“I understand.” I take the paper and read a small portion of it. “I have to write an article on a mental disease?” I want to clarify. If so, what the hell will be my topic? There are so many, it’ll take me forever to choose just one.
“Yes.” She nods. “You have till the end of this semester to hand it in. That gives you plenty of time to perfect it. This program only accepts a small handful of students, so make it good.”
I nod and scan over the possible topics given to me. And that’s when it happened. Something clicked in my head, and a memory passed across my mind. “I think I have the perfect topic already…” I tell her.
Chapter Sixteen
The moment I enter my dorm room, I find Julia and Jaimie laughing on Julia’s bed, but they cool down when I sit on my bed, hands folded in my lap. I don’t mean to interrupt their alone time, but the room is also mine, so it isn’t entirely my fault.
“What’s up, Bambi?” Jaimie smiles at me. That’s her nickname for me. I’ve tried to get her to stop calling me that, but she won’t. Supposedly I act and look like the doe-eyed deer. But frankly, I don’t see the similarities.
“I want to go to the party tonight,” I tell her. Maybe going out will help with this unreadable feeling swirling in the pit of my stomach.
Julia raises an eyebrow. “How do you know we’re going to a party? Hell, why do you think there’s even going to be a party?”
“Because you always go to them, and there are parties every weekend. I don’t understand how you don’t get tired of them, but I want to go tonight.”
“Why? You never want to go,” Jaimie says, her eyes squinted in suspicion.
“I thought you hated them,” Julia adds.
Do they need to gang up on me?
“Well, I changed my mind. For this one time.” I shrug and fiddle with the charms on my wrist. I feel my cheeks burst with heat as a result of their interrogation. “Can you take me or not?”
They share a look.
“Sure, but on one condition,” Jaimie says, holding up a finger.
“What?” I feel unsettled with the grin on her face.
“You let me dress you,” she says. “It hurts my eyes to look at you now.” I’m offended. There is nothing wrong with how I look. It’s practical, and there isn’t anything wrong with that.
“What’s wrong with my outfit?” I stand and pull at the beige cardigan that covers my crisp, ironed white button-down shirt. For bottoms, I went for ironed khaki pants and comfortable white Toms shoes. And trust me, you can’t go wrong with Toms.
She makes up her face. “What isn’t wrong with it?”
“She looks like my grandfather with a man bun,” Julia says, then bursts out into wheezing laughter.
I gasp and watch Julia try—but fail—to stifle her own laughter. I truly see nothing wrong with my outfit. In fact, I adore it. They’re neutral colors and comfortable. But I guess I would look better if I were to dress like them, in leather jackets and horrendously tight pants. I bet if I did dress like them, I would either pass out from embarrassment or suffocation.
“Fine,” I huff out and stomp over to the closet. I open the door and scan my clothes. I hum while tapping my chin in concentration. A smile spreads across my face when I find the perfect top and bottoms. I pull the rack out and turn around, holding it up with pride. “What about this?”
Julia flies back on her bed, kicking and hollering in laughter. Jaimie falls back onto my bed with her head in her hands as she laughs, but not as wildly as her girlfriend. Seriously, what is wrong with this outfit? I swear these two have no sense in clothes whatsoever.
In my right hand is a dark brown wool dress that stops just below my knees. If I match it with a black belt and flats, it’d be the perfect outfit, with my hair wrapped up high in a neat bun. After a little swipe of Chapstick, I’m ready.
“Will you two please stop laughing already?” I ask, irritated. I fold the dress over my arm and glare at them. “If you don’t, then I will go in this,” I threaten, and Jaimie immediately stops laughing and stands, waving her hands.
“I’ll help you, honey, don’t worry,” she says. Her eyes take in the dress, and she scrunches up her nose and picks at the fabric with her fingers and lifts it from my arm. “Just sit down and relax. I’ve got this.”
I’m still upset they laughed. I find it quite suitable for a night out, but apparently, I’m the only one thinking about being conservative.
I sit on my bed and pick up my phone with a sigh. If I am going to this party, I want to have Mason by my side. I text him, asking if he’d like to come with us, and he texts back that he will and is getting ready as we speak.
