AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You never thought to reach out to her?” Gray asks.
Sighing, I tear the cap off my bottle, tipping half the contents down my throat before glancing at the ceiling. “I tried, I rang her so many times when I was inside, but she never answered. Then when I spoke to my parents, they said she changed her number. She wanted nothing to do with me, or my family.”
My fingers tap around the bottle. “She moved on and was happy, all while I got stuck dealing with the consequences of a pile of shit. Beatrice Fletcher ruined my life once, and that’s not something I’m willing to let happen again, so she can’t be here.”
Beatrice
For two days I stay cooped up in my room, hiding from the world. The emergency stash of ramen I packed in my duffel has long since depleted, and my eyes are blurring from watching too much CSI in an effort to escape reality.
When my eyes do close, all I see is Nash’s wide hazel eyes staring at me from a foot away, shock so stark on his tan face, and it sends me back to that courtroom two years ago.
Never did I think I’d have to see that same look again. Only this time, it was paired with confusion. I haven’t kept up with what any of my old friends have done for the last two years, instead choosing to live in ignorance. If I don’t know, it can’t hurt that they’re living a life without me, a life I once thought I’d very much be a part of.
My own naivety is to blame. One mistake, a mistake at the time I could never have understood the repercussions of. My therapist says I’m not to blame, that I’m not the first to have made the choices I did, nor will I be the last, but I’ve gone over that day a thousand times in my mind, wondering if the outcome would have been different if I’d stuck to my story . . . but it’s something I’ll never know.
Instead, for two years, I’ve lived with the guilt of that mistake.
Sebastian Marks took everything from me back then, and now I’m stuck in an endless cycle of what-ifs. What if I spoke up sooner? What if I’d told somebody the truth the first time he ever laid a hand on me? What if I hadn’t met with him the night before the last day of the trial?
My phone vibrates from the kitchen counter, my dad’s ringtone blaring through the empty space. With a sigh, I pull myself off the couch, tossing my blanket over the back before grabbing my phone and silencing the ringer.
Mom and Dad have checked in countless times already, ringing almost every other hour between them. While I appreciate their unwavering support, it’s overwhelming.
Typing out a text in reply, I let him know I’m fine, just busy with new friends—it’s a lie, but they’ll buy it. At least for now, because they want so badly for it to be true.
Watching your child wither away for two years, only leaving the house for therapy or to grocery shop with you has been hard on them. It’s the reason I finally forced myself to apply to BU, to try and gain some control over my life again.
They gave up almost everything for me—their friends, their social lives—to be there when I needed them, but now I need to do this for them . . . forme. To prove I can do this—I can survive on my own, and we can all move on—and I’m okay.
My eyes catch on the pile of trash building on my coffee table, then the pillows from where I’ve made a bed on the couch, only falling asleep when my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, I guess, and learning to survive without my parents holding me upright will take a little time, by the looks of things.
Sighing, I gather up a garbage bag from the box of kitchen supplies on my table and get to work cleaning up the dorm. Today is the day I will make a difference. It doesn’t matter that Nash is here, and I might bump into him on occasion.
Two years is a long time, and whilehemay never forgive me, Nash never seemed to have the same issues. In fact, he reached out to me a few times after the trial, texting and calling to check in.
I never responded, eventually changing my number when it all became too much, but at least he doesn’t seem to hate me. Not like the others, so I can deal.
A knock comes at my door, pulling me from my thoughts. Dropping the bag on the floor, I glance down at myself, grimacing at the two-day old white t-shirt I’m wearing, stained with noodle spatters, and the far-too-short purple cycling shorts that might as well be underwear the way they’re riding up my ass crack.
I flick my gaze to my suitcases sitting in the corner untouched, but another knock comes, more forcefully this time. With a sigh, I head to the door, wincing when a loud voice echoes through the dorm the moment I pull it open.
“Finally, I thought you were never going to answer.” A small body pushes past me, shorter than that of my five-foot-three. Her chocolate-brown hair falls below her shoulder blades in spiral curls, and her light-brown skin glistens under the fluorescent lights.
She spins, her hands propped on her hips as she takes in my space, her nose wrinkling at the empty ramen packets left on the kitchen side before she faces me. “Okay, friend, we need to sort this mess out and then I’m taking you out for some real food.”
“Err—” My mouth gapes, unable to form any real words as I stare at her. She narrows hazel eyes in my direction, a pout forming on her lips.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?” she asks, shaking her head and sighing.
“That would be a negative,” I answer, closing the door behind me and grabbing the bag from where I dropped it. She follows me into the kitchen, making herself at home as she rifles through my cupboards and fridge. “Am I supposed to?”
“Apparently,” she says, rolling her eyes before hopping up onto the counter and swinging her legs back and forth. “I’m Maisie, and you’re Beatrice? Right? I do have the right room?”
“Yup, but I’m still at a loss as to what is happening right now,”
“Ugh, I’m gonna kill my mom,” she grumbles before holding her hand out to me. She must notice the confusion on my face, as she laughs. “You’re supposed to shake it. You know, do the introduction, right?”
