CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
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2018
Having Chase and Ingrid talk about me was the worst possible scenario.
I didn't care about the content of their conversation, not when its mere existence had immediately raised several red flags in my head, but I knew it couldn't be good. The only connection between the two of them was me and, with Ingrid saying that's what they had been talking about until Savannah and I interrupted them, I had to brace myself for whatever was coming.
I'd been careful. I knew I had, and I had steered away from Chase on campus as much as it was physically possible, so whatever they had been talking about in regard to me couldn't realistically be my fault. Naturally, I could be grossly overrating myself and assuming I could do no wrong just because I thought I'd been on my best behavior lately, and Ingrid had a knack to read between the lines and see things most people never noticed. That made her incredibly dangerous, and a credible threat.
When I glanced at Chase, searching for the bright blue of his eyes, I barely saw a semblance of recognition in them, like he was holding back in case Ingrid and Savannah would notice any traces of complicity between the two of us, and part of me was secretly giddy and excited to have a secret neither of them knew about.
That was the thing about secrets; it was absolutely exhilarating to know you held knowledge only another person in the whole universe shared, your partner, but there was always that nagging feeling that one day the thrill would subside. Someone was bound to get tired of the isolation, and the only thing you could do was hope and pray that you'd survive until it was safe, falling to your knees in empty rooms.
As I stared at them, both so impossibly and unfairly beautiful it was painful to even be in the same vicinity as them, I attempted to remember whether they'd previously interacted with one another with me being involved, but the search results came out mostly blank. I couldn't remember if they'd said two words to each other on the night of the frat party, before or after I got out of the hospital, and that was the only thing that came to mind. Should I really be self-centered to the point of believing I could be a topic of conversation between them?
"Don't worry, we weren't saying anything bad about you," Ingrid said, ever the jokester. I wanted to believe at least someone there sensed my discomfort, with Savannah tightening the hold on my arm and pulling me closer to her, but I'd learned not to take any chances. If anything, people cared whenever there was something in it for them. "I was just pointing out that the last time we all were in the same space together, everyone was panicking, and it's a pretty chill night tonight. Things really do change around here, don't they?"
"I don't think it's appropriate to be discussing that night with a professor," Savannah pointed out, purposefully avoiding looking Chase's way. When she finally did so, she dramatically lowered the volume of her voice like we were insiders in the same conspiracy, like my literal partner wasn't present. "This feels a bit awkward. This is awkward, isn't it?"
"Please." Ingrid tucked a lock of platinum hair behind her ear. Her silver piercings glistened under the blinding lights. "He's fine. Right, Doc?"
"Right," Chase dryly replied, accepting the cocktail the hired bartender handed him from the other side of the bar. I'd recognize a Manhattan cocktail anywhere by then, and Ingrid's eyes darted towards the glass in his hand as soon as she saw me do the same, while I prayed my face didn't reflect the panic swimming in my head. After the conversation we had in that apartment, the worst thing she could do was connect the dots, regardless of how many people in the world drank Manhattans. "If you'll excuse me."
He then walked past us without a single word, without sparing a single glance my way and, regardless of it feeling like a scorching sword through the chest, I still knew it was for the best. The characteristic scent of his cologne, smoky and dry, lingered long after he was gone, and I didn't allow myself to breathe out of fear I'd lose it.
When Ingrid turned to me, still unbothered, I forced myself not to think about what all of this meant. I didn't want to waste time agonizing over her hidden feelings and emotions or what the way she looked at me was trying to convey; it was New Year's Eve, and it wasn't the time for that. That didn't mean I wanted to devote time to worrying about such things outside of New Year's Eve, as I already spent every waking moment of my life being afraid of people's intentions, hidden or expressed, but I wanted everything to remain drama-free between us.
I wouldn't beg her for a damn thing, though.
That would be humiliating, even for my bottom of the well standards, and, for all I knew, it could have been a perfectly innocent conversation. I doubted that, as the few months I'd known her for were more than enough to let me know how calculating she was, and nothing she did ever lacked meaning. Still, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was missing out on something, the gnawing feeling she knew something I didn't and that would eventually come back to bite me.
"We weren't actually talking about you," she told me. "I was just messing with you. I walked up to him while he was waiting for his drink because he looked bored." Ingrid pouted, staring at the general direction Chase had walked away towards. I still felt his presence, not just his scent, and a shiver ran down my spine with the realization I'd never be able to play pretend at the best of my ability. "It should be a crime to look that good while being bored. I would know. Trust me."
