His Obsession, Her Perfect Calculated Escape

Alma slowly pushed herself up from the wet ground. She wiped her muddy hands on her jeans. She looked down at her knees. The fabric was torn and stained brown. Her face felt numb. The cold wind bit at her wet cheeks. Her eyes were completely dry. She turned away from the construction site. She walked back to where she had thrown her bicycle in the weeds. She grabbed the handlebars and pulled the bike upright. The chain was loose, hanging off the gears. She didn't try to fix it. She just gripped the rubber handles and started walking, pushing the broken bicycle beside her. She walked the two miles back into town. She headed straight for the local precinct. The police station smelled like old coffee and floor wax. Alma walked up to the front desk. The desk sergeant didn't look up from his computer. "I'm here for Gus Alexander," Alma said. Her voice was flat. The sergeant finally looked at her. He took in her muddy clothes and messy hair. He let out a short sigh. "Gus Alexander is being processed," the sergeant said. "Assaulting an officer. Destruction of private property. Bail is denied." Alma's fingers tightened around the edge of the wooden counter. Footsteps echoed from the hallway behind the desk. Mayor Lester Finch walked out. He wore a tailored suit that looked entirely out of place in the dingy station. He saw Alma and stopped. He put on a sad, sympathetic smile. "Alma, sweetheart," Mayor Finch said. He walked over and rested a hand on the counter. "I am so sorry about your father. He got too worked up. You need to go home. Don't make this harder on your family by causing a scene." Alma stared at his polished leather shoes. She didn't scream. She didn't argue. She knew the rules of power in this town. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor," Alma whispered. She kept her head bowed. She turned and walked out of the station. As soon as the glass doors closed behind her, she curled her hands into fists. She drove her fingernails so deep into her palms that the skin nearly broke. She pushed her bike the rest of the way home. When she walked through the front door, the house was silent except for the sound of crying. Marge sat on the faded floral sofa. Her face was buried in her hands. Her shoulders shook with heavy sobs. On the coffee table in front of her lay a piece of paper. Alma walked over. It was a check from the energy company. It was a severance and compensation check. The amount printed on it was an insult. It barely covered a month of groceries. Alma picked up the check. The paper felt crisp and heavy with mockery. She walked to the kitchen counter, opened the top drawer, and shoved the check inside. She slammed the drawer shut. She filled a glass with tap water. She walked back to the living room and held the glass out to her mother. Marge took it with trembling hands. Alma stood there. She watched her mother cry. She didn't shed a single tear. Years passed. The agonizing crawl of time faded into the crisp chill of an East Coast autumn. Alma stood on the pristine brick pathway outside a prestigious Ivy League university. She wore a pair of faded, washed-out jeans and an oversized gray sweater. Her old backpack hung off one shoulder. In the distance, beyond the gothic architecture of the campus, the sleek glass skyscraper of the energy company's parent corporation loomed over the city skyline. It looked like a giant, glittering monument to the men who had destroyed her family. Alma looked away. She walked through the heavy double doors into the crowded hallway. The noise was overwhelming. Undergraduates were rushing to lectures, holding expensive coffees, and laughing loudly. Alma kept her head down. She let her shoulders slump. She made herself small, blending perfectly into the background. She found her assigned locker in the student center. The metal was slightly scratched. She spun the combination dial. She pulled the handle, but it was stuck. She hit the metal door with the heel of her hand twice. It finally popped open. Three girls from her dorm walked past. They were talking loudly about an exclusive weekend mixer. Alma didn't look at them. She shoved her worn-out advanced economics textbook onto the top shelf. She closed the locker quietly. The warning chimes rang through the building. Alma turned and started walking toward her morning lecture. As she rounded the corner near the main lecture hall, she walked straight into a solid chest. The impact knocked her backward. Her binder slipped from her hands. Loose papers and a heavy history textbook crashed to the polished floor. "I'm so sorry," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. She