I watch his hand go up in the air, and when Dr. Sellwood nods at him to ask his question, I’m tempted to stride over and shut him up by pushing my fingers in his mouth again.
“Is it possible to schedule private office hours with the TA?” he asks. “If I need extra help?”
Fucking with me.
Like you actually can’t help yourself.
“He will always be available to you after class,” Dr. Sellwood tells him. “You’ll need to work it out one-on-one if you feel you need deeper instruction.”
Wes nods. “Thank you.”
He saidthank youto me Saturday night, too, in a very different way. He gives me a pointed look, not smiling, staring me right in the eyes as the professor gets started with class.
What exactly do you want with me, Knox?
I’mthree whiskeys deep later that night as I lean deep under the hood of my Mustang.
The smell of oil fills the tight space around me, a comforting smell that should be calming me down but isn’t. The Double Daggers parking lot was calm earlier, but now it’s evening, and moths are starting to beeline to my small light over the engine. I was also sober when I got started on replacing the heater box, but now I’m paying for the decision to sip whiskey while doing auto repair, screwing up simple things when I should know better.
The heater box reassembly was a bitch. Getting the fuckerbackunder the hood should be simple, but it isn’t.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath, leaning back out of the hood and straightening my spine. I wipe at my forehead with my arm.
The air outside is in the humid in-between state that happens a lot in spring, where I’m somehow chilly but still sweating from the physical exertion of repair work.
My skin is too warm for comfort. Nothing feelsright. I need to get the nuts fastened again and I can drop the hood and be done for today. I love my classic Mustang more than most things in the world, but my brain is fried.
Maybe I need release.
Why the fuck am I so pent-up?
“Sev,” I hear from behind me in the lot. I hear the flick of a lighter behind me, and get one more nut finished before turning to look behind me.
“Kieran.”
I reach for another sip of whiskey as Kieran heads over. He’s taking a drag from a cigarette as he walks toward me, wearing a forest green beanie over his curly brown hair.
“Car giving you issues?”
“No. She’s fine.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem fine.”
I lift an eyebrow and he holds a grim stare. “I fixed the heater box, and now I’m almost done. What’s with the thousand-yard look, Kier?”
His hands fly up into the air. “Jesus, Sev, maybe it’s because you’re looking at me like you’re about to knockmeout cold. The fuck’s wrong, bro?”
Great.
He’s flying off the handle quickly, just like he’s been doing all the time about simple shit recently. Kieran’s been a Double Daggers member for as long as I have, and I’ve watched him slowly go from taking some stimulants when he needs to cram for a paper to…thistype of behavior.
Popping any kind of stimulant he can get, multiple times a day. Smoking too much when he does it, too.
I pull in a long, slow breath. “This repair was bad. And the rest of my day wasn’t much better.”
“Your legs bothering you?”
I use the drill to tighten another nut, then pull back out from under the hood. “No. Surprisingly, the legs are fine, today.”