“I shouldn’t be surprised she owns something as atrocious as that,” Julia says to Jaimie, wincing at every item she finds hung up on my side of the closet.
“Shut up, she could have grown up with nuns. Don’t be so insensitive,” Jaimie whispers with a scowl.
I roll my eyes at their rude comments and take off my flats. Snippets of comments fill my head, and I ponder whether they’re right. Maybe I should change up my style a bit…but then I glance at the studded leather jacket Julia pulls out as a suggestion for me and shake away my doubt. You couldn’t pay me enough to dress like her. Or Jaimie; she dresses in tight, bright clothes. Not exactly any better than the other option.
“Got it!” Jaimie turns around, and I gasp in horror at what she clutches in her hand. A crimson off-the-shoulder top and shiny, tight black jeans that make me squirm just thinking about wearing them in her other hand. “This paired with some cute black booties, and I’d smack yours.” She winks at me. I cross my arms as Julia scowls at her girlfriend and nudges her shoulder warningly. Jaimie rolls her eyes and looks at me expectantly. “What do you think, Bam?”
I’m sorry, am I supposed to be lunging for this ridiculously uncomfortable-looking outfit? If so, she must be crazier than I thought.
“I am not wearing that,” I tell her, raising a brow as I question her sanity. I can’t wear jeans for fear of chafing; what makes her think I can wear…those metallic jean…things? “I’ll wear my dress instead.” I take a step forward, but Jaimie shakes her head and thrusts the clothes into my chest.
“Change. We leave in ten minutes,” she instructs, her usual sweet voice now hardened.
Julia grins from ear to ear. “Ah, I love it when she’s all feisty.” She bites Jaimie’s shoulder and receives a giggle and a shake of her girlfriend’s hips.
I look away, wrapping my arms around the clothes, and walk over to my bed. Laying the clothes down, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Maybe they won’t be so bad once they’re on me? I admit I do tend to assume the worst of things beforehand. It’s a horrible habit, I know. I’m trying to quit it, but it’s very hard to do.
I take off my clothes, neatly folding them before placing them in my clothes hamper, and pull on the pants first. I know I’m going to struggle with walking before they’re even on. They slide and stick to my thighs as I yank them up and adjust them to my hips. I button them and pull up the zipper before tackling the top next. Like the pants, it sticks to my mid-riff and settles into my defined curves. I slip on a pair of nice, clean socks before turning and facing the girls.
“I’m ready and mutilated,” I announce, putting my hands on my hips.
Jaimie gasps, and I swear her eyes nearly fall out of her head. “You are so fucking hot!” she exclaims. She jumps up and down while clapping her hands like she just won the lottery.
My cheeks flare at her brazen comment.
“I have to agree, you look fuckable,” Julia says, and I gasp in disgust. Sometimes, I just want to wash out their filthy mouths.
“Let’s just go, please.” I walk over to my dresser and pull out a long, white cardigan that stops at my hips. They “awww” in sadness, but there was no way I was going to leave this room without something covering me.
***
The house is just as loud and chaotic as the first time I
came here. It’s not even eleven yet, and already girls are trashed, and electronic music is bouncing off the walls. The lawn and patches of the floor in here are completely littered with red Solo cups and chicken wing bones. The neat freak in me wants to pick up stray cups and set these wild girls down in beds, but they would only ignore me and destroy the house even more. There’s just no helping these people.
I feel self-conscious as we enter the house and walk into the living room. Shameless guys eye me up and down like I’m a piece of meat and they’re savages. I want to shrink and disappear. Their stares make me ridiculously uncomfortable, and I pull the cardigan tighter around my stomach. I knew this would happen, but I honestly thought the cardigan would be enough to cover me and deter their attention.
I wish Mason was here. He had to cancel last minute due to a lot of homework and another time-consuming assignment. He said it’ll take him the whole weekend to complete. So when he apologized, I waved it off and told him good luck with everything and promised I’d help him tomorrow.
“Hey, I’m Tyler,” Tyler—the drug dealer who spilled his drink on me two weeks ago—croons as he steps in front of me.