"I think you might be a little bit too young for him," Savannah pointed out, finally dropping my arm to approach the bar. I exhaled through my mouth, praying it wouldn't disturb the balance it had taken us months to find, but still couldn't help but hang on to a seemingly innocent comment. If Ingrid, a year younger than me, was too young for Chase, was I that much better? Was it more appropriate? "Besides, he's a professor. I don't think those things are allowed."
"He's not my professor, though."
"He's still a member of the faculty. You could get anyone you wanted; surely he's not the only option."
My hands were shaking at that point, something one could easily attribute to the cold weather, but I knew myself better than that. They had unknowinglyâor so I hopedâtouched a sore subject, and I was falling victim to my fears and anxieties thanks to that, drowning out of water. The age difference I could handle; it was something we'd both known about since the first night, but there were other powers at stake, like his position. He'd drilled all that information into my brain months ago, and we'd both accepted the risks, the sacrifices, and the potential consequences, but I still couldn't let certain things go.
I could handle the age difference. Savannah had once dated a guy in his thirties, so her advice was purely hypocritical to me, and I wasn't even paying attention. An inferiority complex could be influenced by various factors, and though age sometimes played a part in mine, it wasn't what rested at its core. The main issue was the mere essence of Chase's existence and how I'd never compare to him, how I'd never truly be an equal to him, even after being free from the constraints of this institution. The problem lay with me, ultimately, not him, and my inability to stop comparing myself to everyone. Even once we got older and wiser, it would still not be enough.
Ingrid laughed. All the hairs on my neck rose, scalding hot panic spreading from neuron to neuron. "See, that's the thing. I'm not interested. He's not my type." Her eyes bore deep into mine, cerulean blue under the lights. My lips stretched into a small smile, one I hoped would make her feel more at ease, but it didn't have that effect on me. Everywhere I looked, all I saw was red. "Drinks? I'm keeping an eye on the bartender myself. I've been following him across the bar every time he makes me a drink, and I'm pretty sure I'm this close to getting his number."
I relaxed my shoulders. "Sure."
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2019
I hardly passed my finals with flying colors.
My grades were fine, past mediocre, but they weren't the perfect ones everyone expected me to getâindustry parents, and all. To say people were disappointed in me was an understatement, but it was also my first semester of college, so there was still plenty of time to regain control of my life and get back on track. I was more disappointed in myself than anyone else, so, the second I was able to meet my unrealistic expectations for my academic performance, I'd be satisfied.
With my best grade being Film Theory, I spent around a week debating whether that was a good thing or not. Being ahead of the curve would make me stand out and attract unwanted attention, potentially leading to speculation I wasn't well equipped to deal with, and I didn't want to be a walking red flag. Not getting a good grade, on the other hand, wouldn't sit well with Chase, who expected me to excel at the course he taught, and I wanted so badly to impress him, to get a pat on the back for doing the right thing for once. It was the only way I could earn his respect academically, at least in a non-suspicious manner; showing interest in what he taught did me no good if I couldn't apply that interest and theoretical knowledge into practice.
The days leading up to my twentieth birthday were spent in a haze, both from mental exhaustion thanks to a demanding finals season and everything else going on in my life, and from the mind-numbing cold.
Sometime after the new year, I made two life-changing decisions: I started going to the gym with Ingrid (terrible idea) and got myself a therapist. Neither of those things would work the way I wanted, considering I could never be completely honest with my therapist and my overwhelming paranoia. Even with Ingrid insisting no one was staring at me at the gym and no one really cared about what I was doing there, fear still prickled the back of my neck whenever I felt watched. I'd turn around and find no one staring at me, but that would only send my mind into overdrive as I examined every possible scenario.
No one was staring because I was that unimportant. No one was staring because my reflexes were far too slow, and they had looked away, found a hiding spot before the alarms in my head started blaring. No one was staring because everyone was part of a bigger conspiracy to stalk me and expose me for the fraud I was, for the liar I was. No one could convince me I hadn't seen Paul and his frat buddies around campus. That was something they couldn't take away from me.
Going to the gym hadn't done me any wonders. I still felt as weak as before, perhaps even more, and my unbearable fear of looking ridiculous was more overpowering than my desire to not look so gaunt, so I was on the verge of quitting. Therapy, on the other hand, had proved to be slightly more useful, as I wasn't burdening Chase with my stupid feelings, and it helped me clear my head instead of dumping it all on him thanks to bottled up stress and frustration.
It felt nice having someone to talk to, even whilst omitting some details, though I had yet to learn to shake off the thought that I was bothering and annoying my therapist.
