t sneaking. He wasn’t being careful.
He was acting like this was normal.
Like sitting pressed up against me, crowding my space, making me lose my damn mind was just… Tuesday.
Once, he shifted again, spreading his legs a little wider, posture loose and confident like he didn’t give a shit who noticed. My eyes flicked sideways before I could stop them.
He caught me.
Didn’t even bother hiding it.
His mouth twitched like he was holding back a laugh.
I snapped my pen in half.
Class couldn’t end fast enough.
The hallway afterward was a nightmare.
No subtlety left. None.
“Yo, shower dude.”
“That’s him?”
“Damn.”
“Told you.”
I felt like I was walking through a tunnel where every wall was made of eyes.
Jessy stayed right next to me. Not touching. Always right there. Comfortable. Loose. Like the attention rolled off him and soaked straight into me instead.
Some guy openly filmed as we passed. Phone straight up. No shame.
Jessy glanced at it and laughed, real quiet.
The dude filming looked thrilled. Like he’d just been personally acknowledged.
“You’re seriously fine with this?” I hissed.
He shrugged. “It’s a hallway, man.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He stopped walking so suddenly I almost walked into his back.
People slowed around us. Pretended to check their phones. Failed.
“You’re letting them talk,” I said. “You don’t care what this looks like?”
Jessy tilted his head, studying me like I was the interesting thing here. “Should I?”
“Yes,” I snapped. “They think shit.”
“They always do.”
“That’s not the point.”
He stepped closer. Not touching. Still not touching. But close enough that my back prickled like I was standing too near a flame.
“Attention only works if you react,” he said low. “You react a lot.”
My chest tightened. “You’re enjoying this.”
He smiled. Slow. Easy. “Maybe I just don’t mind people watching.”
That hit harder than it should’ve.
By the time the last class let out, I was vibrating. Not metaphorically. I could feel it in my hands, my jaw, my chest. Anger. Heat. Embarrassment. Something darker tangled up with all of it.
Outside the building, I grabbed his arm.
Hard.
“Why aren’t you worried about your image?” I snapped. “About what people are saying about you?”
Jessy stopped.
Then he stepped into me.
I backed up without meaning to until my shoulders slammed into the wall.
Hard.
The impact knocked the air out of me. Jessy planted one arm beside my head, caging me in without actually touching me. His body was right there anyway. Close enough that it counted.
People walked past. I could feel them looking. Feel myself being watched.
He leaned in.
Close.
Too close.
His mouth hovered inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath, smell him, feel my pulse spike like my body had completely betrayed me.
“Stop losing your mind over what people are saying,” he murmured. “And worry about what I’ll make you do to me tonight in our room.”
My head went light. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, trying to sound confident.
Jessy smirked, getting so close I could almost feel the fuzzy hair on his upper lip. “It means, I’m gonna make you my bitch tonight.”
Heat punched straight through me, sharp and humiliating. My hands curled into fists at my sides. I wanted to shove him. Wanted to yell. Wanted to do literally anything except stand there reacting exactly how he wanted.
Jessy stayed there a beat longer. Close enough that my brain short-circuited.
Then he smirked.
Stepped back.
Walked away like he hadn’t just wrecked me in front of half the campus.
I stayed there, heart pounding, face on fire, body buzzing with something I refused to acknowledge.
He thought he was winning.
Whatever stupid game he was playing with me.
I swore right then I’d never let him.
CHAPTER 8 : PUSHING BUTTONS
The dorm room felt wrong.
Not horror-movie wrong. Just sitcom wrong. Like if a laugh track suddenly kicked in, I would not have been surprised.
The radiator was clanking like it had unresolved anger issues. Bass from someone’s speaker thumped through the wall, the kind of music that made you feel like you were standing inside a car trunk. The air smelled like old coffee, gym socks, and that lemon cleaner the RA used like he was trying to erase our sins.
I loved this crap. Predictable chaos. Background noise that let me disappear into my own head.
My desk was perfect. Laptop centered. Notebook straight. Pen aligned because chaos had limits. Hoodie on even though it was warm because comfort mattered more than logic.
Headphones in.
Nothing playing.
Silence felt safer than accidentally queuing up a song that would emotionally wreck me for no reason.
If I stayed boring, my brain usually followed.
The door opened.
Not slammed. Not knocked.
Just pushed open like it had been waiting for him all day.
I did not look up.
I stared at the same sentence like it owed me money.
Jessy.
I knew it was him anyway. The room always shifted when he walked in, like gravity took a personal interest.
He didn’t say anything.
That was immediately suspicious.