“I know, we met two weeks ago,” I tell him, and he looks confused. “You spilled your drink on me.” He still doesn’t remember. How high or drunk—maybe both—was he? And is he still the same way now? By the redness surrounding his iris and the smell of putrid liquor radiating from his ratty Hawaiian shirt, I’d say yes. He’s practically gone from this world.
“Olivia…Ophelia?” I refer to the name he called me, and although he was off, he was close enough for a guy out of his right mind.
His blue eyes light up in realization and he raises the beer in his hand. “Oh, you’re that khaki girl.” He laughs, pointing a finger at me like I’m a joke and takes a large swig from his beer.
My jaw tenses, and I nod. “I’m going to go now.” I turn to the living room.
“You weren’t hot then. What the hell happened tonight?” he hollers, and I gasp and pivot on my feet. How rude can he be? I don’t care about “hotness” or anything equally demeaning, but his words sting. I dress for myself, and I should have stuck to my guns and wore the dress I picked out, because then, no hormone-infected guy could criticize how I look.
I weave through a group of dancing girls. I ignore his snickers and feel my chest tighten as I enter the living room. Smoke threatens to invade my lungs, and I wave my hand. Doing this makes me think about when I first went to the pool area at the arcade. My mind makes an annoying link with Grey, and I stiffen. How is it that I can hate him so much, yet he manages to cloud my thoughts?
Enough about that rude jerk. What I have to focus on now is finding Jaimie and Julia, who kept walking when Tyler, the other jerk, stepped in my way. I begin to search for the two girls when I hear one of them scream over the pounding music.
“Over here, Bam!” Jaimie yells. My eyes immediately rotate in annoyance at her persistence in calling me that. Nonetheless, I follow her voice and end up in front of the couch. She, Julia, Diana, and—my heart jumps a beat when my eyes land on him—Grey are lounging on the couch.
I admit, I didn’t just come here to loosen my mind. I really came here so I could tell him off. I was going to yell at him how bringing up my brother’s death wasn’t fair and that he was being an a-hole for doing it. I made up a whole speech on the way here and imagined jabbing my finger at his chest and cutting off his pathetic excuses to justify himself.
But all of that goes down the drain as my gaze lands on him. Because those dark eyes find mine, and an invisible rope latches around my throat and tightens, making it difficult for anything but psychobabble to leave my heavy lips.
“Where’d you go?” Jaimie asks, putting her head on Julia’s shoulder, who is smoking freely from a white stick I assume Tyler gave her.
It’s hard to find my words, but I shift my eyes to hers and say, “Tyler held me up.”
“I see Miss Prude doesn’t look so prudey,” Diana purrs, a nefarious smirk on her bright red lips. She cackles after Grey whispers in her ear. I feel air stop in my throat, and I slightly frown. What did he say? Was it about me? Was he making fun of me? I’ve only been in this wretched house for five minutes, and already I’m being made fun of by two douches.
“I’m going to the kitchen for some water,” I announce, gesturing my thumb over my shoulder.
“No one cares,” Grey drawls, lazily raising his eyebrows and taking a long drag of a white stick similar to Julia’s. His eyes burn through me and hold a dangerous amount of fire—fire that I want to desperately stay clear of.
I don’t answer him and turn around. I weave through the throbbing crowd and enter the kitchen. A couple is making out on the granite countertop. I feel closed up, my chest tightening and my mind running wild. So I reach up and open the window above the sink. The chilly wind flows through the open space, and I grip the edge of the counter, allowing the air to cool me down. I turn around, eyes screwed shut, and arrange my thoughts.
Grey disrespected me and brought up a wound that’s still fresh and open, and being the prick he is, he poured alcohol on it. Now it’s flaring and sending a wave of pain throughout me. And then, afterwards, he had the nerve to come by my dorm room and manipulate me after he says he was on his way to another girl’s room. Who does something like that?
And to make matters even worse, I have…feelings for him. But I don’t know what they mean or why they’re even there to begin with, because I shouldn’t feel anything for that boy. He’s sarcastic, and rude, and ill-mannered, and tatted, and fights, and…and he’s not someone my parents would ever approve of. So there’d be no point whatsoever.
