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But he’s a man who got what he wanted, so I should really be less surprised.
Maybe that’s just a hard lesson that I haven’t had the chance to learn until now.
I’m conflicted about the fact that I’ll never see him again. It’s for the best, and probably in ways that I can’t even comprehend right now. Ruslan wouldn’t even tell me what kind of “business” he ran.
He couldn’t even make something up.
It’s easier for me to talk myself into moving on from the experience, even though it’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in years.
I feel awful framing the worst night in my city’s recent history as something fun for me, but I never would have met Ruslan otherwise.
I brace myself against the door for a few moments to catch my breath and recenter myself. The events from the night have shaken me terribly, and having good sex isn’t going to undo the damage of witnessing a mass murder take place.
It’s likely that I’m still in a state of shock, which is how I can justify my actions to myself.
I was scared, possibly grieving, and there was a strong man to pick me up and make me feel safe. What was I supposed to do?
The conversation that I’m having with myself is making me increasingly uncomfortable. I hate the fact that I’ve done something that fills me with a tremendous amount of both shame and excitement.
If I could erase all this, I would.
The apartment is dark, and my roommate is nowhere to be found. I don’t have a phone, so I can’t text her to see where she is either.
I disappear into the darkness of my temporarily abandoned home, peering around corners to see if I can spot anyone here. I’m on high alert now that there’s been a tragedy, and I doubt I’ll feel safe in this town any time soon.
My pockets feel lighter than usual, and I realize that the weight I’m missing is my phone and wallet.
I left my wallet at the barn, and Eric still has my phone.
I’m not even sure that Eric is still alive.
Do I still get to be mad at him for being an asshole even if he died? I’ve seen assholes in small towns die before, and nobody would dare to speak ill of them. I doubt it would be different for the son of a well-known investment banker.
When I step into the kitchen, the time on the microwave reads 2:04. I hadn’t realized it earlier, but I’m absolutely starving.
I still have my school ID with me fortunately, so I decide to head out to the dining hall for a late lunch. They won’t have any of the good stuff available, but there are still premade sandwiches that I could snag as a last resort.
As I walk down the sidewalk to the main building on campus, I pass by a lot fewer people than I normally see. Typically, everyone would be hanging out together outside in groups under trees and in larger open areas. The shooting must have spooked everyone back inside.
It feels somber and disconnected around me, and I’m waiting for one of the classes to end so that I’ll at least see some human faces before I get to the dining hall. I hate how eerie the atmosphere is right now, but I realize that I can’t make it go away on my own.
There’s a new wound on this town, and it’s still picking at the stitches.
The dining hall is a bit more populated, but not by much. I glance around to see if Angelique or Tiffany is around, and I’m content with the fact that they’re not. To be honest, I’d rather eat by myself in silence than hear whatever they have to say about what happened.
I snag one of the last sandwiches from the cooler, wincing as I look at the price listed on the sticker. Everything here is designed for rich people, even the meal plans. I’d never be caught dead buying a sandwich for fifteen dollars in my hometown.
After swiping my ID at the kiosk, I find a spot to sit in the far-left corner of the dining hall. Everyone always fights over the seats by the window where the couches are, and I don’t want to be spotted by anyone who knows me.
I pull the chair out and tuck myself into it, trying to appear as invisible as possible as a group of people shuffle in. At first, I don’t recognize anyone, but then I realize that Eric’s lacrosse team has just finished practice.
Before I have time to get up and leave, he spots me.
“Vera! Let me come invade your space!” he shouts from across the room.
I almost scream involuntarily, but then I realize how inappropriate and unnecessary that would be after such a tragedy. In the wake of something so senseless and violent, sitting with my former crush is really not the worst thing in the world.
Except that now I feel different about him.
