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Not until I’m dead.
Flynn leans back from me, looking down at me with his hands on my shoulders, my arms limp at my sides. I feel empty, hollow. He’s right about everything he said, I’ll never fit in anywhere. Still, I can’t help thinking back to the first couple of weeks here when I thought Ididfinally fit somewhere.
Saying nothing, Flynn steps back from me, and I slip down from the desk, letting my dress fall back down over my legs. He clears his throat, but I don’t look up, awkwardness filling the now stifling space.
“Thanks for seeing me,” I swallow, bending forward to grab my coat.
I don’t look at him as I round the chair, fingers curling over the door handle.
“I can help you get a transfer,” Flynn says somewhere at my back in a tone I can’t quite decipher. “Just let me know and I’ll sort it.”
“Right,” I nod, solemnly swallowing the lump in my throat, because even after all that, evenhedoesn’t want to be near me.
Lynx’s words rattle through me as I leave the office.
‘Fucking junkie whore.’
I think of the supporting evidence of that statement, how I like to pop pills, forget who I am. He’s right. I have an issue with pills. I have done for years, but no one has ever called me a whore before. I think that’s why it’s been playing on my mind so savagely, keeping me up at night, I didn’t expect it to hurt. But perhaps, it’s not the words that hurt, so much as who says them.
I seem to drift down the stairs as I descend, moving further and further from Flynn’s office.
Lost inside my head.
I think of my mother, hear thethud, thud, thud,see the pool of red surrounding her head like a bloody halo. Feel the cold of the darkness as it creeps its way across my vision, wrapping itself around my neck like a noose.
By the time I push out of the glass doors, my hands are shaking, breaths raspy as my feet hit the brick walkway.
As I think of the other night, my head spins. Dreams of King infecting my sleep, but I woke, and he was there, touching me, kissing me, trying to convince me it wasn’t real.
Heat floods my cheeks, shame gripping me when I think of Bennett. How he fucked me in the exact same place as his younger brother did. How I then got into a car with him, even though both of us had too much to drink. He stopped by the pharmacy, dropped me off at the front steps of campus and I slid out of his fancy car, slamming the door too hard on my exit, doing all of it without looking at him.
And now, Flynn, my fucking counsellor, who was done with me the second I came, encouraging me to leave.
Fisting my hair, I grip hard, nails clawing my scalp, I groan through gritted teeth at my stupidity. I don’t know what I’m doing. Everything is a huge mess, and I’ve done it to myself.
I never should have slept with men I just met, let myself fall for them, especially all three of them, when I knew, Iknewthey were going to break my heart. I latched on to the first people who showed me any sort of affection like an addict. Like the addict I am.
And the worst part is, Lynx broke it off with me because of the drugs, something I continued to take in hopes it’d make them like me more.
Icy wind lashes my skin as I blow out a hard breath. I probably should leave, it would save my father the embarrassment of having the college Dean call him, I suppose. That would definitely make things worse for me. I could call my dad’s housekeeper, Jeanie, she might be able to convince Dad to let me leave, to go somewhere else, before anyone finds out about what’s happened here.
The phone is in my hand, the dial tone sounding strange in my ear as I call my family home from a foreign country. I didn’t check the time, but it can’t be late there.
I consider hanging up when no one answers on the fifth ring, anxiously lifting my gaze from the toes of my boots to the view of the quad, my teeth in my lip, when I see him.
Lynx.
His red-brown eyes sharp on mine where I suddenly stop in my tracks.
We still share a dorm room, now that it has its door back on. Just one of many intrusive things I’m trying hard not to think about. They don’t really bother me, but knowing that it was Lynx who did it hurts.
“Yes?” my father’s voice booms through the phone, and my mouth instantly dries, heart pounding, I swallow, steeling myself for whatever’s to come, he never answers the house phone, that’s what we have staff for.
“It’s me,” I rasp out, my throat thick, tongue floppy.
“What in God’s name have you done now?” he bellows and I shrink in on myself on instinct, but feel relief he hasn’t heard about the video yet.
“Nothing, Dad,Sir,I’m not- I haven’t done anything, Sir.”
