“Late-night tacos sound good right now,” I tell him, needing to cool off.
We head toward the street, and the night air has cooled, calming me down a little and helping my nervous system chill out a bit.
Halfway to my car, I catch my reflection in a dark window with the street light shining down. There’s a glimpse of what I must have looked like to Brett—a guy who doesn’t drink, doesn’t laugh at the disrespectful jokes, talks about God, stands up for a girlhethinks less of, and swings when the right buttons are pushed.
Screw it, I can live with that.
We get tacos and end up sitting on the hood of my car. Mason keeps trying to hide who he’s texting and pretends not to smile at his phone when he sees me catch him, and Erik is keeping the mood as light as possible with whatever he can find to talk about and make me laugh. The night starts to feel normal again after that.
“Hey, can we swing by this party on the way back? My frat brother Tank texted me that he was wasted and needs a ride back to the Sig house.”
“Sure,” Itell him.
When we pull up to the house off campus, I immediately spot her sitting out on the front steps.
“Speak of the angel herself,” I whisper, not meaning for anyone else in the car to hear me.
Mason nudges me from the passenger seat. “Yeah, I see mine too.”
I shake my head and laugh a little. “You being obsessed with a girl who’s taken issoyou, Mase.”
He tries to act offended. “I amnotobsessed. Okay, yeah, I kinda am. But hey, people only know what they know…you know?”
I look over at him, confused and smiling. “No, I don’t think I do know. What does that even mean?”
Erik pipes up from the back. “It probably means that she’s miserable or her boyfriend treats her badly, but she won’t leave him…so Mase doesn’t feel bad about wanting her cause he could treat her better.”
Mason nods his head at Erik. “He gets it.” Then they fist-bump like children.
I hear raised voices, and we all turn to look at the house. Lydia is now standing, yelling at both girls. I can’t make out what she’s saying from this far, but I can clearly see the hurt in each girl’s face. Just then, Tank bursts out of the house and leaps down the front steps, drunk, sprinting to the car. All the girls’ heads snap in our direction, and her eyes immediately find mine, like they would be able to find me in any room. I hold her stare for a moment until Mason nudges me again, telling me we’re ready to go. I reluctantly turn to answer him, and then I steal one more glance at her, wishing I could help in some way, before reluctantly turning back and driving off.
When I finally getback to our dorm building, the hallway’s quiet hum is the only sound left. Everyone has thankfully settled down for the night. I rinse the sting out of my knuckles and hold them under the bathroom light. The skin is split, but not terrible. It’ll ache a little tomorrow for sure.
Back in our dorm, stretched out on my bed, I stare up at the faint glow of the smoke detector and let my breath drop into my stomach. I think about all the lines, and who draws them, and how easy it is to move them when nobody pushes back. I think about a girl who I only know because trouble keeps showing me her, and about the strange pull in my chest every time I see her in passing, like my soul recognizes something my mind hasn’t caught up to yet.
I know I want to know more about her. I want to know her. I just don’t know how that’ll ever happen when our paths only cross during chaos.
49
Lydia
I’ve been hiding for weeks now—late nights staying out, passing out on random couches, and staying at Atlas’s place when I have nowhere else to go.
I still can’t stand to face Simone or Lani.
Atlas has a girlfriend now, you know. Cute. Always around. Nice enough. Fun to get high with, I guess. But sadly, the inconvenience ofthatnow means I only get the drugs from him and a couch to sleep on sometimes. The rest—the attention, the distraction, the sex I was also using him for—I now have to find somewhere else. Which is fine, you know. I guess it pushed me to stop being so scared of what happened or whatever. When I really started to need it again, like I was going through withdrawals, I had to go back to my old methods. Hated that at first. The chase wasn’t fun anymore, too clouded with anxiety, but still fueled by thisneedthat had to be satisfied. I hated the way my hands would shake trying to undress a stranger, scared I wouldn’t be able to turn back if I wanted to. I even bailed a couple of times, not being able to do it, being too trapped in my head about it all. Other times, I’d have to be high enough not to feel anything at all.
I don’t know why I keepdoing it. I don’t even remember it half the time. Maybe that’s the point, though. It’s just…another addiction. An illusion. A hit of borrowed closeness and intimacy to trick my brain into wanting to stay here. Endorphins lying through their teeth—this feels good, you feel good, stay.
Even when it fades right after, and it always fades. So you just chase it. You always chase it. You keep chasing it until you burn yourself out and question what the point of any of this really is.
Other than the constant self-destruction and lack of self-respect, I’ve mostly just kept busy with school. I payjustenough attention to keep my grades at a passing level and keep my place here. Because let’s face it, what else do I have? Where would I even go if I weren’t here? This was the place I used to escape everything else…and now it’s become just another place I feel trapped in. I have nowhere else. Nothing else. If I fail out, there’s no next plan. No next place. It’s just…me. AndI’mthe place I can’t outrun.
I don’t go back to the dorm until I’m sure the hallway’s quiet. It’s past midnight, and I’m praying the girls are asleep. I stand in the hall of our floor, forehead against the wall, waiting for the anxiety to pass. Maybe I can just grab clothes and disappear before anyone notices.
I slowly open the door, trying to slowly catch a glimpse of the room. The lights are low, and I see the TV’s on.
Shit.
