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When I left, I went to pick up Chip from his friend’s house. They live in a high-rise in an apartment that I can only dream about. I felt like trash standing there in my clothes that smelled like fried foods while Beckham’s mom chatted with me. Even on a Saturday morning, she was dressed perfectly. Her make-up was even done. Chip was upset that he had to leave so early and begged to stay. Apparently, Beckham has the gaming system that he wants, and they wanted to play a game. Beckham’s mom said it was okay, but I stood firm, telling Chip that he still had chores. As we made our way home, he told me he hated me. I know he didn’t mean the words, but they still stung. A lot. So much that I cried about it later when I was alone.
Belle basically cried all day Saturday and into Sunday, so no one got much sleep. I had to call in to work on Sunday, since I didn’t have anyone to watch the kids. Chip and I were sitting at the table working on our homework when our father finally showed up. He was drunk and reeked of booze, smoke, and body odor.
When he stomped into the kitchen, demanding dinner, he bumped into the table, knocking over the glass of juice that Chip had, and it spilled all over my notes and homework. To add insult to injury, my father grabbed my arm, twisting until I thought he was going to snap the bone, and told me he was sick of me leaving his home in such a state. I cleaned up the mess and grabbed my notes, carrying them to my room. My only saving grace is that Belle was feeling better by that point.
I didn’t sleep well, though. I never sleep well when our father is there. By the time my alarm went off this morning, I already had the kids dressed and dropped them off at Mrs. McCarthy’s house before making my way outside. For the first time since Friday, I feel lighter, but that does nothing for the dull throbbing behind my eyes from stress and lack of sleep. And, I never made it to the grocery store, so I’m going to have to do that after class. I bite back a groan. I only have one class today, and it’s my math class, but that is enough to make my stomach cramp on top of everything else that I’m feeling.
I take the train to the Garfield station, and then hop onto the bus headed toward the university. Many people on the bus are headed to the campus, too. Some even wear UChicago shirts. I should get one to show my school spirit, but they’re expensive and I can’t justify the extra money. Besides, I don’t need a shirt. I need that piece of paper stating I got my degree at the University of Chicago.
A stop before the campus, I hop off the bus and run into a store selling cell phones. It’s not as nice as my old one, but it will do. As I leave the store, I turn on the new phone. There’s only one missed text message from Kyle, and I laugh. Guess if I ever go missing, no one will look for me. That’s not true. Mrs. McCarthy would eventually wonder where I was, but only because of the kids.
Tucking my phone into my bag, I catch the next bus and go to the campus. The drop-off is on the opposite side of the grounds, but I don’t mind the walk. I won’t feel the same way once snow covers the ground, but that’s still a few months off. Okay, at least one month if we’re lucky. As a kid, I loved winter. As an adult, not so much.
When I was younger, I used to dream about moving away from Chicago. Back then, it was to go on a quest to find my mother. Now, I know that even if I left, I wouldn’t find her. And there’s no way I can leave Chip or Belle, so I’m stuck. That’s why getting my degree is so important. Once I do that, I can get a decent job, get custody of the kids, and never have to see my piece of shit father again.
But that’s going to take time.
What a depressing thought to have. I usually try to pump myself up before my math class, but looks like that will not happen today.
“On your left,” someone behind me calls out.
I move over, so the bicyclist can pass. Every time someone calls that out, I laugh because it reminds me of my favorite Marvel movie. If only Chris Evans could be the one passing me.Thatwould make things interesting and get my mind off my shitty life. Instead, it’s a fellow student who pedals like his life depends on it. Maybe it does. Some professors are strict and will lock their doors so tardy students can’t enter.
I glance over my shoulder again, just to make sure the bicyclist was alone. Once I accidentally stepped in front of a girl on a bike and she crashed hard after swerving to avoid me, and I don’t want that to happen again. A man walks several yards behind me, dressed in black jeans and a black hoodie that’s pulled over his head. That shouldn’t be enough to freak me out because many people around here dress like that, but I can’t deny the shiver that creeps up my spine. I can’t tell if he’s on his phone, but he’s definitely looking at me. My breath hitches, and I pick up my pace.
This is the first time I’ve felt like someone was watching me during the day. It’s got to be an overactive imagination, right? I mean, there’s no way someone would follow be in broad daylight. But the man’s speed is increasing, too. I’m close to one of the buildings, so I dart inside and run up a flight of stairs. Thank god I know my way around, because it’s easy to get lost if you don’t know where you’re going. As I reach the next flight of stairs, I hear loud footsteps. Shit. I think he’s following me!
I side-step into the lab, closing the door behind me. Sure enough, the man rushes by, probably thinking I went up another floor.
“Excuse me. Do you have an appointment?”
Turning, I find a girl close in age to me, glaring. There are other people in the room who look just as annoyed, too. My bad.
“Sorry. Wrong room.” I leave, closing the door behind me.
I’m on high alert as I take the elevator to the first floor. Thankfully, there are other students, so I’m not alone. I manage to stay in the middle of the group as we exit the lift. The man in all-black is nowhere to be found, so I rush past the group of students and make my way outside. My brief detour got rid of the guy, but it’s also put me behind schedule, so I hurry across the campus.
The closer I get to my building, the more the feeling returns. What if the man is out there, watching me? What do I do then? My building comes into sight, and I actually whimper as I climb the stairs. The hairs on the back of my neck are raised and my instincts scream for me to run. I risk a glance over my shoulder, but don’t see a damn thing. There are emergency phones every hundred feet on the campus, but will that be enough to save me if someone tries to get me? What if he has a gun? What if—
“Stop being stupid.”
A deep male voice asks, “Sorry?”
Turning forward, I stare at the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s tall, like at least a foot taller than me, has long, dark hair that’s pulled back, and is built like an ox. Good freaking lord, this man is enormous. His eyes are the color of whisky, and his lips are full, begging to be kissed. I shake my head, trying to knock myself from the stupor this man put me in.
“Crap. Sorry. I wasn’t talking to you.”
He looks around. “We’re the only two people here.”
My cheeks burn. “I was talking to myself.”
“Do that a lot?”
I laugh, realizing how silly I must have sounded to him. “More than I should.”
He holds out his hand. “I’m Henri.”
“Nice to meet you.”
