A Wife for the Billionaire
Chapter 77: RICHARD

Chapter 77: RICHARD

Two weeks.

I watched her. From afar, I monitored her movements.

Those days felt like eternity, each day - a long tiring stretch of what I wanted and what I couldn’t have.

My nights were even more stretched. I remember always laying awake, reminiscing on the images I had collected of her for the day with my eyes.

The way her brows furrow when she’s thinking. That face she makes when she catches me staring. The way her eyes glaze just before she practically runs out of the class. The smear of mayonnaise on the right edge of her lips.

These images were consolation. They made me smile and feel a kinda

giddiness I couldn’t explain.

They made me ache for her even more. When I eventually closed my eyes to sleep with a smile on my lips - an effect of a memory, she stalks my dreams as well.

I once read that when you miss someone, there’s a probability that he/she will appear in your dreams. And Mel did, every night.

I think there’s this point one would get at something and it feels like the risk is worth taking. It’s almost like one would say,

"Fuck it, I’m going to do this. Whatever happens, let it happen"

It is that point when the tugs of the heart overrides that of the reasoning pulls of the mind.

The weekend that made up those fourteen days plagued me into deciding to take the risk. Especially after the dream I had on the Saturday night.

Like other nights, she came again in my nocturnal escapes, but this time it was different.

Unlike the other nights where I only see her as if my mind took the images I had of her, and turned it into a tape. A slow motion tape that was on loop.

Her curls bouncing ever slightly as she disappeared around a bend. The movement of her lips as she chewed meticulously on her lunch. The glow of her hair as she walked the sidewalk under the sun. The polished glint of her eyes as the sun hits it.

Or those dreams like the conjuring of my desires where I see us together, I feel her soft lips on mine, where I trail and worship her milky skin with my lips and I feel the warmth of her beating heart as we lay in perfect sync.

I usually woke up hard and a stain on my briefs.

In all the dreams I’ve had of her or us, she has never spoken in them. I knew what she sounded like, even though her voice has came out kinda croaky that day she was asked to answer a question during English class.

I still remember it all like it just happened few seconds ago.

I watched from across the classroom as Mrs. Clover approached Melissa, who was staring out the window, lost in thought. Again.

"Melissa, dear, you seem a thousand miles away," Mrs. Clover said gently, trying to rouse Melissa from her reverie. "Can you tell me, what do you think motivates Heathcliff’s behavior towards Catherine in Wuthering Heights?"

The class had fallen silent, awaiting ’WeepingMel’s response. But of all, I was most curious. Melissa slowly turned from the window, her emerald eyes locking onto Mrs. Clover’s.

"Heathcliff’s behavior?" She repeated, her voice, a croak as her eyes nervously darted around.

Students giggled. The boisterous ones like the Trinity laughed out loud, Jess even went ahead to say,

"I wonder what she keeps looking at"

As one, Karen and Laura cackled once again into a fit of laughter so loud and annoying that it took Mrs Clover’s glare to silence them.

That was the first time I heard her speak. It didn’t matter that it came out as a croak, to me or to my ears rather, it was the sweetest sound.

If she was annoyed by the stares and fits of laughter, she didn’t show it as she continued, her voice, firmer though not loud.

"Well, I think it’s quite simple, really. Heathcliff’s a product of toxic masculinity, fueled by his own insecurity and possessiveness. He’s basically the 19th-century equivalent of a Tinder boyfriend who can’t handle being ghosted."

The classroom erupted into stunned silence, followed by snickers and gasps. Even Jess was speechless. My eyes widened in shock, impressed by Melissa’s bold, unexpected response. Mrs. Clover’s expression transformed from surprise to intrigue, a hint of a smile on her face.

"Ah, Melissa, that was rather um... unexpected, just try to stay with us more. I really need such unique perspective like yours." Mrs. Clover said, pausing for a beat. "Class, let’s explore this idea further. How does Brontë portray toxic masculinity through Heathcliff’s character?"