I told my therapist about my fears and anxieties, the constant feeling of never being good enough, the conflicting desires to make a name for myself and not wanting to disappoint my parents by veering too far from their expectations and dreams of who I'd become. I told them about the sheer terror that washed over me when I woke up on that bed, when I realized what had happened and what was about to happen to me, when I was hiding in the safety of my loft and realized what could have happened to me and what I'd have to deal with moving forward. I told them about the responsibility I'd never asked for, about feeling ostracized and watched, about the target on my back, about wanting to do what was right but not wanting to get my hopes up.
I didn't necessarily feel like we were getting anywhereânot that long had passed since the start of our sessionsâbut I was entertained and relieved by the knowledge that there was a neutral party in this world that would listen and help me get that anchor away from my chest.
The evening of my birthday, I was alone in my loft.
After blowing off my parents and neglecting to pay any attention to the two girls who would become my roommates in a matter of weeks, I was all alone with my expensive furniture and designer clothes, feeling sorry for myself. I stared at my reflection in my vanity mirror, miserable, and pressed a hand against my collarbones in an attempt to make them not bulge out as much. Ingrid's voice echoed in my head, arguing the gym would help me with that, but she didn't understand I couldn't be there.
I went through the trouble of dressing up in my most beautiful dresses, clothing I promised I'd only wear for special eventsâmovie premieres, important dinners, weddingsâstyled my hair, and put on makeup, even though I had nowhere to go. I'd had a violent anxiety attack that morning during a lecture and hadn't had the courage to show my face on campus since then, so I wouldn't risk going out by myself. If I were able to be a good person and a good friend, I'd reach out to Savannah and Ingrid, after spending the whole day ignoring any and every single one of their attempts at contacting me, but that wouldn't happen.
It was just me in a golden cage, bleeding in a pretty dress with no one to impress.
My only lifeline was Chase, but I wouldn't extend that branch. Ever since the New Year's Eve party, he'd been distant and aloof, far out of my reach, and I'd stayed quiet, certain I had done something to upset him. I was too much of a coward to run after him, especially when so many of the faculties' eyes were glued to him to assess his first semester of lecturing, and forced myself to stay put, regardless of how badly everything in me ached.
Halfway through a bottle of Sauvignon Blancâagain, another thing I should be saving for a special occasionâI was dancing around my room with my phone, scrolling through social media. It was a Friday evening and people were going out, seeing the bright lights of the city, and I could only assume my neighbors thought I, too, was having fun with my blaring music. I welcomed the lightheadedness then, the feeling of floating above my floorboards, elegant even while wearing heels, and didn't even care about my smudged lipstick.
For my birthday, I would spin around my room, the fabric of my red dress swirling like red wine on a cup, and I'd feel beautiful then, like I was invincible even in my loneliness. Even when the dark corners of my loft stared back at me and laughed, I was past the point of caring because I'd never felt so highâjust me and my wine and my riches and my self-pity. Every glimpse of myself I caught on reflective surfaces attracted me like a moth to a flame, too narcissistic to not check if I still looked good, if I was still beautiful.
Social media told me Chase had gone out with old college friends. I was still lucid enough at that pointâbarely soâto know I could still be trusted with not liking what I shouldn't, not commenting on stories, not attempting to follow anyone, and I watched his life pan out right before my eyes like the movie of my life I'd been excluded from. It was his story, the story of his life, and I'd be fooling myself if I thought I'd ever get a starring role this early on. I'd be lucky to even be credited as an extra, the silly little girl in the background.
I stopped spinning.
The girl standing on the other side of my full-length mirror stopped moving, too, the waves of her dress undulating softly with the loss of momentum. She stared right back at me, wide-eyed, red lipstick smeared across her cheek, and her dark hair loosened from the updo in defeat. I stepped back, chest heaving from all the strenuous effort I had put my body through just because I'd wanted to feel good about myself for once, but that would always be an external illusion. I'd look good, I'd look beautiful, but I'd still be so rotten on the inside, like something was pulling me apart from the inside out, and no pretty dresses would ever make me feel otherwise.
Beautiful or not, I was still miserable. I was bleeding out in my room, alone on my birthday and unable to see all those wounds, and realized that was all I'd ever amount to be.
It wasn't a good start to my twenties. It was supposed to be fun.
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hello x i am still doing terrible. thank you so much for asking
on a side note: i am once again begging people to not ask me when the next update is coming. i don't know! writing this book makes me want to cry! thank you for your patience! we're finishing it this year!