flinched slightly, pulling her shoulders inward. She quickly bent down, avoiding his eyes entirely as she began to gather her scattered papers with careful, hesitant movements. She kept her chin tucked to her chest, the perfect picture of a timid, invisible nobody. A pair of expensive sneakers stepped into her line of sight. The boy crouched down. He picked up her history textbook. It was Caden Kirkland. He was a pre-law honors student and the star of the university rowing team. He had perfect blonde hair and wore a tailored navy blazer. He held the book out to her. His eyes scanned her face. She wore no makeup, but her features were sharp and striking beneath the messy hair. Caden's breath hitched slightly. He hadn't noticed her before. "I've got it," Caden said. His voice was smooth, confident. "I'm Caden. What's your name?" Alma reached out and took the book. Her fingers brushed against his. She pulled her hand back quickly, as if she had been burned. She lowered her eyelashes, hiding her eyes completely. "Alma," she whispered. She hugged the heavy book to her chest. She stood up quickly, keeping her head down, and practically ran down the hallway. Caden stood up slowly. He watched her thin back disappear into a classroom. A slow smile spread across his face. He was used to girls throwing themselves at him. Her fear and retreat triggered something deep in his chest. He wanted to catch her. At lunch, the dining hall was loud and chaotic. Alma walked past the crowded tables. She found an empty, small table in the far back corner, near the trash cans. She sat down. She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a cold turkey sandwich wrapped in foil. She took a small bite, chewing slowly. Footsteps approached her table. Caden Kirkland walked up holding a plastic tray piled high with hot food. He didn't ask for permission. He pulled out the plastic chair across from her and sat down. Alma stopped chewing. She looked up, her eyes wide with manufactured shock. "Hey," Caden said, leaning back in his chair. "You eat fast. I wanted to catch you before you ran off again." Alma swallowed the dry bread. She looked nervously around the dining hall. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw exactly what she expected. Several girls from the popular crowd were staring at their table. Their eyes were narrowed. Their faces were tight with jealousy. "You shouldn't sit here," Alma said quietly. She looked back down at her foil wrapper. "I sit where I want," Caden said. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "So, Alma. Tell me about yourself." Alma gave him short, quiet answers. She acted uncomfortable. She let him guide the conversation, feeding his ego with her silence. When the final bell rang, Alma packed her bag and walked to her locker. She opened the metal door and reached for her jacket. A hand slammed flat against the locker door right next to her head. Alma jumped, her shoulders pulling up to her ears. Caden stood right beside her. His arm blocked her in. He leaned his weight against the lockers, trapping her in the small space between his body and the metal. "You're hard to track down," Caden said. He looked down at her lips. "I want to take you out this weekend." Alma's heart didn't beat any faster. She felt absolutely nothing for the boy standing in front of her. His arrogance was predictable and boring. But her face showed pure panic. "I... I can't," Alma stuttered. She pressed her back flat against the lockers. "I have to study. I just want to focus on school. I'm not... I don't fit in with your friends." She used the self-deprecating words like a weapon. Caden's jaw tightened. His pride took a hit, but he immediately rationalized it. She wasn't rejecting him; she was just insecure. She thought she wasn't good enough for him. That only made him want her more. "I don't care about my friends," Caden said softly. "I care about you." Alma waited for him to shift his weight. The moment his arm moved a fraction of an inch, she ducked. She slipped under his arm and stepped out into the open hallway. "I have to go," she said quickly. She turned and walked fast toward the exit doors. Caden watched her leave. He crossed his arms over his chest. He was smiling. He had made up his mind. She was going to be his. Alma pushed open the heavy glass doors and stepped out into the cool afternoon air. The second the doors closed behind her, the panicked expression vanished from her face. Her features settled into a mask of pure, cold calculation. She looked at the distant skyscraper. Caden's public attention was a liability. It was going to bring the wolves right to her door. She needed to prepare.