‘Thanks, Gwen. I’ll be careful,’ I told her.

Total lie.

I made a sandwich when I got home, sharing turkey slices with Francis, as I had the day he’d first shown up three years ago. I’d only been in the apartment for a month when Francis moved in, uninvited. Even with the Hellers living on the other side of the yard, I’d had an unexpected sense of isolation. My father and I hadn’t spoken often when I lived with him, but he was there, in the house. It wasn’t talk I missed as much as the presence of someone else.

‘What do you think?’ I asked him now, tossing one last slice of turkey in his bowl. ‘Should I become her bad boy? I’m certainly qualified for the role.’ I picked up my phone and pulled up her contact info. ‘Speak now, or forever hold your peace.’

He finished his turkey and started on a bath.

‘That’s tacit agreement,’ I said, texting Jacqueline an apology for not saying goodbye this afternoon.

It was awkward with Dr Heller there I guess, she answered.

She had no idea what an understatement that was.

I told her I wanted to sketch her. Waiting for her answer, I watched the screen. You want a bad boy, Jacqueline? I thought. C’mon, then. Try me.

Okay, she said.

I told her I could be over in a couple of hours and got her room number.

She’d emailed Landon – ironically, during the hour she sat in Starbucks – thanking him for insisting she do the worksheet. Ninety-nine per cent sure she’d aced the quiz Heller gave this morning, I wanted to email her back, but I didn’t. She wouldn’t be hearing from Landon tonight.

Her building was all too easy to get into. A simple, ‘Hey, man, hold the door,’ to one of her fellow residents was all it involved. I took the back stairwell to her floor, my whole body burning.

I hadn’t lied. I wanted to sketch her. Possibly, that’s all I would do. Tonight.

I knocked softly, ignoring the other students hanging out in the hallway. She didn’t answer, and I couldn’t hear any movement inside her room. But when I knocked again, she opened the door as if she’d been standing right on the other side of it, debating whether or not to let me in.

Her sweater was a lighter blue than her eyes, accentuating them further. Dipping to a cautious V in the centre and following her curves without adhering to them, the soft knit begged to be stroked. I vowed to answer that entreaty.

Entering her room – the door snapping shut behind me – was like closing a door on my conscience. That didn’t keep it from tapping from inside my skull, though – a muffled but unremitting reminder that this girl was a student in Heller’s class, off-limits. Further, she was getting over a breakup, which left her vulnerable in one way … and me in another.

Worse still, she had no idea of my conflict. I tossed my sketchpad on her bed.

Hands in my pockets, I feigned fascination with the room décor and felt her stare trace over me – from the worn shitkickers on my feet to the nondescript hoodie and the ring in my lip. Part beach bum, part redneck, part perfected don’t f**k with me front – I was nothing like her preppy ex, for all that I could have been him, once upon forever ago. I thought nothing of what I wore then, or what it cost. The labels Kennedy Moore and his upper middle class bros sported wouldn’t have impressed my middle-school comrades, whose parents were influential lobbyists, senators and CEOs of multimillion-dollar associations.

I’d never be intimidated by a boy flaunting his parents’ money; I knew how fast it could all disappear, especially when it wasn’t yours to begin with. This was a truth I’d learned, and learned hard: if you wanted something out of life, you had to depend on yourself to get it. And to keep it.

As Jacqueline’s gaze ran over my face, I continued my sham inspection of her dorm room while in my head, I visualized the distracted expression she sometimes wore during Heller’s lectures: eyes unfocused and unmoving, fingers tapping against her leg or her desktop, plucking invisible strings.

I had been drawn to her for weeks but kept my distance until the night I became her protector. Like that Chinese proverb that says if you save a life, you’re responsible for that person forever – I couldn’t seem to let her dust herself off and go on. Not when I didn’t believe for one second she had the tools to protect herself. Maybe I hadn’t saved Jacqueline’s life that night – but I’d saved her from something that would have stolen a piece of her soul. I was consumed with watching over her, and to do that effectively, I needed to know her better.

At least that’s the trumped-up story I told myself.

I caught her eyes on mine as I turned, and let my gaze skip to the small speakers on her desk. She was listening to a band I’d seen last month. I asked her if she’d gone to the show, and surprisingly, she nodded. I hadn’t seen her there – but then, I hadn’t known to look for her. I gave her some excuse about alcohol and how dark it was. If I’d known she was there, no amount of beer or darkness would have kept me from finding her.

Best not to disclose that.

I pulled off my cap and hoodie, tossing them on her bed and attempting to compose my expression before turning back to her. She’d probably been there with her boyfriend, anyway, while I’d gone with Joseph.

‘Where do you want me?’ she asked, and my mind blanked momentarily and then filled with images I couldn’t say. She blushed as though she heard them anyway, her lips falling open, unable to take back the coquettish question she’d obviously not meant as a seduction tactic.