sakura
“I don’t know if we should be doing this,” I murmured, staring out Mr. Avery’s tinted passenger window and at all the mansions we drove past in Redwood’s ritzy area. “What if someone sees us?”
Another lingering cramp squeezed at my insides, throwing me into a world of pain. I doubled over in the seat, rested my head against the door, and whimpered. Ichika had said I might get cramps, but not like this.
Curse IUDs. I hate them already.
He glanced over at me and drove a bit faster. “Nobody will see you.”
I dropped my head to deal with some of the pain and shut my eyes, focusing on breathing deeply. Usually, my period cramps were bad, but this was worse—so much freaking worse. I sure hoped that childbirth didn’t feel like this.
Because I would one hundred percent cry.
When we finally turned a corner a few moments later and pulled into a driveway, I fluttered my eyes open and gazed at his home, which seemed to grow bigger and bigger the closer we drove to it. I sat up slightly, eyes widening.
With enormous black-trimmed windows, an extended patio made of stone, and a wooden exterior, the house must’ve been three times the size of mine. He tapped a digital button on the dashboard that opened the black paneled garage door.
“Are you sure this is okay?” I whispered.
“No.”
Yet he continued driving into the garage, then parked. When he stepped out of the car, I followed him, walked into his home, and slipped off my shoes at the door, my heart pounding against my rib cage.
I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here.
My stomach twisted again. Those pain pills would’ve really helped.
But I couldn’t take them.
The short hallway opened up into a large mahogany-accented living room with white couches, a fireplace, and a view of the infinity pool in the backyard that must’ve been heated if he still had it opened in late September.
Not that I would ever even want to go near that thing. I might’ve lived near the beach all my life, but any huge body of water freaked me out ever since I had almost drowned when I was five.
“Follow me,” he said, heading toward another hallway.
Nervously, I followed after him and into a large bedroom with a connected bathroom.
“Lie down,” he said, nodding to the bed. “Get comfortable.”
“Is this your … bedroom?” I asked, spotting a pair of diamond earrings on one of the nightstands.
Jealousy boiled inside me, the thought of whoever his wife was having her hands all over him making me angry.
It shouldn’t have. I was the one in the wrong, sleeping with a married man.
But I couldn’t help myself.
“Yes,” he said, guiding me to the bed. “Rest.”
I smelled her perfume all over the blankets, so I froze and balled my hands into fists. “No, I want to lie down on your couch. Not here.” I stared at the hamper filled with thongs and bras that were sized much bigger than any of mine, chest tightening. “Please.”
After eyeing me for a moment, he nodded and guided me back through the big house to the living room. Once I dumped my belongings on one side of the couch, I collapsed onto it, my stomach still aching, and closed my eyes.
Mr. Avery disappeared into another room, and I turned on the couch and pressed my lips together. Mr. Avery was married, and here I was—one of his students—lying on his couch while his wife’s perfume was doused all over the place.
I felt bad for her. But at the same time, I wanted her out of the picture.
I wished he weren’t married. I wished that he didn’t have anyone in his life.
A couple of moments later, Mr. Avery reappeared in the living room with a heating pad and a mug full of what smelled like peppermint green tea. I slowly pushed myself to a seated position, eyes widening as he handed me both the items.
“These are for me?” I asked.
“Relax, Sakura,” he said, heading to the other couch with his messenger bag and pulling out a stack of exams.
Warmth spread through my chest, and I sipped the tea, lay back down, and placed the heating pad on my stomach, hoping the pain would fade away soon.
Three hours passed as I lay on the couch while he graded exams from last week’s class. And slowly, the pain had faded. I’d texted Dad a while ago, telling him that I was hanging out with a friend—I’d have to figure out who later before I saw him.
But I needed to get home to catch up on my schoolwork. I couldn’t stay here forever.
What if his wife showed up? What would I do? Hide?
I gently moved off the couch and walked to the other side, Mr. Avery watching me every step of the way.
“You want to go?” he asked without me saying a word.
“Yes.”
After gathering my stuff, I followed him to the garage in silence. I didn’t know what to say to him besides thank you. So, I slipped into his car. He pulled out of the garage and began backing down the driveway, then stopped halfway.
“Fuck,” he cursed underneath his breath.
I glanced in the rearview mirror and spotted a man in a black suit. He had parked his car at the end of the driveway, blocking us in, and was now walking toward us. My eyes widened slightly. I didn’t know who he was, but I sensed nothing good.
“Mr. Avery,” I whispered.
If someone found us together, my life would be over.
He placed one hand on the steering wheel, the other on my thigh. “Don’t say anything.”
When he approached the driver’s side, Mr. Avery stared emptily out the windshield and lowered his window just a couple of centimeters. My stomach twisted in knots, but thankfully not the cramp kind.
“You know not to show up at my house,” Mr. Avery said, not sparing him a glance.
“You haven’t shown up.”
Shown up? To where?
“What do you want?” Mr. Avery asked the man.
“We have work for you,” the man said, slipping a note through the cracked window. It floated down onto Mr. Avery’s lap, and then the man just walked back to his car without saying another word.
Along with Mr. Avery, I stared at the guy in the rearview mirror and watched him drive away. When I flickered my gaze back to my professor, he folded the note in his hand. I swallowed hard, knowing this wasn’t anything good.
“D-do you want me to put that away for you?” I asked, reaching for the glove compartment.
“Don’t worry abou—”
Without letting him finish—because I was a nervous wreck after almost getting caught and witnessing whatever that was—I opened the compartment without permission. Sitting front and center on the stack of car manuals was a fully loaded gun.