a librocubicularist

“I excuse myself and go to the ladies’ room. Washing my hands, I give myself a little you
can do this type pep talk. When I walk out, I see him leaned up against the wall opposite the door.
"Long line for the men's room?" I try to joke, moving past him.
His hand circles my wrist, stopping me. I inhale, frozen in place. My back is to him. I don't
try to pull away. I can't move. I just look down at his hand, staring at his damn freckle.
"Sarah."
"What are you playing at, Will?'
"Playing?" He tugs my arm back so I'm facing him. "I promise you this is no game."
"Alright, what do you want from me? Is that better?" I practically spit.
"Everything." He's moved his hands up to hold my biceps. "I want everything from you."
Everything. That one word still breaks my heart when I think back to that night.
My head snaps back as though he's struck me. Don’t cry, just don’t cry. "I gave you
everything once. Now I have nothing left for you."
I pull myself from his grasp and hurry back to the table.”
― Carey Heywood, Him