by Elena Monroe
Hayley’s hand was waving in front of my eyes ripped the anger that was starting to boil up away, as if I never thought of him at all.
“Hello… Earth to Oliver. She’s gonna think you either wanna kill her or fuck her if you keep staring at her like that.”
I didn’t realize where my eyes landed or stayed, while I contemplated my direction after college or the wrath of Richard only a few days away. My awareness snapped back to the demure look on her face. It was soft and concerned, like she might have recognized me, but wasn’t sure. I had to look away before it made a dent to my confidence. I was pretty memorable, for the wrong reasons, but still…
Her friend certainly remembered me; her slanted eyes were filled with regret and anger. I’m pretty sure I kicked her out of my bed when she tried to cuddle up to me at some random party—not before getting between her legs though.
I turned back to the girls. “I’m out. I don’t have time for whatever petty shit you two are gonna turn this into.”
Elizabeth’s grin confirmed their intentions as soon as she saw Maddison. Poor girl had been falling for Aspen, got into a wreck, was hospitalized for the better part of the year, and now all my friends were about to eat her alive. We all knew it was Aspen’s fault, but they’d go to any length to protect him—even convincing themselves it was someone else’s fault. Hell, so would I. We’ve all done the most vile things for each other in some ill attempt to right a wrong or harm those who harmed us.
The same question nagged at me: Why didn’t she drive if she was sober? It was the same question motivating them now.
We sounded like a cult. There’s no blood pact or holding anyone hostage. We’ve all had so many bad things happen to us and no one to turn to but each other. A sense of belonging, of family even, that was powerful for anyone.
The entire way back to my place to get Layla, I kept thinking about last year and all the shit I was responsible for, until I heard the gravel beneath my tires. The familiar sound was that of the unfinished driveway, unfinished like me.
I never tried to be anything but what people made me out to be. They saw me, and immediately, they made snap judgments. So I became the best damn version of their brand of bad. It was easy, once I stopped caring what people thought about rules, or finding acceptance in others. My actions gave them cliché titles, like “Difficult Child”, “Out-of-Control Teen”, and “Reckless College Student”. Layla saw past all the bullshit, but seeing past labels and stereotypes didn’t mean she could forgive my past. There was still so much to tell her.
I was on autopilot and just snapping out of it. I grabbed my phone from the cup holder quickly texting Layla who was probably already dressed and anxious to be on time. I got sidetracked by Elizabeth and Hayley’s new motives for the day: Maddison.
Layla immediately asked, “Is everything okay? When did you leave?”
I could hear the concern in her voice. This part of relationships I loathed, I didn’t need someone tracking my every move. I made a point to make my voice stay level as I handed her a coffee. “I can’t go without caffeine.”
I made small talk, asking what classes changed for her, if any. Her face lit up, like it was the first day of the semester back, while she told me about all her classes, even dreading the one with Elizabeth. My stomach was filled with dread too. Elizabeth was already in a state of mind that was paired with a smirk and narrow eyes, which were never a good combination. I didn’t bother to tell Layla about Aspen and Maddison; it would only deflate the excitement that I liked seeing her live in. It made me smile, not smirk, but an authentic smile, like it was contagious and now I was infected.
I saw her nerves pressuring her to get her books together before I even parked. The new brave side of her didn’t stop the anxiousness. It was good to know that some parts of the old Layla I met still existed. Even though, I was sure that I would love her and all her forms. I was never truly comfortable with the idea of love being paired with unconditional. The only unconditional I knew was this group—these Amherst Sinners that I called my friends. They were really more like family. But the idea of evolving with someone was a better idea than possibly losing her one day.
I touched her leg, “You aren’t going to be late, Layla. You still have 15 minutes, and the building is right there.”
I watched her quickly exit my car before I could stop her. When I got out, she was out of breath and frantically looking around, while shoving more books into her bag. It finally clicked. We arrived together, and she was assessing if people were making something of this or not—teaching assistant/student.
It wasn’t as uncommon as people thought, unless you got caught. No one was going to care, since I blended in with the student body and was only a TA, not a full blown professor. I walked around my car against my own judgement. I knew Layla enough to know these moments pleaded for solitude, not comfort. I wanted to take her hand, be official outside our bubble, and mark her as my territory to everyone who could be glancing my way. I was afraid her anxiety would push her over the edge if I did. Instead, I leaned against my car, filling the gap and repeating her name, until she looked at me.
“Coffee and anxiety don’t mix well. Relax. No one is looking,” I told her. Even though, as I glanced up, everyone walking by was looking. This wasn’t my typical look, and people were taking notice. I kept lying to her anyways. She didn’t need an opportunity to run away just like I had.
“I know that, Oliver.”
She looked at me with this look of contempt that made me smirk instantly. She wanted to hate me, but all she could fabricate was this look.
I wanted to take her hand and show her I was permanent—no more running or ignoring this, no matter what. I settled for less: the temptation of being so close that our hands dangling kept bumping into each other when I stood up. The subtle touch would have to get me through instead of my lips pressed against hers.
“I should get to class before I’m late. I’ll see you in lecture?”
