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I’m lucky that he doesn’t put a hand on me.
“Wait…” He gawks, dazedly leaving my room.
I shut and lock the door.
“Thanks,” I tell everyone on the computer. “I have this now.” They voice encouragements and “stay safes” before I close the laptop.
Anxious heat still clings to me, even though the guy is gone.
It’s in these moments that I wish I took up meditation. Daisy suggested it. She’s been doing twenty-minute sessions in her treehouse every morning with Sulli. It’s apparently good to refocus the mind. I need some intense refocusing.
A message pings my phone.
Garrison: Landed. In cab. See you soon *pizza emoji* *smiley face emoji* *heart emoji*
My anticipation ratchets up, and I quickly text him the apartment building’s door code. I was going to meet him at the airport, but he said he’d meet me here. He knows I get anxiety at airports, but I wish I braved it for him tonight.
It would’ve been better than staying behind at this party. But just thinking about confronting the airport crowds made me break out in a nervous sweat for two hours.
I let out a tense breath and rest my back on the thumping wall. Music still blasting. Chants of “chug, chug, chug!” still happening.
And then I eye the smashed pillows and crumpled comforter. Gross.
Strip the bed, Willow.
I move my feet and do just that.
58
garrison abbey
Once I’m in the apartment complex, I hear club music and drunken laughter, and I’m thinking there’s no way that’s my girl’s place.
A house party?
On a Wednesday?
It sounds like Willow’s worst nightmare. Yet, I stroll up to the ajar door where the noise booms out. Weekend-duffel slung on my shoulder, I double-check the apartment number.
This is her flat.
What if she likes parties now? I’d like to believe she hasn’t changed so much that I don’t know her anymore. We saw each other a decent amount this summer.
I push into the rowdy, packed apartment. About fifty students here. Already hammered. Guys are wobbling and spilling their shit on furniture. Beer. Liquor. Fizz.
I glance back at the door. Can’t believe that was literally half-opened.
Any stalker or creep could just prance right on through. This is a serial killer’s wet dream and the way idiots die at the start of horror flicks, before the movie title even appears.
Thinking about someone killing Willow makes me nauseous. I rub a hand over my mouth, and stepping forward, my black Converse crunches a beer can.
“Drink it! Drink it!” college students shout as a guy sucks a shot off a girl’s belly button, lying on the beer pong table.
Not even one more foot forward and a familiar face confronts me. Salvatore Amadio, AKA the vampire-knockoff that I knocked out, blocks my path.
Awesome.
Here we go already.
Two button-down preppy dudes flank him. A pen is in Salvatore’s mouth like he’d been scoring some drinking game, and a glass of whiskey is in his hand. His plaid pants would look douchey on just about anyone, so I try not to judge him for it.
“Hey, man,” I greet. “Sorry about…” I motion to my cheek, even though I hit his cheek before.
He glares.
I’m so great at making friends. God, it’s weird to think that at one point, I was extremely popular.
I nod. “Right. Look, you know which one is Willow’s room?” I dig my hand in a pocket for my phone. Planning to text her anyway.
Salvatore takes the pen out of his mouth with arrogance, like he’s the big man on campus. “You’re not welcome here.”
He’s got to be shitting me. “My girlfriend lives here.”
“Exactly.” He has these annoying overprotective eyes. Like he’s still trying to protect Willow from me, and it’s just…
I let out an irritated laugh. “Wow, you must be so concerned about the safety of your roommate. Leaving the front door wide open for anyone and their creep cousin to stroll through, that’s real smart shit right there—”
“A creep like you.” He steps forward, about to physically push me out, and I move backwards on instinct, away from his hands.
My pulse jacks up. “I’m not looking for a fight, man.” I stop in the doorway. Refusing to be kicked out.
Taller than me, Salvatore grips the frame above my head. “You’re lucky I’m not decking you in the face after you sucker-punched me.”
Sucker-punch.
Fuck, I don’t think I’d call it that. I’m not that strong. Or at least, I wasn’t. Now that I live with Lo, I have access to his home gym and he practically pulls me down there every night to do reps with him.
In Lo’s words: exercise is good for people like us.
Sometimes it does pull me out of bad moods.
“Appreciate it,” I tell Salvatore, “but I’m here to see Willow. She knows I’m coming.”
“She didn’t tell me about it.”
Yeah.
I know.
Willow told me she was working herself up to it, and I don’t blame her for not wanting to get into drama with her new roommates.