I wish I’d done a lot of things since coming to this university. Like ignore Julia’s cruel remarks, and her girlfriend’s manipulative ways, and their friend Grey, who seems to have it out for me and me alone, focus solely on my work, and stick closer by Mason’s side, because, out of us two, I am the one at a party that will only wreak havoc on my feet and ears, and he’s in his dorm room studying. That should be me. Hell! That was me until I met Grey. After I met him, everything went downhill. I vow to myself right here and right now to stay away from him and everyone else he’s associated with and get back on track. I have two people in my life I am trying to make proud.
“Hey,” Mateo, Grey’s cousin I met two weeks ago, says, beaming at me as he walks over. Okay, maybe everyone but him. He seems nice.
“Hello,” I reply with a meek smile. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your college?” The last time I saw him, he told me he was in another college but was looking forward to transferring here next school year.
He shrugs. “I like the parties here more.” He holds up a cup and asks, “Want some? You look kind of—and don’t take this the wrong way—depressed.” He shrugs, and I laugh, I don’t know why, but I do. Maybe my body is too tense, and I needed to let some pressure out, like a pressure cooker.
“I swear I don’t mean to be,” I say sheepishly, brushing a piece of stray hair behind my ear. Despite her persistence I follow her every instruction, including makeup, I went against Jaimie’s orders and put my hair into a ponytail. And as I did, the memory of Grey telling me how good I looked with it down rang through my head, so I put it up just to spite him if he were to be here, which he is—unfortunately.
I take the red cup he offered and gulp from it. My nose burns, and my throat clogs up with the powerful drink. I cough and swallow it quickly so it’s out of my throat, which feels like it’s on fire. The substance swishes in my mildly empty stomach and bubbles, making me burp and clutch the counter for support. My head is light, and my eyes are heavy.
“What was that?” I cough into my hand, staring into his light brown eyes.
“Vodka soda, mostly Vodka,” he says, then curses under his breath. “Please tell me you’ve had an alcoholic drink before.”
“Does it look like I have?” I snap and instantly regret it. “Sorry, I just have a lot o
n my mind right now…” I really didn’t mean to snap at him like that. He didn’t know any better. And by his worried expression, I can tell he feels bad.
“I’m so sorry, but it really isn’t that bad,” he insists.
“Tell that to my throat and stomach,” I quip, enlarging my eyes. I feel unsettled and wobbly. And this is only after taking a sip, so imagine if I had drunk more. I can’t drink anymore. If I do, there is no doubt there will not be a good ending.
“I need to sit down,” I say, and he nods frantically and wraps my arm around his shoulder.
“I really am sorry.” I shrug, and he wraps an arm around my waist. “By the way, you look nice tonight.” He beams down at me, and I bask in the warmth of his smile.
“Thank you, Mateo.” He nods and guides me back to the living room. I am about to take a seat when my stomach rumbles and my bladder intensifies. “Never mind, I need to use the restroom.” I feel my cheeks swell with heat, and I give him a smile. He nods and turns around. And then I spot them. Grey and Diana on their way upstairs, to a bedroom, to have…my mind can’t even finish the sentence.
My stomach feels like a thunderstorm, lightning making my skin glow and my cheeks inflate with color. The alcohol flips a switch in my head, and I turn to Mateo and, without thinking about any of the repercussions like I normally would, say, “Do you still have that drink with you? I think I overreacted, and I want some more.”
I want to go back to my plan of telling Grey off, and I need some type of encouragement, especially if that girl is with him. My inner-critical voice yells this isn’t a good idea, but it can’t be any worse than keeping up my polite front and not speaking my mind; I know I will implode if I don’t.
His brows crease, and his lips bow in confusion. “Are you sure? You just got whiplash and you just took a sip—”
“I’m sure,” I cut him off and take the cup from him when I see he’s going to hold it back. He says nothing as I put the rim to my lips and gulp some more. The alcohol burns my throat and fills my nose with a striking odor, but I down more than half of it before he takes it.
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