Deep End

by Ali Hazelwood

“Tenth circle of hell: you find the love of your life, but the sex is intensely meh.”

Computational biology is a piece of cake (even if Dr. Carlsen’s perennial glower is a little unsettling).

“Come on, Luk. I know you think she’s hot. You said so.” Silence. “And I see the way you look at her.” A buzz of unease bursts in the back of my skull. “How do I look at her?” “You know how.”

“Maybe the elephant’s just . . . blindfolded?” He nods slowly. “And tied up.” “And doing as it’s told.” He looks like he might find that more appealing. “What a good elephant.”

“Come closer,” he orders. Lukas stopped a step behind me. I turn and frown up at him. “Why?” “Because I just asked you to, Scarlett.”

I love reading Mafia erotica as much as the next girl with daddy issues, and my attraction for fictional guys making scenes in iconic, over-the-top ways is among my most virulent traits.

The subject line just reads What you need. The body: If you decide to go for it, I think it should be me.

I’m starving, but my walk to the athlete dining hall is slow, because I’m busy writing an email to one Dr. Olive Smith.

Being a good athlete, a good student, reaching for perfect—those were the building blocks of me. Now that I’m struggling with almost everything, do I still have a fully fleshed identity? Or am I just an assembly of meat pieces, to be sold separately on clearance?

It’s not the model I drew, right? No. Can’t be. It was days ago.

SCARLETT: Do you really want to be reminded of my computational superiority that often? UNKNOWN: I do. I have a thing for women who are smarter than me.

the painful realization that deserving and obtaining are two vastly different things.

I could tell when you didn’t know I existed, and I could tell when you became aware of me.”

“Come on, Scarlett.” His mouth twitches. “You know who I want to have sex with.”

“I have no idea. But I saw you, and you made sense to me. And the more I looked, the more I knew how hard you work. How it paid off until it didn’t. How little you like chaos. You want to maintain control in every aspect of your life, and yet you are unraveling.

I don’t get to finish that sentence. Because Lukas Blomqvist takes a long step, pushes me into the wall, and kisses me.

“Good girl.”

“You are beautiful, Scarlett.”

Sometimes, when I’m done with homework at a decent hour, I read Mafia erotica until I fall asleep. Eat crackers in bed. Consider calling 911, just to talk to someone.

Swedish adjective. Cozy. Warm. Soothing. The quality of sharing a comfortable moment with a person whose company one enjoys.

“If you don’t think that I’m very aware of your presence, always, you have no idea what’s going on.”

“I’m afraid of the unpredictability of existing. I’m afraid of not being able to control the direction of my life. I’m afraid that no matter how much I plan, I won’t be able to avoid hurtful and sad things.

“Mostly, I’m afraid of attempting something and not being perfect at it.”

I’m just so fucking happy to see you, Scarlett. I can’t be mad at you, when every time I think about you I am reminded that you exist.”

“The only time wasted is time we are apart.”