“Harper—”
“I have to go,” I said. “I can’t do this right now, but we’re not done talking about this.”
I have to clean things up and close the door on a beautiful boy because it’s too messy and we’re all full up on messy over here, thanks.
I shouldered my bag and stopped at the door. “Not in the house. If I see any booze in the house, I’m going to lose my shit, I swear to God.”
“Of course not,” Mom said. “It’s not that big of a deal. I promise.”
“Promise.” I shook my head. “You know, if you repeat a word enough times, it loses all meaning.”
And then I went out.
Chapter 15Orion
We expect great things from you.
Langford’s smile had been kinder, brighter than Father’s but no less weighted. Pressurized. And Harper beside me…Jesus, could I have fucked that up any harder?
Let’s call it a day, shall we?
I’d left chemistry—and the CHA campus entirely—with all sorts of shame tailing me. Shame for my tantrum in chemistry and because Harper didn’t know about Father’s manila envelope, but so what? Still made me a prick.
“Bare minimum,” I muttered as I keyed into my apartment in Atlas Hall. “I’ll do the barest bloody minimum for that contest.”
A silly vow to make, since the barest minimum was all I was capable of anyway.
I was failing most of my classes, and the skipped classes today would only add to the load. So I sat on the couch in the living area, laptop in my lap, and struggled over the school work, trying to use the hours to get ahead. By dinner, I had a raging headache.
At eight p.m., a text came in from Tucker.
You choked Brent?! WTF? That’s hilarious.
It was followed by a bunch of laughing emoji. I put my phone on mute and turned it face down. The Mesopotamia essay for history wasn’t going to write itself, but Christ in a sidecar…
My gaze landed on the orange pill bottle. It might work this time, new prescription and all. Fuck me sideways, things couldn’t get worse.
I poured myself a glass of water and popped a little white pill.
Back at the couch, I waited for the magic to happen. For the words on the pages to resolve themselves into cohesion. For my brain to stop trying to run away from the mess and just read without me having to jump through hoops to build meaning.
Not for the first time—not by a bloody mile—I wondered if someone, somewhere had gotten it wrong. I knew people who had ADHD. Their meds worked brilliantly without any random, heart-exploding reactions, and they lived their lives. What the fuck was wrong withme? But whenever I’d brought it up, Mum and Father insisted the doctors knew what they were doing. My intelligence and keen aptitude were “proof” that if only I’d get my shit together and apply myself, I’d bejust fine.
“If I apply myself any harder, I’m going to have a stroke.”
Or a heart attack.
My heart had began to pound in my chest like a hammer, as if it were trying to break free of my ribs. I suddenly felt both hot and cold at the same time, shivering while breaking out into a sweat.
“No, no, no, bloody hell, not again.”
My chest grew tight, and a band of pain wrapped around it, while a sliver of fear worked its way into my thoughts. I’d joked about cardiac arrests and heart attacks but what if…?
“No,” I said to the empty room. “I’m fine.”
But my breath was coming in short gasps that I could barely get past my throat. Slowly, carefully, I lay down on the couch, willing my heart to slow down. To relax.
Call someone, you bloody fool, before you croak, and Easton comes home to a corpse.
