Drowning While He Fed Her Strawberries - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading Drowning While He Fed Her Strawberries, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of Drowning While He Fed Her Strawberries.
Ethan froze mid-step.
Almost on reflex, the words tumbled out: "No, I never thought that. I just want to spend my life with you."
I drew a slow breath, feeling the weight of this—our first real conversation in forever.
But words didn't matter. He wasn't listening. So I turned and walked away.
I grabbed my senior's hand and bolted for the school bus.
Ethan tried to follow, but the driver blocked him with a firm, "Sorry, sir. Students only."
As the bus pulled off, I glanced back—just long enough to see him jogging after us before I turned away. My senior watched me carefully, probably worried I'd crack at the sight of him.
After that, I stopped hanging out with her as much. If I needed something, I'd just ask her to grab it for me.
Life got… peaceful.
Between lab work, I picked up some intro classes for freshmen. Lately, I'd leaned into androgynous fashion—flowy button-ups, tailored slacks. A few students even asked for my number after class, whispering, "Wait, are you a guy or—?"
I'd just smile and slip away before they could finish.
One afternoon, a group of blonde girls trailed me all the way to the lab.
"Professor, can we get your number? Just as friends!"
"We're throwing a party tonight—"
My senior showed up just in time to rescue me. To thank her, I invited her over for dinner.
"Order whatever," I said. "We'll cook it. Let's invite the instructor and the other senior too."
Funny—I'd learned to cook because of Ethan. Back when we lived together, his late-night work binges wrecked his stomach. Worried, I'd taught myself to make actual meals.
Now? I could throw down in the kitchen.
Days had passed since I'd last seen Ethan. Today, I planned to hit the grocery store with my senior—until, of course, he appeared.
Like some kind of ominous statue, Ethan stood at the entrance, flanked by bodyguards.
My stomach dropped.
"What do you want?" I snapped.
His voice was quiet. "To take you home."
My senior lunged, but I yanked her back. Ethan's gaze burned into me before softening.
"Give me one day. Just one."
"If you still feel nothing after… I'll let you go."
I sighed. Agreed.
My senior tried to follow, but the bodyguards blocked her. I promised her we'd cook something amazing later—once this was over.
As she left, relief washed over me.
Ethan brightened, reaching for my hand. I dodged.
A flicker of hurt crossed his face, but he didn't push it. "Then just… stay close."
He took me to the city's biggest amusement park.
As a kid, I'd begged my parents to bring me. They'd always say, "When you're older."
By the time I was older, they were gone.
With Ethan, I'd mentioned it once—this silly childhood dream. He'd brush it off: "When you're less busy." Then later: "You're too old for that. It's for kids."
Meanwhile, Sophie's Instagram was a highlight reel of amusement parks—[My amazing boss took me again today!]
Now, I stood frozen in front of the carousel.
Ethan misread me, already pulling out his wallet. "Want to ride—?"
"No," I cut in. "I'm too old for carousels. That's for little girls."
He flinched. "No, you're not—"
But the moment was gone.
We passed an ice cream stand. I remembered Sophie's endless dessert posts.
No girl hates sweets.
Once, at a bakery, I'd reached for a slice of cake—only for Ethan to stop me. "You're not a kid. Your metabolism can't handle it. You wanna get fat?"
Now, I echoed his words back: "I'm older now. Too many sweets, and I'll bloat like a balloon."
His face fell.
We left the park without riding a thing.
Next, a luxury boutique. I picked up a perfume—something light, floral.
Ethan perked up. "You like it?"
I set it down. "It's lovely. But it suits someone younger."
"Maybe Sophie would—"
"Stop," he begged. "Can we just… focus on us?"
I met his eyes. "If we don't say her name, does she disappear?"
He looked away, guilty.
By dusk, we hadn't bought a single thing.
For our last stop, I ignored his plans and went to the grocery store—the one I'd meant to visit with my senior.
I filled the cart with ingredients for our dinner—red-braised pork ribs, Coca-Cola wings, all their favorites.
I paid before Ethan could, then hurried to the bus stop.
He didn't follow. Just stood there, tears streaming.
The bus arrived. He didn't stop me.
As I sat down, my phone buzzed—texts from the trio:
[FOOD TIME. Pork ribs, chicken wings…]
[What else? Come get it!]
[Eat till you explode!]