I nodded, watching her walk away, before she turned around, looking down, but I caught her taking one last glance. Her fingers danced in the air, waving at me one last time. Just her smile made me feel a way I never had: good.
I stayed behind, not wanting to be on time, as I soaked in this memory with a cigarette between my fingers. My arms were flat against the top of my car next to my coffee cup when the hood of my car dipped lower. My head snapped in the direction of the indenter, ready to be the version of myself people expected.
He wasn’t even perched or leaning, but full on sitting on the hood of my car. He got my attention without trying too hard. That alone made me more angry.
I huffed, “You gotta be kidding me…”
Hunter’s boots, with the white laces, were unmistakable, gleaming in the sunshine that was trying to melt the enormous snowbanks pushed along the edges.
“Aren’t you gonna show me around my new campus?”
I felt my eyes widen at his confession, and internally everything was being fanned into flames.
“Go back to NYU. Layla is in class already.”
He laughed, finally standing and facing me. “She hates being late; I know, Oliver. I had her first, remember? Is it Oliver or Ollie?”
My tongue brushed against my front teeth hard, keeping it busy from helping me reply. I was scanning his body for any truth in what he was saying. I was praying to whoever was listening that he was lying about transferring.
I snapped, “Only Layla calls me Oliver.”
He spoke again; this time his hand landed on my shoulder: “Whichever you hate more I’ll use. Guess I’ll see you around our campus, troglodyte. Don’t worry; I’ll ask Layla for the tour.”
I skipped my first class, kicking my feet up at Intuition, pondering how close they truly got over holiday break. How close could someone get to their attacker? Was it Stockholm syndrome? Did she even forgive him?
I unlocked my phone, quickly typing a message to Layla: Who gave Hunter the idea to transfer
to our school, Layla?
It sounded less harsh than I meant it to. Clearly their break together inspired this action, but I was in the dark still. She was still in the dark about my break too.
My actions didn’t inspire threats against our happiness though.
My first class was with Elizabeth—math. I was good at math; it was predictable and followed the rules. I was there before most of the class. The few other students chose spots spread out from each other. I heard her laugh before I saw her, and when I did, my stomach dropped to the floor, wondering how this would go.
The unknown.
The possible petty.
The feeling of seeing a ghost, but not sure if they’d see you.
I was shocked when she sat next to me, even though there were plenty of seats left. The last time I saw Elizabeth things were rocky. She was filled with jealousy, and I was filled with guilt. The two weren’t a winning pair.
Over break, I mentally punished myself for missing her, despite the drama over Oliver. When we met, we connected in a way I never had before with friends. Her goals, her standards, her work ethic… all aligned with mine. We were equals. We weren’t just friends in a way that’s blasé faire, but rather, we inspired each other. No matter how much closer I became with B, our friendship would never emulate that. And I was learning it was okay to honor what I wanted, even if it meant rocking the boat.
We both turned towards each other ready to speak, when our words collided with each other, making us laugh uncontrollably. It eventually died down into small smiles.
She quickly said, “Me first.”
I nodded, letting her win. I knew she liked winning, and I wanted to hear what she had to say first anyways.
“I acted like a crazy person. I’m so sorry, Layla! I shouldn’t have conspired to break you two up or acted like our friendship was some ploy when it wasn’t. I love us. I felt so guilty about everything, all break, and I even talked to Ollie about it, because you were back home.”
I wondered why Oliver didn’t mention her talking to him about this. It could have easily made my anxiety die down.
I reached out for her hand, giving it a squeeze, even shocking myself before I spoke. “I wasn’t a good friend to you. I felt guilty too! I should have come to you, instead of hiding it and hurting you more. I really didn’t expect any of this, not with him; it just happened. And I’m so sorry.”
She leaned over her desk, wrapping her arms around me tightly, and we both knew we forgave each other in a more honest way than ever before. Our professor, better known as “profs”, grabbed our attention by shouting, “Girls! This isn’t a therapy session. If you’re having difficulty, please excuse yourselves…”
We both pulled away, with our eyes wet and sniffling it all back in. She replied loudly, “These damn equations. So damn emotional!”
The class laughed all together, like they supported our reunion too. Once her attention was back to the mathematical equations, I pulled out my phone from behind my notebook. I was going to start typing angrily, asking Oliver why he didn’t tell me that Elizabeth had spoken to him about me over break, when I noticed that he had already texted me. I knew we had just mended things, and we still had a lot to talk about. Neither of us really wanted to face the hard stuff if we didn’t have to. That seemed like a pretty important topic to skip, especially if I could relieve any anxiety that was brewing inside me.
His text was snide and filled with contempt, and it took my breath away: Who gave Hunter the idea to transfer, Layla?
Hunter was transferring? How did he know that? And he thought it was my idea?
Hunter and Oliver were oil and water, sitting heavily on each other but never breaking the surface of each other—constantly, battling for dominance.
I hadn’t forgiven him, in fact the whole holiday break we mocked each other mercilessly about it. With every toxic kiss he stole, he begged for my forgiveness. We had moved past that night into some limbo territory I couldn’t name, but I still felt uneasy if I thought about it too hard. I couldn’t figure him out. Did he know he forced me, or not? Did he know I was too drunk, or not? Did he know what kind of fire he was playing with every time he called me “princess”.
