CHAPTER FOURTEEN
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2018
In my defense, I did try to go back to college immediately.
Though my weekend had been, generally speaking, uneventful whenever I managed to keep my memories about the frat party at bayâat least those I'd keptâand I'd used my free time to catch up on reading and college work, I'd also been all by myself at the loft, with Chase having left on the early hours of Saturday morning. I hadn't heard from Savannah and Ingrid at all, but perhaps that had been for the best; who knew if I'd snap at either of themâmaybe bothâthe second I heard their voices or read their words?
I finished Dune on Saturday, marked it as complete on my reading journal, then moved to the next book on Chase's listâNausea by Jean-Paul Sartre. I felt suddenly overwhelmed by the dense literature he had recommended, going straight from a cult-favorite Science Fiction book to Philosophy when I was stuck at home with a concussion, but I couldn't bear the thought of ever disappointing him or making him think I wasn't cut out for his world. Though I had little to no interest in Philosophy, I'd grown up listening to my father talk about Sartre like he was an old friend he used to drink coffee with, and he had attemptedâand failedâto spark an interest in Existentialism in me, as he had turned me into a miniature film geek just by bringing me to his sets. Exposure worked, I supposed, and maybe this book would end up saving my life or changing it in any way; if both Chase and my father praised this man's work, that certainly had to count for something.
I quickly found I could not get into it.
I was horribly stressed out, dreading the week ahead of me, the week I'd miss of college, a clear reminder the world would always keep spinning and life would go on without me, regardless of my protests. I couldn't handle this weird, uncanny world, something that felt so absurd to me even though I'd lived here my whole life, and I had to stop and remind myself this was supposed to be normal. People with concussions didn't usually dive into books with deep meaning, and there was no valid reason for me to force myself to do so.
Thus, I went back to bed, turned off all the lights, closed my blinds, and didn't come out from under the covers for the rest of the day. I didn't feel strong enough to face the real world, not like this, and I knew word about the frat party and my subsequent trip to the ER would come out eventually and reach my parents' ears. I didn't want to explain any of it to them, much like I didn't want this to reflect itself on their reputation, and, sometimes, I wish I could simply cease to exist so I wouldn't put everyone in harm's way anymore. Everything I'd done at the party could be used against me, even my attempt at defending myself, even the skin and blood under my fingernails, and the mere thought of being accused of causing the whole ordeal made me sick to my stomach.
So, on Monday, I got out of bed against my better judgment and drove to college. Things would never go back to normal, not when I walked with a target on my back, already attracting more attention than I appreciated, and now, more than ever, I needed to stay discreet and pretend I wasn't present.
I'd made sure to leave my loft early enough to guarantee I'd be one of the first people to get to the auditorium, just in time for Film Theory, but I knew it wouldn't sit well with Chase. Maybe I could make it better somehow, if I tried to make him see I was making an effort to not fall behind, especially in the class he taught, or maybe I could find a way of justifying me being there that wouldn't make him second guess having stayed with me.
It was far from fair of me to drag him into this, but I hadn't had anyone else to call for help. Regardless of how much I tried to rationalize things, to find a decent, plausible explanation for pulling him into my mess, every excuse always fell flat at my feet, and I was left with nothing.
No seat in the auditorium was occupied when I got there, but the door was open, meaning someone was inside. It was way past the time the cleaning staff would stop by, and no student had a key to open these doors, which could only mean one thing.
He didn't notice me at first. He sat at his desk, reading a book I couldn't identify from the entrance, but he wasn't wearing his glasses, so it must have been a contacts kind of day. I momentarily considered turning on my heel and leaving, unsure if I would be able to face him as soon as he realized I hadn't followed his directions and stayed in bed, but he was so at peace, so lost in his own world while reading I couldn't move or even look away from him. He almost looked like a student, if it weren't for my prior knowledge, a dark reminder there would always be a deep chasm between us inside these walls, and I needed to keep my distance.
As if he felt my presence, he set the book aside, then looked up. "You should be resting."
"I really couldn't," I replied, in a low voice, and finally found enough courage to enter the lecture hall. It was still early and there were barely any people in the building, but I knew I couldn't risk raising my voice after assuming we were in the clear. We would never be safe around these vultures, everyone who could threaten our little perfect bubble. "Just thinking about falling behind made me sick to my stomach."
"You wouldn't fall behind. If you're really that concerned, I can email you the notes for my lectures. Your friend can handle everything else; don't you two take the exact same classes?"
"It's not the same. I like being here." I paused, briefly glancing at the book resting on his desk. He was reading Ready Player One, something he'd been trying to get into for weeks now, and a spark of guilt struck right through my chest. If this was the only time he was able to have a moment of peace to read, so early in the morning before his first lecture, it meant he was too busy during the rest of the day; his job occupied a great portion of his life, but then there was me. Maybe I was monopolizing him too much, making him neglect his personal and social life just to spend time with me, and I'd made him stay with me after the frat party. Hadn't I delayed his life enough? "I like listening to you."