Outside, ice crystals hit the window, melting instantly. Then came the snow—thick and silent, burying everything.
Almost on reflex, the words tumbled out: "No, I never thought that. I just want to spend my life with you."
I drew a slow breath, feeling the weight of this—our first real conversation in forever.
But words didn't matter. He wasn't listening. So I turned and walked away.
I grabbed my senior's hand and bolted for the school bus.
Ethan tried to follow, but the driver blocked him with a firm, "Sorry, sir. Students only."
As the bus pulled off, I glanced back—just long enough to see him jogging after us before I turned away. My senior watched me carefully, probably worried I'd crack at the sight of him.
After that, I stopped hanging out with her as much. If I needed something, I'd just ask her to grab it for me.
Life got… peaceful.
Between lab work, I picked up some intro classes for freshmen. Lately, I'd leaned into androgynous fashion—flowy button-ups, tailored slacks. A few students even asked for my number after class, whispering, "Wait, are you a guy or—?"
I'd just smile and slip away before they could finish.
One afternoon, a group of blonde girls trailed me all the way to the lab.
"Professor, can we get your number? Just as friends!"
"We're throwing a party tonight—"
My senior showed up just in time to rescue me. To thank her, I invited her over for dinner.
"Order whatever," I said. "We'll cook it. Let's invite the instructor and the other senior too."
Funny—I'd learned to cook because of Ethan. Back when we lived together, his late-night work binges wrecked his stomach. Worried, I'd taught myself to make actual meals.
Now? I could throw down in the kitchen.
Days had passed since I'd last seen Ethan. Today, I planned to hit the grocery store with my senior—until, of course, he appeared.
Like some kind of ominous statue, Ethan stood at the entrance, flanked by bodyguards.
My stomach dropped.
"What do you want?" I snapped.
His voice was quiet. "To take you home."
My senior lunged, but I yanked her back. Ethan's gaze burned into me before softening.
"Give me one day. Just one."
"If you still feel nothing after… I'll let you go."
I sighed. Agreed.
My senior tried to follow, but the bodyguards blocked her. I promised her we'd cook something amazing later—once this was over.
As she left, relief washed over me.
Ethan brightened, reaching for my hand. I dodged.
A flicker of hurt crossed his face, but he didn't push it. "Then just… stay close."
He took me to the city's biggest amusement park.
As a kid, I'd begged my parents to bring me. They'd always say, "When you're older."
By the time I was older, they were gone.
With Ethan, I'd mentioned it once—this silly childhood dream. He'd brush it off: "When you're less busy." Then later: "You're too old for that. It's for kids."
Meanwhile, Sophie's Instagram was a highlight reel of amusement parks—[My amazing boss took me again today!]
Now, I stood frozen in front of the carousel.
Ethan misread me, already pulling out his wallet. "Want to ride—?"
"No," I cut in. "I'm too old for carousels. That's for little girls."
He flinched. "No, you're not—"
But the moment was gone.
We passed an ice cream stand. I remembered Sophie's endless dessert posts.
No girl hates sweets.
Once, at a bakery, I'd reached for a slice of cake—only for Ethan to stop me. "You're not a kid. Your metabolism can't handle it. You wanna get fat?"
Now, I echoed his words back: "I'm older now. Too many sweets, and I'll bloat like a balloon."
His face fell.
We left the park without riding a thing.
Next, a luxury boutique. I picked up a perfume—something light, floral.
Ethan perked up. "You like it?"
I set it down. "It's lovely. But it suits someone younger."
"Maybe Sophie would—"
"Stop," he begged. "Can we just… focus on us?"
I met his eyes. "If we don't say her name, does she disappear?"
He looked away, guilty.
By dusk, we hadn't bought a single thing.
For our last stop, I ignored his plans and went to the grocery store—the one I'd meant to visit with my senior.
I filled the cart with ingredients for our dinner—red-braised pork ribs, Coca-Cola wings, all their favorites.
I paid before Ethan could, then hurried to the bus stop.
He didn't follow. Just stood there, tears streaming.
The bus arrived. He didn't stop me.
As I sat down, my phone buzzed—texts from the trio:
[FOOD TIME. Pork ribs, chicken wings…]
[What else? Come get it!]
[Eat till you explode!]
Outside, ice crystals hit the window, melting instantly. Then came the snow—thick and silent, burying everything.
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