And now he brought that same fire to Oliver’s proverbial doorstep—his campus, his friends… even I was his.
I kept starting a text only to delete it and start over the rest of the math class. I easily blocked out the equations and numbers I didn’t care about as much. I ended up not texting one word back, and the sound of everyone getting up all at once shook me from my inner monologue.
Elizabeth hunched over me, “You okay? You’ve been staring at your phone the whole class.’’
My eyes pinched into a worrisome look, and my brows tensed in a way I was forcing a headache to come on.
“Maybe… I don’t know,” I stumbled around the truth, not sure if Elizabeth should be the first person I spoke to before Oliver. Hunter was an arsenal, and she already had a habit of loving fire power. I got up, letting her arm link with mine, the way we use to before Oliver defined her as family and me as something else.
Math was two hours long, and we both needed caffeine again, as if we didn’t sip our coffees slowly the whole class, stretching it out as long as possible.
On the way there, I blurted it out—the news seemingly begging to come out of me and be burdened by someone else too: “Hunter transferred here. Oliver thinks I gave him the idea.”
She stopped walking and stared at me, like I confessed to murder, with her eyes wide and mouth wordlessly open. She stammered, trying to find the right reaction. The one her face made for her said enough. “Why would he… What really happened over break? Did you forgive him?”
I didn’t know how to explain our limbo out loud. No one wanted to hear the redemption story of someone like Hunter, and I still wasn’t sure he’d ever be redeemed with me.
“It’s complicated…”
She laughed, raising her eyebrows my direction, “That’s what we said about Oliver. Complicated is never not trouble.”
She didn’t push, beg for more, or prod, like B would have, and I was thankful. The rest of the walk to caffeine was cold, and silence fell between us in a comfortable way. Heat poured from the door of Intuition, as we slinked inside to the counter first. I scanned the room for Oliver, but he wasn’t anywhere in sight. I was almost relieved, but disappointment came first. He had abandoned routine already. Could I expect silence next?
I was too busy scanning the room, hoping he’d appear if I looked away for the slightest second. I slammed right into someone on my way to the pick-up station, jolting me out of my search mission. I looked up to say “sorry”, but I was met with a familiar devilish smirk and not the one I wanted.
“Watch where you’re going, princess.”
I squinted at his nickname, still hating every ounce of it, even after two months of it replacing my birth name. “What kind of game are you playing? You didn’t once mention transferring…”
I was more than reaching my limit on things not being said. Keeping secrets, especially ones not worth it, felt like the old version of me—the one that was sheltered from information, talked over, and around. I demanded more now in my more comfortable skin.
He took a big bite of a burger and proceeded to speak with his mouth full, standing in front of me. He was on campus five minutes, and he was already much cooler than I was, discovering the coffee shop instantaneously. “I’m hurt, Layla. You know me a little better than that. I got bored of NYU.”
He was patronizing me now. I did know him; we went to the same school since pre-k, but he was more of a mystery than Oliver. Hunter was all bad intentions and calculated jabs. I didn’t know anything real about him, other than he hated his stepmom, who was clearly a child bride to his father, who easily could have been three times her age. And I only learned that by mistake. I picked him up for coffee on day, and instead of staying safely in the car, I decided to get out and knock, announcing
my presence. I guess curiosity finally got the best of me, when it propelled my feet to his doorstep. His stepmom answered in a bikini top and jean shorts cut too short for “mom” status. Her makeup was more than I had seen a mom wear in a long time—complete with thick lashes and a Barbie pink lipstick. I was stunned, but it gave me something to go on—some sort of answers to Hunter.
“No one gets bored of NYU. Why are you really here?”
His arm swung around me, pulling me into his side, and I could smell the mayonnaise. “It got old. How else am I gonna spend time with my new bestie?”
I rolled my eyes harder than I ever had before. “Weekends? Like normal people, Hunter.”
He leaned in, whispering into my ear, as he held me closer, “I’m not normal, Layla.”
My whole body was stiff and planted from moving, as he swayed, moving while chomping down on his burger. “Is this some kind of revenge scheme? Oliver and I are fixing things. You don’t need to interfere.”
He pulled away, looking shocked at my judgment. “Scheme? Me, scheme? Come on, Layla. Scheming takes work. I’m anti-effort.”
Elizabeth handed me my coffee, and I could tell by her smile she was listening the whole time. I didn’t blame her. Hunter had this ease to him that even the world’s darkest joke could be funny if it came from his mouth. He stared at her extra-long before taking his coffee. “You’re Oliver’s ex, right?”
She nodded her head yes, and just like that, Hunter controlled her emotions—one minute he was funny, and the next, he was jabbing at the soft parts, where we keep our feelings.
“We’re gonna be fast friends.”
I could tell she was enamored by him, despite what she learned in that alleyway. I was learning she had a type—cruel, unusual, trouble... They say you seek what you think you deserve in others. If I felt myself pull towards Oliver, that must have meant I saw myself as broken and unpredictable.