Addicted to What I Fear

Lena’s pov I am afraid of most men. I have never told anyone, and I am not in therapy. It all began after I was assaulted. Nobody knows about it, and deep down, I fear nobody would believe me anyway. Why would they? I am not beautiful or striking. I am just a short, quiet brunette who spends more time with books than people. An introverted nobody. Yet it was a famous football player on campus who forced himself on me. Why him? Why me? Those questions are the very reason I keep silent. Who would believe me if I said Noah Mercer shoved me against a wall and took what was never his to take? Even now, the thought of it makes my stomach twist. It happened at my very first frat party, before classes even began. Noah was drunk, but that is no excuse. What he did was vile. And yet I carry the guilt, as though I am the one who did something wrong. Sometimes it weighs so heavy I want to cry. But crying does not change the truth, and if I ever spoke it out loud, I doubt anyone would take my side. So, I keep my mouth shut. I try to bury it, telling myself I will be fine. Therapy is too expensive, and besides, other people in this world are dealing with worse. At least I am not pregnant. I checked. Maybe this fear of men is only temporary, something I will eventually grow out of. Despite the storm inside my head, I sit quietly in the library, typing away on my laptop. It is our first year of college, and the professor insisted on pairing us for a project to help us make new friends. My partner has not shown up. Honestly, I consider myself lucky. I was supposed to be paired with Jaxon Blackwood. All the girls squealed at the mention of his name, but I wanted nothing to do with him. Jaxon Blackwood. Even his name sounds intimidating. The girls call him gorgeous, sexy, broad, tall, every cliché you can imagine. One girl even begged the professor to trade spots with me just to get him. I still do not understand why. Girls can be so strange. Yawning, I stretch and decide I should pack up. Hunger is gnawing at me, and even though my roommates tend to steal my food, maybe something is left in the apartment. I roll my shoulders, reach for my laptop… And then I hear heavy footsteps. “Hey, you!” I turn around slowly. My chest tightens. Holy hell. A towering figure is heading straight for me. His grey hoodie stretches over his broad arms, and I have to tilt my head back just to meet the glare in his eyes. Football? Wrestling? Definitely a position that requires sheer size. He must be at least six-foot-five, maybe more. He looks like he belongs on a movie screen, not in this library. And he is… breathtaking. Intimidating enough to make me forget how to breathe. I stand frozen, staring like an i***t while my brain empties itself. “All mine is,” he says, his voice deep and commanding, the kind that seems to fill the air. My mouth parts, but no sound comes out. “You are Lena Marlowe, right?” I swallow hard. “Yes.” His eyes hold mine without mercy, and he steps closer, crowding me until the fabric of his hoodie nearly brushes against me. There is no respect for boundaries in the way he stands, closing the space until I feel trapped against the table. “To think I would actually find you in the library,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Must be my lucky day.” I cannot stop staring at him. His chest looks impossibly broad, and the air around him carries the kind of confidence that borders on arrogance. This might be the most intimidating guy I have ever come across. “Are you even listening to me?” No, I am too busy checking you out. “Y-yes…” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “The professor gave you my number. Why did you not text or call me? We are supposed to work together.” “Uh…” “What was that?” His voice dips lower as he leans closer, pressing me further against the table. His nearness makes my heart pound wildly. “Wait. Are you slow or something?” My lips part, but no sound escapes. He tilts his head, studying me with eyes that feel like they are peeling me apart, and I hold my breath. Is he actually going to hurt me? I stay completely still under his glare, too afraid to move. “Are you on drugs?” I quickly shake my head. “Then why have you not called?” “C-called?” The word slips out unevenly. “Yes, Lena!” His voice booms as he towers over me. “We are supposed to work together. Explain yourself. Why did you not text or call me? Say something for God’s sake!” Work together? “I…” His eyes narrow. “Louder. Speak like a normal person. No one can hear you when you mumble.” I swallow hard. My eyes sting with unshed tears, and my tongue nervously sweeps across my lips. Did he confuse me with someone else? “I am… sorry. But who are you?” My question makes his arms fall from his chest. With a rough sigh, he steps back, finally giving me space. I still cannot process how massive he is. What on earth do they feed a guy like this? Screaming villagers? He