Jessy never shut up. Silence from him meant he was either planning a prank or about to be a problem.
“You alive?” I muttered. “Or are you doing that thing where you just stand there and let the tension simmer like a psycho?”
Nothing.
Then I heard fabric move.
Not footsteps. Not a bag.
Clothes.
I looked up.
Jessy was pulling his shirt off.
Slow. Casual. Like he was changing between classes and not actively ruining my evening. He crossed his arms first, which he always did, like he was preparing himself emotionally for the burden of wearing a T-shirt.
The shirt caught around his shoulders. He tugged harder, annoyed, then tossed it onto his bed without looking.
My stomach did a weird little flip that I would be unpacking later in therapy.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I said.
He did not answer.
His hands went to his jeans. Thumbs hooked into the waistband. He tapped his fingers against his hip. Tap, tap. He always did that when he was pretending he wasn’t nervous, which was wild considering he was actively stripping like this was a totally normal roommate activity.
“No,” I said, standing up so fast my chair screeched like it was trying to warn me. “Absolutely not. Jessy.”
He stepped out of his jeans. One sock got stuck and he shook his foot, irritated, until it came off.
Then he straightened.
Fully naked.
No towel. No cover. No visible shame gene.
Just standing there in the middle of our room like I was the unreasonable one.
“What is wrong with you?” I snapped. “Put something on. Right now.”
My voice came out louder than I wanted. High-voltage. Not my best look.
Jessy finally looked at me.
Not embarrassed. Not defensive.
Amused. Obviously amused.
He did that mouth thing, pressing his lips together first like he was holding back commentary.
“You always get loud when you’re flustered,” he said.
“I am loud because you are naked,” I shot back. “In my face.”
“In the room,” he corrected, stretching the word like gum. “Roooom.”
“In my space.”
He shrugged, easy. Annoyingly hot about it. “You don’t own the space.”
That flipped something sharp in my chest.
“Do not tell me to relax,” I said, because his mouth was already forming the word. “You do not just strip like a lunatic and expect me to be chill.”
He took a step toward me.
I backed up automatically until my hip smacked into the desk. The edge dug in, which felt rude on top of everything else.
“Back up,” I said immediately.
He did not.
He stepped closer instead. Slow. Deliberate. Still not touching me. Just crowding me like this was a confidence exercise I had not signed up for.
He was too close. Chest almost brushing mine. Thigh warm against my leg. I could smell him. Soap, sweat, that stupid clean-salty scent he always had after the gym even when he claimed he showered like a responsible adult.
“You do this thing,” he said, glancing down at my hands, “where you curl your fingers when you’re mad.”
“Move,” I said.
“Like you’re trying not to grab something.”
I hated him for noticing that.
“You think this is funny?” I snapped. “You think this is some kind of dominance thing?”
“I think,” he said, voice lower now, “you lose your mind when you’re not in control.”
“That is not what this is.”
“Then why haven’t you shoved me?”
I did not answer.
Because touching him felt like a terrible idea. Because even pushing him away felt like opening a door I would not know how to close.
He clocked it instantly.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“I’m pissed.”
“Same thing sometimes.”
That hit uncomfortably close to the truth.
“Get dressed,” I said. “You made your point. Gold star. Now stop.”
He leaned in just a little more. Close enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek. The room felt thick, like it was holding onto the moment just to mess with me.
“You’re kind of adorable when you’re mad,” he murmured.
“Fuck you.”
He laughed softly, like this was fun for him. Like he was absolutely storing this memory for future enjoyment.
“You keep saying that,” he said. “But you’re still right here.”
My heart was going way too fast. Not panic. Something worse. Something horny and stupid and deeply inconvenient.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said easily.
At least he wasn’t lying.
“For a second,” I added, because I needed something back, “I thought you’d finally snapped.”
He smiled slow and smug. “Only a little.”
The radiator clanked again. The music thumped. Someone yelled down the hall. Life kept going like I wasn’t internally spiraling.
Then Jessy stepped back.
Just like that.
The space rushed in so fast it made me dizzy.
“Okay,” he said lightly, lifting his hands like he was indulging a child.
He turned, grabbed a pair of shorts off his bed, and pulled them on without any urgency. Did not look at me. Did not check if I was watching.
By the time he flopped onto his mattress and started scrolling on his phone, it was like nothing had happened.
I stood there another second, chest tight, heart still sprinting.
Then I sat back down.
My pen shook when I picked it up, which was rude considering pens are supposed to be loyal.
Same room. Same noise. Same stupid flickering light.
But my routine was dead.
And Jessy Delgado was already scrolling like pushing me to the edge and backing off was just another recreational activity.
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