Craig didn’t fully leave the kitchen. He hovered near the doorway, his phone pressed to his ear, heart thumping louder than he wanted. Adriana was still in the room, her presence a quiet reminder of all he wasn’t supposed to feel.
"Hey," he said, voice low, trying to keep it casual.
"Hi, Craig," rlina’s voice ca through, slow but steady, with that hint of softness he knew so well. "I’ve been waiting to hear from you for a few days... about the tutorials. I know it was supposed to be for three days, but—" She paused, as if weighing every word. "Is it still happening? Or..."
Craig ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking toward Adriana, who smiled faintly, oblivious to the tension slicing through the room.
"Honestly... no," he said carefully. "Um...we don’t actually have to do the tutorials, we could skip them. I figured...maybe it’s for the best."
Craig’s grip on the phone tightened, his palm suddenly sweaty.
Maybe it’s for the best ?
The words felt like splinters in his mouth, ant to sound casual, detached, but landing heavier than he expected. He shifted his weight, glancing at the floor like it held so kind of answer. Adriana’s faint hum in the background only made it worse, like a ticking clock counting down his every excuse.
He didn’t want to lie. But he also didn’t trust what might happen if he kept seeing rlina alone. Not when her voice still had the power to rattle sothing loose in his chest.
A quiet, awkward pause filled the space between them.
"Hello?" Craig’s voice was softer this ti, almost unsure.
"Yeah," rlina whispered. "Okay. So, what about my ratings then? I an... I guess I just want to know where I stand."
Craig’s throat tightened. "I told you, I’ll rate you fairly. Just, get yourself back on track, okay? I don’t think there’ll be a problem."
There was a catch in her breath on the other end. "Are you sure?"
He swallowed hard, voice dropping an octave, "Yeah, I’m sure."
The silence that followed spoke volus—everything they couldn’t say. His chest ached with the weight of it all—the truth, the lies, the distance he was supposed to keep.
Adriana’s footsteps were soft behind him. He could feel her watching, waiting.
"I guess..." rlina said finally, voice low, "I’m just trying not to get kicked out of college, you know?" She let out a short, awkward laugh—like she was trying to ease the weight of her word.
Craig’s voice dropped low, almost a whisper. "I’m not trying to get you kicked out of Belford either." He walked further away from the kitchen.
There was a pause. rlina was quiet. And then he added, careful, "So don’t think that everyone’s always out to get you." He hesitated. "I’m not."
"Okay," she said, voice small.
More silence.
Craig swallowed. "Look, um... I’ll talk to you later, alright?"
"Yeah," she breathed, "later."
The goodbye was uneven, like two people trying not to reveal everything at once.
He ended the call and glanced toward Adriana, who was setting the table with effortless grace, unaware of the storm swirling in his chest.
Craig’s heart pulled between steadiness of Adriana and chaos that cos with rlina, and in that mont, neither felt like a safe place.
rlina dropped her phone onto the bed, the soft thud louder than she expected in the quiet of her room. She stared at the ceiling, mind spinning with questions she didn’t want to admit.
She sat up abruptly, running a hand through her hair, fingers pulling at the strands in frustration. Then, just as quickly, she collapsed back onto the bed, tossing and turning like she could shake the thoughts off. Every unanswered question poked at her, sharp and constant, making it hard to breathe.
Why had he canceled the tutorials? Why was he suddenly pulling away? Did he not want to see her anymore? Was this all so ga for him, sothing to toy with until it got boring?
The sadness crept in slowly, heavier than she wanted to admit. She’d been holding on—hoping—for a reason to be near him again, to hold onto that brief, fragile mont that had felt real. He’d promised to help with the case, promised he’d be there. But now, it felt like he was slipping away, like she was just another na he couldn’t be bothered to rember.
The worst part? She felt ridiculous for being hurt. Like one of those desperate girls who chased after Craig Lesnar’s attention without a second thought.
"Fuck it," she whispered, voice rough with frustration. How stupid had she been to think she mattered to him? To think that maybe, just maybe, they could’ve been sothing more than the dark suspicion between their families.
She pushed back the tangled ss of thoughts and reminded herself there was soone else—Louis. Soone who wasn’t complicated or impossible. Soone who was actually here.
Louis didn’t make her heart twist into knots. He didn’t leave her wondering if she was just a ga to play or a secret to hide. He was steady. Present. Real.
She thought about their upcoming date tonight—how he smiled when he saw her, how his eyes stayed on hers and didn’t wander away like they did with Craig. The contrast was glaring. It was unfair. But it was real.
She ran her hands over her face, breathing deep to steady the storm inside.
Maybe she deserved soone like Louis. Soone who showed up without making her feel like she was chasing shadows.
With a final, determined breath, she told herself she wouldn’t waste another minute on soone who made her feel invisible. She had dates to go on, mories to make with people who actually belonged in her life -Not soone so far out of reach. Not soone who shouldn’t even occupy her thoughts for a second.
Because sotis, survival was about knowing when to let go, even if it tore you apart.
rlina slid off her bed, her movents automatic as she wandered over to her dresser. She opened a drawer, pulling out a top without really seeing it, her mind still tangled in thoughts of Craig. She was trying—desperately—to focus on sothing else, anything else.
Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She glanced down and smiled faintly at the screen.
Louis:
’Looking forward to tonight. Don’t keep waiting.’
She smiled faintly, a small flicker of warmth in her chest. But the feeling faded quickly.
Then another notification popped up—this ti from Craig.
(Attached: Photo of the official STC rating form with her na and score)
’Hey, just sent your STC ratings to the Dean. You’re in good standing. Wanted you to know.’
The ssage was brief, clinical, almost detached—nothing like the emotional turmoil crashing inside her.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly. One word—thanks—could end this whole ss. But her breath caught, her chest tightening like it always did when Craig was involved.
Should she say thanks? That would be easy, safe—simple closure. Or should she just pretend she didn’t see it? Pretend he never sent the ssage at all?
She stared at the screen for a long mont, thumb still hovering over the keyboard. Then, slowly, deliberately, she typed:
Thanks, Craig...
Her eyes lingered on the words. They looked too soft, too open. Like she was giving in.
Her finger hesitated above the send button, her breath caught in her throat. It felt too final. Too forgiving.
With a quiet sigh, she backspaced. One letter at a ti. Thanks, Craig...
It vanished, just like he had. One second warm, the next—gone.
Deleted.
She locked her phone and set it down, as if letting the ssage go might help her let go of him, too. But the ache in her chest said otherwise.
Because deep down, she knew this wasn’t just about ratings. It was about him. About the pull she couldn’t shake. The chaos she tried to outrun.
She stayed frozen, caught sowhere between wanting to reach out and knowing she probably shouldn’t.
The phone’s light flickered softly in the darkening room, a quiet reminder that so ties were harder to break than others.
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