Storm was screaming by the time I got there, rain slamming the windows like it wanted in. Building mostly dark except his light spilling into the hall. I knocked once, barely a tap, then just pushed the door open because my legs were already trembling.
He was at the conference table instead of his desk. Papers scattered. That thick leather poetry book lying open like he’d been reading it… waiting. For me.
“You’re late again,” he said. Didn’t even look up.
“Storm,” I muttered. Dropped my bag. Voice sounded tiny. Pathetic. I hated how small I felt already.
He glanced over then. Eyes dark behind those glasses. “Sit. We’re finishing revisions tonight. No excuses.”
I sat. Crossed my legs tight under the table because just breathing the same air as him had me pulsing again. He started readi