He looked almost apologetic as he sighed. "You can come back next week."
"Butâ"
"This isn't up for discussion. If you won't take care of yourselfâ"
"I'm not a kid, Chase. You don't need to treat me like I'm a teenager."
"You're acting like one right now."
"So I'm mature enough to date you, but I'm not mature enough to attend my lectures?"
He instantly stiffened and, if my guilt hadn't been deadly before, it sure as hell was now.
It was a low blow, I knew that, and I'd never expected to play this dirty, but I couldn't let anything get in the way of my education, especially not a stupid concussion. Howeverâand the biggest issue was sprinkled all over itâit wasn't acceptable to bring Chase or my relationship with him into this, when, for all I knew, he wasn't doing anything wrong. If anything, I was the one breaking all the rules, the biggest threat, and any wrong moves would dictate the end of his career, whereas I'd still get to keep studying. People might give me the stink eye and my reputation would be burned and charred to the ground, but I'd survive. Like he'd said, the rules existed to protect me.
If nothing or no one would protect him, I'd have to step forward and do it myself.
Nevertheless, against all odds, he didn't back away when I risked an affectionate gesture. My fingers timidly trailed across the desk, resting on the back of his hand, then everything stoppedâmy racing thoughts, his breathing, the world around us. There might as well be no one else in the world with the electricity crackling in the room, and it felt much more intimate than the usual sneaking around we did, lacking the adrenaline that would shoot up my nerves then. I was the furthest thing from relaxed, but, for a split moment in time, we allowed ourselves to be anywhere but here, anyone but the two of us, and things were okay.
"You should go before anyone comes," Chase told me. If I reluctantly paid attention to the background noise, I could hear the rustling of people in the hallways as they rushed towards their first lecture of the day, including this one, which meant our time together was running out. If I kept overstepping and shattering his boundaries, soon, he would be gone. "I'll email you."
"Please," I begged, as he drew back his hand, but not before giving my fingers a gentle squeeze, as though he, too, wanted to spare my feelings. My feelings hardly needed to be spared at a time like this. "Please, let me stay. I'llâ"
"Penny?"
We both jerked up with the sound of Savannah's voice, half because we didn't want her to see or hear anything she wasn't supposed to and ruin everything for us, half because she was using that dreadful nickname, reminding me people would never hesitate to be condescending. She knew I hated it, but constantly shrugged off my protests as mere pettiness and I'd quickly learned to keep my mouth shut since it felt like no sounds were ever coming out of my mouth.
The silent screams had always been the loudest.
"I thought you were staying home," she told me, once she was close enough to Chase's desk. He had picked the book back up, whereas my hands were now hidden inside the deep pockets of my coat, grasping at the fabric to keep my fingers occupied with something. "What are you doing here?"
"Iâ"
"I'll email you the notes after class," Chase said, still hidden behind the book, and I knew I couldn't fight him on this any longer with Savannah standing right next to me and listening to the whole thing. My breath got hitched in my throat, heart thumping furiously against my chest. "I'm certain your classmates from your other classes won't mind sharing their notes with you. In the meantime, I'll let your professors know you'll be absent for the rest of the week."
He threw a pointed look at Savannah, hinting she should be the one to do so, and I knew he was happy to have a witness, someone he could use to prove his point and get me to go home. I couldn't do anything to stop this, as she still felt in debt to me after the frat party, but she also had that stupid, infuriating crush on Chase and a debilitating, pathological need to please everyone. I knew I suffered from the same curse, although my feelings for him went past and were much, much deeper than a superficial, childish crush, and I was well aware of the lengths I'd go for him. Savannah would never understand, as she didn't have a bond with Chaseâor anyone elseâlike the one I had with him, and she wouldn't understand why I couldn't keep things casual. She'd think it was something one could easily get over.
However, I had to admit I hadn't expected him to use Savannah against me. Betrayal didn't slice right through me or anything of the sort, but it still left a bitter taste in my tongue when I realized he hadn't hesitated to do so. Even though he had to keep a professional posture when other students were around, especially those so deeply ingrained into my personal life, I still deserved some respect, much like some autonomy. My choices and my decisions had to matter sometimes, certainly, but I was beginning to doubt just how right I actually was.
If I had a concussion, I shouldn't be making any unnecessary efforts. Considering how badly I wanted to fall asleep during most of my lectures and how hard it was for me to stay focused instead of allowing my mind to drift towards mysterious places, perhaps Chase really was right and I was wrong. Like at the hospital, all he wanted to do was ensure I was okay and safe, and there I was, pushing him away like it was nothing, like it meant nothing.
