Page 1 of Knot Only For One Night

CHAPTER 1

ESPER

That’s it—I’m cursed. Cursor cursed. It’s like death by a thousand cuts, except it’s a thousand blinks, and instead of a knife, it’s a pixelated cursor on my computer screen, spelling my doom.

I'm so annoyed I could cry. Scratch that—am crying. My own annoyance is bringing me to tears. Literally. The back of my throat burns with the unshed tears I’m holding back. My eyes burn, tiny dams threatening to break and soak my cheeks. Yet even with all this emotion, I can’t get the words down. No matter how I try to flip the script, nothing comes to mind, to my fingers, my voice.

Nothing.

I’ve tried starting at the end, the middle, and nothing sparks my fingers to miraculously start chugging out this paper.

I run my hands through my hair. My long nails scraping against my scalp give me a bit of release. At this point, I literally don’t even care what words get written. Any words will do. Just pick some!

I look at the points listed on the rubric and try to calculate my grade if I didn’t turn it in. Except, as it turns out, I’m not good at math either.

Damn. I am sucking tonight.

Sighing, I roll my chair away from my desk and plop onto my dorm bed even though I have…

My gaze drags back to the clock above my desk.

…thirty minutes to get this essay done.

Muttering curses, I’m back in my chair and at my desk despite the ache in my legs from sitting for so long. The cursor stabs at me with menace, the white page as good as a white flag of defeat. My failing out of this class becomes more and more inevitable with every blink.

Why am I even doing this? Do interior designers really need a college degree?

No! They need opportunities. A foot in the door, a connection into the industry.

Which…I don’t have. Not yet anyways. Hence the detour to college.

Also because of the full ride and stipend. That definitely helped. But it also meant failing out is not an option.

I cannot surrender.

I am smart, capable. I earned my spot here. I can do this.

College is only going to make my resume look that much better to any design firm I want.

The soft fabric of my teddy bear pajama bottoms calms me as I trace my fingers over them. My recently done squared-tip nails make the perfect point to trace each bear’s cute round ears as I wrack my brain with fresh determination.

At least I get ten points for having the proper heading and my name on this essay. So there’s that.

No, Esper. You can’t afford to flunk. Get your shit together.

Grabbing my soft waffle-knit blanket off my bed, I wrap it around my shoulders. My nose wrinkles as my own cranberry scent swarms me.

I hate smelling my own scent. Or more like, my own scent isn’t enough. In fact it makes my problem worse. It makes me want, crave something different, more.

I don’t have access to more. I’ve never had access to more.

My first heat is coming.

It started weeks ago. The constant itch, the need for relief, the hot flashes—all of it. Getting progressively worse with each day.

Once I realized the changes happening to me were signs my heat was coming, I called my mom. Wanna know what she said…

“You have to get yourself out of your dorm honey, Prince Charming isn’t gonna find you in your dorm room.”