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We get back to campus, and Maisie rushes off to her dorm to grab something while I set up my couch with blankets and pillows and spread snacks and drinks over the coffee table.
By the time Maisie comes back, I’ve synced my laptop to the TV, a collection of Christmas films ready for us to choose between. She offers me a bag, her lips twitching as I stick my hand in and pull out a pair of pajamas with Christmas trees on them.
“Seriously?” I giggle, my eyes widening when she pulls out her own matching pair, only hers are green with red trees while mine are red with green trees. “God, you’re the best. What did I do to deserve you?”
She winks before tossing her bag to the ground and escaping into my bathroom. I undress, swapping into the pajamas while I fight back the emotions that threaten to swamp me.
For so long I’ve been alone. I have my mom and dad, of course, but they’re my parents and have to love me, no matter what mistakes I make, or how debilitating my mental health is.
But Maisie is my first real friend in two years—a friend who knows my struggles and chooses to stay, even on the days I make that harder for her. She’s a person I didn’t know I needed until I found her.
When she comes back in, she settles onto the couch, waiting for me to join her as I choose a film. For the next few hours, we eat all the food, chatter away, and despite her earlier insistence, not once does she make me talk about anything serious.
Not about why I’ve been hiding out, avoiding everyone for the last few weeks. Not about the strange feelings that course through my body when I think about Maverick, and not even about the way Maverick lingered at my side the entire time we were at the park today, never once letting me out of his sight even though he didn’t speak a word.
Something shifted between us today, though I don’t know what, and only a fool would allow herself to hope he will move past his anger and hatred.
The moment Maisie leaves my dorm, I switch the television off, packing away the blankets before doing a quick clean-up of the lounge and kitchenette. Flipping the switch on the travel kettle I stole from Dad’s study before I left, I grab a mug and fish through the cabinets until I find the box of chamomile tea.
A knock comes at my door, but I ignore it as I grab my Kindle from the TV cabinet and switch it on. My eyes find the 2:00 a.m. flashing at me from the screen. But I’m not tired.
Sleep hasn’t come easy since I came to BU, though I would have thought after the first couple weeks of classes I’d be flagging, but my eyes are wide as I pour water over the tea bag, stirring until the scent wafts under my nose and the water turns a light-amber color.
Settling in on the couch, I flick through my e-reader, halting when yet another knock sounds at my door, this one louder and more frantic. My stomach dips, and my hands tighten around the mug as sweat coats my palms.
Expletives sound in the hall, and I place my mug and Kindle on the coffee table and rush into my bedroom, grabbing the baseball bat from under the bed before I walk toward the front door, holding my breath.
I twist the lock, pulling on the handle, and my muscles seize. I close my eyes, pulling a slow breath as I raise the bat above my head, bringing it down the moment the door opens.
“Shit,” someone hisses, grabbing the bat and halting my swing before I can make contact. The scent of alcohol permeates the air, mumbled curses following as the ceiling light flickers to life, washing the doorway in a golden glow. “You could have fucking killed me, Bumblebee.”
My shoulders sag in relief at the sight of Maverick. He peels my fingers away from the bat, one by one, before tossing it to the ground with a light thud. Pressing his foot to the door, he lightly kicks it until it clicks shut.
“Maverick, what are you—”
“Don’t talk, not yet,” he says, sauntering through my dorm as though he’s been here a million times before. The fridge opens, the light illuminating his face as he grabs a bottle of water, uncapping it before he moves into the lounge and drops down on the couch.
His hands fall limp between his spread thighs, the bottle dangling loosely from his fingertips. “I drank so much tonight.”
“I can see that,” I say, wondering why on earth he’s telling me this. “What are you doing here, Maverick?”
“Two years, Bea,” he says, blowing out a slow breath as he drops his head back on the couch. “For two years, the only thing I thought when it came to you waswhat aviciousbitch.” My breath hitches at his crass words, the belittlement behind them. “But then you show up here, and you look all sad and lonely. So unlike the girl I once knew—it’s a mindfuck.” His head snaps in my direction, his eyes blank. “Youare a mindfuck, Beatrice Fletcher.”
“I don’t—”
“You come to my school, looking so perfectly you, but so lost too. You wander around my campus, talk tomyfriends, but you’re not even there. I was doing fine, you know? Before you came. It was so easy to hate you, to blame you when I thought you were living your life, happy as Larry. They all told me you were happy, that you moved on. You know, I tried to call you so many times, and you never answered. Not once. You just pushed me out of your mind like I was nothing.”
“Who told you that I was happy?” I breathe. Before coming here, the only people I spoke to in any length were my parents and my therapist. There isn’t a person in the world who believed I was happy . . . not a person who knew me at least.
“Everyone. My parents, my sister . . .”
“So your family, who hates me, told you I was happy, and you just believed them?”
“Fuck! What else was I supposed to do? You weren’t there, Bea,” he hisses, and his water drops to the floor.
My thoughts run rampant as I rush into the kitchen to grab towels before moving in front of him. I didn’t answer any calls back then, especially not his. I was too afraid of what he’d have to say to me . . . would things be different if I had?
Dropping to my ankles, I wipe up the liquid running over the linoleum, but before I can move away again, he grabs my wrists, pulling me up to my knees, his face mere inches from mine. “Tell me you’ve been happy. Please tell me that you have been okay.”
