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“It closes then,” she answered. “Why?”
I chuckled a bit at the thought of trying to explain to her that I’d gotten some cryptic text telling me to be at that specific location and time, but instead, I explained, “No reason. You think people abide by that rule?”
Again, she cocked her eyebrow up. “Um …”
“Never mind.” I waved it off. “I don’t need anything from you right now, but thanks for offering. It means a lot.”
“No problem.” She smiled brightly, and took a hesitant step away. “I’m actually two floors up. Apartment 30, if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” I said, giving her a short wave. “See ya.”
She hurried away, and I watched her go. Once she was out of sight, I collapsed against the doorframe, and closed my eyes, listening for more footsteps.
Where the fuck did Pierre go?
Rolling my eyes, I turned back into the apartment, closed the door behind me once more, and waited a second or two in case someone else felt the need to knock on the door. Nope. I was free to move.
Emotionally exhausted, and on the brink of a food coma, I jumped onto the bed, wincing as the old springs shrieked with my body settled into the mattress. 10 PM. Durham Library.
I didn’t have the slightest clue as to who sent that text, but I’d be there. Pierre was hiding something, and if this had anything to do with him, then I needed to do everything I could to find that out.
But for now, I would nap.
I had a feeling that there would be a long night ahead of me.
“Sweet dreams,” I whispered to myself. Couldn’t wait until I could say the same thing to Miss Russo herself. “Bitch.”
***
It had been four hours. Pierre still wasn’t back.
Picking up my phone for the tenth time, my finger hovered over his number, my eyes looking at all the voicemails I had sent him. No replies, no texts, nothing. At first, I had been a little thrilled that he was getting his anger out in some way—thought that maybe he was taking a walk, or had gone to have a talk with his ‘friend’ Tommy. But the longer I waited in his apartment, the less convinced I was that he was going to do either of those things.
Even though it made sense for him to get riled about something that had—almost—no, basically happened to me, it didn’t make sense for him to say nothing about it to me. Yeah, he knew I could handle my own emotions. I was tough in that sense. But in theory, wasn’t I the one who needed the consolation?
Shaking my head, I got up from the bed and went to put on my coat. Enough of this.
Cassidy hadn’t lied to me—the school’s website also noted that the library was set to close at 10, which meant I had about an hour to get in there and find somewhere to hide out.
If Pierre wanted to reach out to me, then by all means, my voicemail was empty and ready to receive his string of excuses.
But I couldn’t keep waiting around for his ass to show up.
It took me a couple tries to lock up, wiggling the spare key around in the old brass keyhole before finally clamping the door shut and getting on my way. Once I was outside, the sky had darkened to a deep violet, and it looked as if a thin layer of snow had coated the ground. The narrow residential streets were empty, parked cars cold and dark on the insides as the windows of neighboring apartments were lit up a warm golden-yellow.
As I neared the shuttle stop, part of me was convinced that the fact I was in a foreign country meant I needed to start speaking another language. All the French food had me wondering if Pierre had fooled me into thinking he was going to school in Britain, when Felix really bought me a ticket to France.
Already spent more than twenty-four hours in a city I’d never been in, in a country I’d never been to, and I had barely seen any of it. So far, it was all drama. The motherfucking drama. It just seemed to follow me. Stalk me. Couldn’t I just have one good day?
Anyway.
I’d have to suck it up. This was my life, after all. I had no choice but to live it. Roll with the punches.
Literally.
The shuttle dropped me off at the same location as when Pierre and I had arrived on campus for the first time. I was the only one on the shuttle besides a couple of other girls who sat apart from one another. My paranoid side wondered if they had something to do with this, if they were headed for the library just like I was. Maybe this was a cult. Maybe the text was meant to be for someone other than me.
No. It had to have been for me. What were the odds that I was going to receive that text just as I was traveling to meet up with a friend who went to Durham?