As Melissa sat down indifferent to Mrs. Clover compliment and the shocked faces around her, I found myself falling deeper for her.

As I was saying, in that dream she spoke, two words actually before wisps of darkness swallowed her,

"Help me"

Those words propelled me to take a step, like the nudge of a shepherd staff, I

decided on the Monday morning as I prepared for school that I would approach Mel.

That dream held such a deep meaning, but I didn’t care. All I got from it were those words.

Like always, I watched and monitored her, awaiting for the right moment. As much as I wanted to date her, I also feared rejection and no girl has ever rejected me.

Such an experience could ruin one’s confidence and like I said, high school is cruel. So, I waited and watched. I remember attending all her classes that day, but never really summoning the courage to sit next to her.

That’s another thing, Mel had on me. The girl was as scary as hell, and in her usual brooding state, she was almost an impenetrable wall.

And there was my issue of fear for rejection and my delicate reputation.

As the most social being and practically number one on the hierarchy list, there were certain things I wasn’t supposed to do and sitting with the school’s pariah was one of them.

I needed to catch her alone and when I noticed her absence at the cafeteria, I took it as a sign.

Ignoring my clique of friends - Chad, Aaron, other teammates of the Chargers, their girlfriends and the Trinity. I went in search of Mel.

I sought for her at the library, which was where she usually hid, her face buried in the pages of a book, but she wasn’t there.

I went from class to class, from hall to hall, from office to office, Melissa Borders was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly the dream I had that Saturday night returned to the canvas of my mind, the darkness, her voice, her words.

Help me.

My heart began to pound as I raced the halls (when no one was looking of course). I wanted to ask anyone, especially her uncle’s kids, but I dreaded the suspicion that would accompany my answer.

As I left the drama hall without any sign of her, my worry charts went crazy.

"Where could she be?"

"Where had she gone off to?"

"Could something bad have happened to her?"

"Was she in trouble?"

My mind raced, taunting me with it’s thoughts and petrifying me with the continuous loop of that dream.

Ignoring the fawns and greetings of the girls who I may or may not have had something with in the past, I forged ahead.

My mind was a chaos of thoughts and I knew I could never achieve anything in such disheveled state of mind, so I forced myself to head to the men’s room.

Locking myself inside one of the toilets, I sat on the closet and tried to rein my thoughts. I asked myself,

"If I was a girl whose entire world caved in a matter of seconds, where would I go?"

The answer came after a few breaths. And I almost slapped myself for thinking of it in the first place. She had to be exactly where I was, the ladies room.

Dashing out of there without even washing my hands, I raced for the females restroom on the other side of the hall.

Askew looks, questions were thrown at me, but I didn’t stop. Something in me urged ahead, willing my legs to go faster as if it knew that something was wrong. Like it shared a secret I wasn’t in on.

I think it was my heart. My heart that had started beating for the golden haired girl who arrived at my school two weeks ago.

I don’t know if it was true what they say of the heart, once it starts beating for another, it kinda shares a telepathic connection to it.

Whatever was the case, I felt it from within me that something was wrong and I didn’t stop until I reached the cream painted doors of the ladies restroom.

There had been a quad of girls standing at the door. They were doing this weird dance, but as I forced air into my burning lungs, I discovered that they weren’t dancing but pressed to the point of bouncing from foot to foot because the door was locked from within.

That gave my fears extra wings. I wasn’t really thinking, all I wanted and needed was to know that Mel was safe.

Practically shoving the girls out from the door and shutting off their yells of protest, I kicked the door and surprisingly it sprang open. It was that day I knew that with a burst of adrenaline and an anxious mind, anything was possible.

Rushing inside, I found her laying helplessly on the fourth stall. Her hands were cold and I couldn’t feel a pulse.

Scooping her in my arms, as someone called an ambulance, I rushed out of there.

To be continued.