is enormous. And dangerously attractive, but in a “could-be-a-serial-killer” way that sends shivers racing up my spine. I watch as he walks away from me and pulls out the chair opposite mine. He sits, his expression flat. His lips form a single word. “Sit.” I stare, hesitant, my thoughts spinning. “Are you… serious?” When I bite my lower lip, his jaw tenses like he is trying not to snap. “Seriously? Do you have no idea who I am?” I shake my head. “There is literally a poster of me hanging on campus walls, and you do not know me?” Another shake of my head. He groans, dragging a hand through his sandy hair, his exasperation clear. “Unbelievable. I am Jaxon Blackwood, your project partner. Do you have some kind of speech disorder or what?” No, I am just terrified of men. Especially Jaxon Blackwood, who, unfortunately, happens to be my partner. Wait..why does he even have a poster on campus? Never mind, I should answer before he loses it again. In a low, shaky voice, I say, “No… I can talk fine.” “Then speak louder, okay? I cannot afford to fail this class.” His gaze slides to my laptop like a predator about to claim its prey. “What have you got so far? And why are you still standing?” I cautiously retake my seat. My body feels weak, but somehow I manage to form words. “I have not gotten that far yet…” Jaxon rolls his eyes, grabs the side of my laptop, and drags it closer so he can see my work. “Hm.” He hums, scanning the screen. My pulse stutters. I feel dizzy, trapped in his presence. I do not know what to do with my hands, my breath, my entire self. He arches a brow. “Who on earth decides to do a presentation about Sweden when you could pick literally any other country?” “Uh…” “And that guy in the picture, what the hell? Is he skinny-dipping?” Jaxon looks from the screen back to me, his expression unreadable. “Wow. Even girls who look completely innocent can be predators. Do not judge a book by its cover. Nobody can be trusted these days.” Is he seriously talking about the guy cliff-jumping into the water in one of my pictures? “And for the record, we are writing about Norway, not Sweden.” His eyebrows shoot up, almost to his hairline, but his harsh look snaps back in place a moment later. “I knew that. I can see the flag.” Yeah, right. Why do I get the feeling he had no clue? “Good,” I mutter under my breath. I knew it was Norway all along. I am not completely stupid. For some strange reason, I have to bite back a smile. Jaxon Blackwood is… different. He narrows his eyes at me. “I was only testing you.” Then he does this odd gesture, pointing two fingers at his eyes before aiming them at mine. “Just making sure your head is in the game.” Head in the game? What is this guy even talking about? I keep staring at him, half-convinced Jaxon might actually be out of his mind. But I know better than to say that aloud. Someone his size could crush me without effort, so I decide it is safer to stay quiet. “Are you not happy with my choice of Norway?” Norway? It is one of the most beautiful countries in the world. “No, Norway is fine.” He pushes the laptop back toward me. My heart is racing so fast it feels like it might burst. “I will forgive you for not calling or texting me. You did well. But tomorrow, we are walking here straight after class. Together. Capish?” Words fail me, and Jaxon makes a low sound of frustration. “Do you understand, Lena?” Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Y-yes.” His gaze drags down and then back up again, slow and deliberate. Everything about him feels overpowering, like he is untouchable. Jaxon carries himself like he is used to winning, to commanding, to bending people around him. It is in the set of his jaw, the steel in his stare, the force radiating off him. Strength. Dominance. “Louder.” “Yes!” My voice cracks. “I cannot hear you, Lena.” I take a shaky breath and raise my voice. “Yes. We will walk here tomorrow.” His eyes narrow. “Together.” Wow. Bossy much? “Together,” I echo softly. “And you will not stand me up.” I would never dare. “I will not stand you up.” “Finally. I can actually hear you.” Jaxon still does not smile, but I sense he is satisfied. He stands, towering above me. “Keep working on the presentation, alright?” What? That is it? Where is he going? Is he seriously just going to leave me here alone? I force out a timid question. “Where… where are you going?” One eyebrow arches. “Are you not hungry? I am grabbing us a pizza from down the block. Half an hour. You will still be here.” Before I can answer, Jaxon turns on his heel and strides away. I blink after him, stunned. The arrogance of that man. You will still be here. Seriously? A chill runs through me. Guys like him, men who radiate power and give commands like it is second nature, terrify me. Jaxon Blackwood terrifies me. He looks like the very definition of dangerous. Another shiver crawls down my spine. I cannot imagine myself ever getting along with him.