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I was here. I was ready for my new life. But first, I had orientation and a tour of the campus. I couldn’t believe I was walking past the old brick buildings where I’d be taking my classes. I’d made it. I’d finally made it.
A sign attached to a wooden pole was stuck into the grass outside of the main building in the middle of campus, and a guy stood in front of it with a clipboard. The sign read, Freshman Tour Starts Here, and was surrounded by other students, some talking, and some standing on their own.
“Welcome,” the tour guide announced, clapping his hands. “I’m Bren, a junior, and I’ll be giving you the tour today.” Bren’s brown hair hung just below his ears. His pressed pants and buttoned-up shirt told me that he took his job seriously, and even though some people snickered as they walked by the checkpoint, I appreciated it. I wanted to know everything there was to know about campus. “Follow me.”
He waved his arm and spun around. We all followed, listening intently as he told us how long each building had been on campus and what classes it held. He gave a detailed history on almost everything. I learned that the main building had originally been the home of the man who the college had been named after, and that it had only been in the last one hundred years that they’d allowed women on campus.
“And this is the final building.” Bren smiled at the crowd of students. We’d lost half of them on the way, so now there was only about fifteen of us. “This was the last addition to campus in nineteen ninety, and has been used for many things, but currently is the English department.” Bren waited a few seconds, then started to walk again. I spotted the sign where we started the tour just as he announced, “And that’s the campus. Maps are in your orientation packs. Welcome to college!” He said the last words with such excitement that I felt my stomach flip.
I was a college girl. Holy shit.
“Thank you, Bren,” I said, my voice small.
He nodded, his gaze not meeting mine. “You’re welcome.” He shuffled on the spot, clasping his clipboard to his chest. “I…I have to leave.”
I raised my brows, not able to keep my lips from quirking as he spun around and practically ran away. He ran into another student, but both of them managed to stay upright, and I wondered how he could do an entire tour on campus without flinching but yet when I spoke to him, he escaped as fast as he could.
When Bren was out of sight, I glanced around, wondering what else I could do. I didn’t have any official classes on campus today, but I wanted to figure out where all of the rooms were for tomorrow and see how long it would take me to get from each of them to the next, so I pulled out my map, looked up, and started walking to my English Lit class. English had always been a passion of mine—poems in particular. There was something about the way that everyone could interpret the words differently that fascinated me. No two people ever read it the same, they didn’t feel the same things. It was magic—pure magic.
It didn’t take me long to time out the walk to and from each class. The smile on my face felt like it would never leave. I’d had the best first day ever, and now I was heading home, hoping that it would continue. We’d been living in the apartment for two weeks, and there hadn’t been a single hiccup—not one sign of either Mom or Dad relapsing. The hope that had been building inside me was in full bloom, out in the open for everyone to see.
It was a twenty-minute bus ride home, and the whole way all I could think about was getting into the apartment and telling Mom and Dad about my day. I was officially a college girl, one who was going to pave her own way. I was going to make something of myself; make them proud to be my parents.
Immense pride flowed through me as the bus pulled up outside the apartment block. I thanked the driver and waved as I got off. The bus pulled away from the curb, and my feet carried me as fast as they could toward the apartment building. My attention veered to Cardo’s apartment door, just like it had every time I’d been outside since I met him, but he wasn’t there. It was almost as if
he had vanished into thin air.
My stomach rolled as I wondered if something had happened to him, and I made a mental note to give it another couple of days before making a ploy to knock on the door to check on him. I didn’t know why I was compelled, but something deep down told me to. There was a kindred spirit in him that called to me, and there was only so long that I could ignore it.
I let out a breath as I walked toward the stairs, hesitating. Maybe I should have checked on him there and then instead of leaving it another few days. What if something was wrong and he was waiting for someone to come and save him?
Shaking my head, I rolled my eyes at myself. I was thinking too much into it. I’d only had one conversation with him, and already I was pushing my problems onto him. He was fine, and I was overthinking.
So, I took the steps to the outside stairs two at a time, my stomach floating with butterflies the closer I got to my apartment door. I didn’t know what made me pause to catch my breath when I was a couple of feet away, but a force overtook me, one that was holding me back. And I knew right then…I knew something had changed.
My bad feeling about Cardo wasn’t about him after all. It was about me.
I took in several breaths, trying to calm down my racing thoughts. I hadn’t even stepped into the apartment and I was already scared of what I would find. My hands started to shake, but I propelled myself forward, not shying away from whatever was behind the closed door.
I opened it slowly, the smell of smoke smacking me in the face, and that was closely followed by the pumping music coming from the living room. The last time they’d played music was back in our old, decrepit apartment. My chest felt heavy and my breaths were turning to gasps. My body was warning me against going any farther in, but I didn’t have a choice.
The door creaked as I closed it, and with a push back of my shoulders, I headed into the living room. The hope I’d had disintegrated into ash because right there, on the sofa, was my mom, sprawled out with her eyes half closed. It wasn’t that that was the problem though.
No.
It was the needle in her arm that caused my heart to crack for what felt like the thousandth time.
She was high.
Again.
And I realized…it was a pipedream. She’d never stay clean. I just didn’t have the heart to believe it. I wished and prayed every day that my parents were like everyone else’s. But they weren’t. They never would be. And it was time I understood that.
Mom opened one of her eyes, moaning and reaching her hand out to me. Any other time I would have gone to her. Any other time I would have turned down the music and cleared up the mess she’d made.
Not today.
We’d come here for a clean start, and she’d lasted all of two weeks. Two weeks living in a sober house. Two weeks without strangers coming over. Two weeks without the sweet scent of her drugs.
