Life Lately

The week trudged on with a relentless blend of lectures, assignments, and the looming shadow of Aphrodite’s third trial hanging over you. Damian Kane’s name swirled in the back of your mind, but with so much else pressing for attention, you’d barely had time to even think about researching him.

Liam’s words from earlier in the week echoed in your ears every time you tried to justify procrastinating on your coursework.

"Look, I get that this curse is the biggest thing in your life right now," Liam had said, leaning against the kitchen counter with his usual bluntness. "But if you flunk out of school because of it, then what’s the point? You’ve got to keep up, man—curse or no curse, you’ll still need a degree and a job after all this is over."

It had stung, but he was right. That conversation had lit a fire under you, albeit a **** one. Since then, most of your focus had been on playing catch-up: late nights typing essays, cramming for quizzes, and tackling problem sets that you should’ve started days ago. Still, the stress of school only compounded the stress of the trial.

And through it all, that strange feeling wouldn’t leave.

You sat in the middle of a lecture hall, trying to focus on the professor’s voice as they droned on about macroeconomic principles. You’d dressed simply for the day: a soft oversized sweater over a pair of jeans that, unfortunately, felt like it hugged your hips too snugly, paired with some sneaker. Underneath, you wore a bra that felt just a little too tight again. It pinched slightly against your ribs and across your chest, the snugness distracting enough that you’d reached down to adjust the band more than once.

At this point, you were convinced the laundry was sabotaging you.

The thought made you bristle, remembering the little spat you’d had with Liam a couple of days ago in the dorm laundry room.

"Seriously, Liam, you have to stop shrinking my bras," you’d said, pulling a freshly dried bra from the basket and holding it up accusingly.

"How would I even do that?" Liam had shot back, raising an eyebrow. "I’m not the one loading up the dryer. You are!"

"Yeah, well, you use the same machines, and somehow your stuff comes out fine," you’d snapped, crossing your arms.

"Because I don’t buy clothes made of whatever dainty fabric your bras are made of," he’d retorted with a smirk.

The argument had ended with you rolling your eyes and muttering something about him needing to take better care of shared appliances. But now, sitting in this too-tight bra, the annoyance returned full ****.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, tugging the sweater away from your chest. The tightness wasn’t unbearable, but it was a constant reminder that something felt off. You dismissed the thought for the hundredth time and tried to focus on the lecture.

That wasn’t the only thing that had been bothering you this week. The nagging itch—the one you couldn’t quite name—had followed you everywhere. It wasn’t hunger or thirst or even stress. It was something else entirely, something maddeningly persistent.

After a few frustrating days of trying to ignore it, you’d finally caved and bought a bag of lollipops from the campus store. It was an impulse purchase born of desperation, but surprisingly, it worked.

You had one now, tucked discreetly in the corner of your mouth as the professor continued. The sweet tang of cherry coated your tongue as you twirled the stick idly between your fingers, the repetitive motion oddly calming.

The relief it brought was so subtle, but it made all the difference. You’d already worked through half the bag over the past week, keeping one in your mouth whenever the itch got too strong. It was strange—addictive, even—but you weren’t about to question what worked.

By the time the lecture ended, you were more than ready to head back to the dorm. The day had been draining, and the constant cycle of schoolwork and stress was starting to wear on you. As you packed up your things, another thought crept into your mind, unbidden.

Damian Kane.

You still hadn’t researched him. The thought made your stomach twist with guilt and anxiety, but you’d justified the delay by telling yourself that you needed to keep up with your courses. You had time, right? You hoped you had time.

As you walked out of the lecture hall and into the crisp evening air, the cherry lollipop still nestled in your mouth, you resolved to carve out time tonight to start planning for the trial. But even as you told yourself that, the familiar tug of schoolwork loomed large in your mind.

One thing at a time.

The walk back to the dorm felt longer than usual, the weight of assignments, lectures, and Damian Kane's looming trial pressing on your mind. Each step seemed to echo the endless list of tasks and worries spiraling in your head, but the cherry lollipop between your lips provided a small, strange comfort.

Its sweet tang distracted you just enough to keep the anxiety at bay, the candy rolling lazily against your tongue as you twirled the stick between your fingers. You hadn’t questioned the lollipops when you bought them earlier in the week; you’d simply needed _something _to quell the itch that had taken root inside you. But as you walked, the memory of Marcus Chase and that concert flickered in your mind, making your stomach twist.

The lollipop. It had started then.

You couldn't quite piece together why or how, but something about that night felt like the origin point of this fixation. It wasn't like you to need constant oral stimulation, but now you couldn't seem to shake it. The thought made you suck on the lollipop a little harder, as if testing its hold on you, before shaking your head and focusing on the road ahead.

The evening air was cool against your skin, a light breeze brushing past as you adjusted your bra for what felt like the tenth time since leaving campus. The band dug into your ribs uncomfortably, and the cups seemed to press against your chest in a way that wasn’t just snug—it was outright constricting.

You tugged at the strap again, muttering under your breath about "shrinking in the wash." The movement caused a slight jiggle that you ignored with a practiced determination, but the tightness was impossible to dismiss.

"Stupid laundry," you grumbled to yourself, glaring at no one in particular.

It wasn’t just the band. The cups felt like they were flattening you out, pushing against you in a way that made every breath feel just a little too noticeable. You weren’t sure why it was bugging you so much now—this bra had been fine when you bought it. Had it really shrunk that much?

You shook your head, trying to push the thought away, but the discomfort lingered, and you found yourself adjusting again as you crossed the street.

Just like every time you walked on campus, it wasn’t long before you noticed the stares.

Two guys walking in the opposite direction glanced your way, one of them doing a not-so-subtle double take as their conversation faltered.

Your stomach flipped.

Gross. Why are they even looking at me like that?

You kept your gaze firmly ahead, trying to ignore the prickling awareness crawling up your spine. But even as you dismissed it, your mind betrayed you. One of them had strong arms that strained against his hoodie in a way that caught your eye for the briefest of moments.

Wait—what? No. Stop.

You bit down on the lollipop stick a little harder, as if that could erase the thought.

Further down the street, a tall guy jogging past gave you a casual nod and a half-smile. His sharp jawline stood out in the glow of the streetlights.

Okay, no. Just—no.

You clenched your hands at your sides, walking a little faster to escape the intrusive thoughts that flickered and faded before you could make sense of them.

By the time the dorm building came into view, you let out a sigh of relief. You popped the lollipop out of your mouth, staring at the now-rounded red candy before tucking it back in. It didn’t escape you how much better it made you feel to have it there, even if you couldn’t quite explain why.

The walk had been... weird. Between the tight bra, the lingering stares, and the unsettling flickers of awareness, you were more than ready to lock yourself in your room and bury yourself in something—anything—to get your mind off it all.

As you climbed the stairs to your floor, one thought hung heavy in your mind: the third trial. Damian Kane wasn’t going to wait forever.