"I can totally send you my notes," Savannah said, clasping my hands in hers. I couldn't refuse, not like this, so I just nodded. Chase's eyes met mine for a split second and, for that moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate the tiniest bit. "You really should go home and rest, babe."
To me, being called babe always felt so patronizing, the word crawling underneath my skin and wrapping around my blood vessels, and blood quickly rushed through my head. I hated being treated smaller than I was, younger than I was, and I'd spent my whole life being told I was so mature for my age, yet this kept happening. I didn't need to be babied, and I certainly didn't need to be bossed around.
Defeated, I left the lecture hall, throwing one last look at Chase over my shoulder, and pushed my way through the crowd. I wasn't strong enough to handle an entire week of demanding, stressful lectures, and I certainly wasn't strong enough to walk the opposite way from the vast majority of people, so it wasn't shocking that I was shoved aside, over and over. I was far from being claustrophobic, but I was used to being by myself and having a private, personal space no one could invade, and the walls and the people were closing in around me.
I barely choked out a breath once I made it outside, hot tears prickling the corners of my eyes, but still refused to cry in public. I'd already attracted too much attention by being here this morning and at the lecture hall; even if it was narcissistic of me to think people cared enough about me to even look at me twice because I was crying, stranger things had happened to me.
The campus courtyard, brown, gray, and white, signaling the imminent shift into winter in just a few weeks, was spinning around as fast as a merry-go-round, threatening to throw me off it when I least expected it. I stumbled towards the parking lot, choking on my own breath and sobs, suddenly overcome by a wave of odd nausea, and couldn't help but wonder if this was how Antoine Roquentin had felt. Perhaps he, too, just wanted everything to stop before it got any stranger.
Inside my car, I tried to remind myself of its familiarity. I'd owned it for over a year now and had bought it myself using the money I'd earned from my various summer jobs, some of them with my father, and it was one of the few things I was happy to call mine (running the risk of sounding obsessively repetitive, along with Chase, but only sometimesâonly when I was allowed to). Like me, it didn't stand out unnecessarily, and there were much pricier cars parked around me, so I knew no one would glance at me from the corner of their eye and think I was arrogant or thought I was above everyone else because my parents were so filthy rich.
I stared up at my rearview mirror, staring back at my reflection, and forced myself to smile. It didn't quiver once, but it still failed to fully reach my eyes, a skill I'd never really managed to master. I kept staring at myself, well aware of how utterly pathetic and stupid I looked, and focused on controlling my breathing, refusing to look out of the windows.
If I did, I'd notice Savannah's friends standing nearby, examining their surroundings, and it had been a miracle that they hadn't spotted me as I ran towards my car. That was a Pandora box I didn't feel like opening at the moment, but I knew it wouldn't be healthy to constantly be scared of them and go to great lengths to avoid these people. I'd yet to hear back from the detectives, but knew they had access to the poor excuse of a statement I'd given them and to whatever results the hospital's exams had been, so they knew about the DNA underneath my fingernails. However, I was just one person and there was strength in numbers, so the optimistic part of my brain wanted to believe they'd accept my advice and reopen former investigations, listen to the other victims, the ones whose lives had actually been ruined. I'd handle myself, even if I was losing sleep and was unable to follow my old routines out of fear I'd cross those guys' paths.
I momentarily considered getting a therapist, just for a while, just to get this in check, but I knew I'd never be able to be fully honest with anyone who wasn't Chase, exactly because of his presence in my life. I feared for what would happen if I told a therapist the truth about who had saved me from that party, wondering if it was information that would get to stay between the four walls of that office, seeing as no laws were being broken, or maybe I'd be considered a risk for myself or others just because of that. I needed to talk to someone before I explodedâChase didn't have a Psychology degree, unfortunatelyâand maybe someone out there would understand what I was going through, even if there were certain details I had to omit.
There were things I could fix by myself, though, and I knew exactly where to start.
The world around me was quieter now.
Inhaling softly, I started the car, just so I'd have access to the bluetooth system and be able to call someone while driving instead of crashing and killing myself in the process. This also came with the added bonus of making me remember to turn on the heater, returning feeling to my extremities, and I clenched my fingers around the steering wheel.
"Hola, Penny," my mother greeted, on the other end of the line.
"Hola," I replied. "I need to ask you a favor. It's mostly out of curiosity, but it's also kind of . . . important."
"What's up?"
"Is there any way you and Dad can invite Stephen Delaroux for dinner?"
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fun fact: the "so i'm mature enough to date you" line was the first thing i wrote this year which means this one chapter took me a whooping TWO WEEKS to write. the explanation is that i hate chase's guts and i hate writing him that's it