I try to get through the rest of the week, waiting to see him. Surprisingly, it isn't miserable. Saturday, I read The Great Gatsby for as long as humanly possible. I do the same Sunday morning until it is time to get ready for the Halloween party.

Ali, Amanda, and I dress up as the scarecrow, the tinman, and the lion from The Wizard of Oz. Amanda used the costumes as an excuse to have a boy-free night, joking that we don't know which man is the wicked witch of the west. She didn't mean it seriously, but she is right. It's impossible to tell what man will betray you.

Anyway, after much back and forth we agreed on the costumes. Ali called dibs on the tinman since a tight silver dress would be the sexiest costume. I asked if I could be the lion, because it's easier to put on a brown dress, a tail and ears than come up with the money to pay for a scarecrow costume that isn't frumpy. Amanda doesn't seem to mind.

Niamh takes the picture again, much earlier in the day since she was going to another board game night with the friends she claims to have. Ali doesn't believe her. Amanda isn't sure. I think she's telling the truth. She isn't half as bad as they make her seem.

We go to a backyard party whose host I don't know. Honestly, I cannot fathom how they know so many people. Ali and Amanda know Melissa though, who greets us at the door. She says she likes my makeup. It's not a smoky eye this time, since that might look silly on a lion. I thank her.

We dance, and we drink, and we actually have a laugh together. It isn't miserable, and they don't fight, and I'm happy that boys aren't involved. Ali goes as far as to turn someone down, and I see the way Amanda beams. We stumble home, giggling, and we debrief. Not just that night, but the night at Vanish. They left shortly after me, but their night seems boring so they ask for all the details about Draco and I tell them about snogging him and passing out. Then, we get ready for bed and go to sleep.

Soon enough it's Monday and I wake up in a panic. It's a consequence of not getting any more intoxicated than tipsy. It sets my day up all wrong. I only barely finish The Great Gatsby before my shift. I'm off kilter, even at work. Graham always works Monday mornings, but he ducked out of the morning shift early so I don't even see him as he leaves. I bide my time until then Tuesday finally comes and I can breathe again.

In the early afternoon, when the flat is empty but for me since all of my roommates are on campus, the door buzzes. I grab my purse and head down. He's waiting for me outside, actually looking into the lobby this time instead of letting all his attention be consumed by the buzzer.

"Inverness is quite walkable," he points out. It's his way of greeting.

"Yes," I agree.

Other than UInverness, everywhere is close enough that we can reasonably walk. Honestly, I've taken more taxis with him than I have in my entire stay in town. He's the kind of man who can afford something so silly though.

"We best be off," he checks his watch, then wrings his hands together.

Now that it is November, the cold is taking over. His peacoat doesn't look like it has pockets, and it's too cold to undo now. My coat may have pockets and a thick lining, but his is nicer, maybe designer.

"To where?" I ask.

He points towards the direction of the river, which is where almost all interesting things are in this town.

"So, you finished the book," I begin as we walk. "What did you think?"

"I wanted to know why you picked it," he points out.

"You were in the classic section," I point out. "Didn't think you would have read it."

"I hadn't," he agrees. "Still, there are many books that aren't classics."

"Not many that I've read," I admit.

He exhales. I almost expect to see his breath in the air. It is getting frigid. His knuckles were chapped when we met, and they are sure to only get worse with the cold. They might split open and bleed.

"It was fine," he manages. It's all the positive things that I imagine he can say about the book.

"You hated it," I correct.

"A lot of it just seemed mundane," he disagrees. "The prose was, well, simple. Charlie is supposed to be fifteen? He felt like he was twelve."

I shake my head, trying to collect my thoughts, "it's quite popular at the library. I had only gotten lucky getting to read it."

"And I didn't hate it," he corrects. "It was, just unexpected. That's all."

"What, you'd thought I'd recommend some raunchy book?" I smile.

He smiles too but keeps pace. I imagine it's exactly what he expected. Is it that he expects all women are most interested in sex or just poor women? Regardless, he ought to know better since I'm the one who denied him on Friday. Yes, I kissed him, and yes, I began undressing him, and yes, I've thought about what sex again might be like in my most dark moments, but I denied him.

"Which of the books is your favourite?" he asks.

I must look puzzled because he raises an eyebrow. My head shakes, "I've only just finished The Great Gatsby."

"Really," he asks.

I nod. It has been little over a week since I last saw him, "I don't have time to read all day."

"The Great Gatsby takes no more than four hours to read, if you are incredibly slow," he points out. "It's the shortest of the lot."

"Well, I get headaches," I snap at him. "I did my best. And, since you haven't asked, the book was good. I liked it, although it doesn't help change my opinion that rich men are all prats."

He's smirking again, his eyes linger on me in a way that is obnoxious rather than comforting.

He asks me more questions about the book, and I tell him the answers, with my responses getting less and less snippy each time. The characters were mostly shallow and not particularly likeable. Still, I wanted to know more about them and their world.

By the time his list of questions is exhausted, we reach our destination. It is the Museum and Art Gallery of the Highlands. Admission is free, but I've still never been. I take out a one pound note and donate so that I feel like I've at least done something.

It's pretty empty, given the day and the season. We start in the section on Scottish geology. The rocks seem to shine. We snake our way through the first floor, looking at historical artifacts throughout all of Scottish history. He is clearly less interested than I am. He looks at things, but I read as many descriptions as I can.

At least, I consume as many words as I can for the first hour we are there. My head begins to ache. I hit my forehead with the heel of my palm as if to give it a real reason to hurt.

"Headache," he notes.

I nod, "get them sometimes."

"Why?" he asks.

It's a personal question for people who don't know each other. Yet, he knows so much more about me than I would let anyone else know. I've pushed him farther back than anyone else I've met in the Highlands. It seems that he is the only one I needed to keep at bay anyway.

"Concussion," I explain. "I fell."

"Very specific," he notes.

"I was pushed," I specify. "I'd rather not discuss further."

He doesn't protest. Instead, he comes up close to me. When I move to a rusted old bell, he begins to read the description for me. His voice is dry.

"You don't have to do that," I cut him off.

"Well, it seems to be something you like," he rolls his eyes. "You are quite difficult."

"And yet you invited me here," I point out.

"I am good at ruining my life," he sighs. "I have a lot of practice at it."

Before I can speak, he continues to read the description to me. We make our way through the rest of the museum. The top floor is busier, with more patrons on it than the first. He still reads to me, though his voice is barely anything above a whisper.

Eventually, we leave. It is nearing dinner time.

"Do you want to make something to eat at mine?" I ask.

He shakes his head, "I'd rather not interact with those girls. I'm sure the feeling is mutual."

I shrug. The feeling is shared, but what good does it do to tell him that?

"Well, are you free soon then?" I ask. "I'm busy Thursday, and I work overnights this weekend. Next week?"

"Monday," he tells me. "Round mine."

I nod and then we pull apart. No goodbye. Not even a see you soon.

~~~~~

Trust me, the pace of this kills me more than it kills you. I am dying a slow and painful death while mulling over this. I want you to read all my favourite chapters! Like, oh my God chapter 21 is going to be absolutely crazy! It only rapidly changes from here. Let me know what you think in the comments.