“You ready to go?” Micah asks when he pops into my room.
“Yeah.” I shove my textbooks for the day into my backpack and zip it. Slinging it over my shoulder, I catch the smirk on his face. “Is something funny?”
“You weren’t lying about never going to classes,” he notes, to which I sneer. “Easy on the eyes, Guppy. But you can leave the books at home. First week is nothing but getting the syllabus.”
“What if I need them?”
He slips his hand under the strap of my bag and pulls it off my shoulder. “Trust me, you won’t.” He takes out the texts and tosses them onto my bed, leaving my spiraled notebooks and folders inside. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I take my bag, which is pounds lighter, and follow him down to the parking garage.
The two of us were able to coordinate our schedules enough so we pretty much have the same class times a few days a week. Though, we don’t actually have any together.
“You need me to walk you to class to ensure you aren’t going to skip out?” he teases, completely unaware of how deep his comment actually cuts.
“Very funny.”
He laughs and gives my knee a squeeze as we make our way over to the university.
The holidays came and went slowly. My mom flew over for Christmas because I still couldn’t stomach the idea of going back to Tampa. It was great seeing her, but at the same time, I was miserable, having to pretend to be better than what I really am.
I don’t need her to know that I’m not sleeping at night, that I’m terrified of the dark, that I still find myself crying when I try to fill in the stolen hours of my life. How did it happen? How did he touch me? Where did he touch me? Was it violent? These questions still haunt me.
And then there was Micah’s surf competition at the beginning of January. He did amazing and ended up making the top ten. It was a great trip and a momentary distraction from everything else. I was so proud of him and happy that I was there to see how excited he was to do so well.
It’s been three months since I left Tampa. Week by week, the gaping hole in my heart where Kason was ripped out of me is slowly starting to heal. But it isn’t as if I still don’t hurt from the mere thought of him—I do—just not as badly as I used to. When my mom was here for Christmas, I wanted to ask her how he was doing, if he has moved on, if he hates me, if he forgives me, if he knows how much it killed me to leave him behind. I never said anything, though. Instead, I bit my tongue so often that it eventually bled.
Now, here I am, taking another step into this new beginning of mine. A fresh start at a new school that will hopefully help guide me back to the old me.
I stare out the window in awe as Micah drives around the campus. Students file along the sidewalks that hug the impeccably manicured lawns, which are lined with beautiful palm trees. Everything is bright and fresh and feels nothing like the USF campus at all. Optimism makes an appearance, and for the first time in what feels like a long time, I’m actually excited.
Micah parks his truck, and since we have some time before classes start, he leads me on a brief tour, pointing out the buildings where my classes are. He then takes me over to the Student Center, which backs up to a beautiful lake with grand palm trees. Nothing about this place reminds me of my time at USF. As we walk across one of the bridges, I stop and lean against the railing to take in the view. When Micah sees the subtle smile on my face, he leans in close, saying, “You should’ve been here from the start.”
I look at him, feeling a bitterly sweet pinch inside me, and nod. Because no matter what choice I would’ve made, in the end, I would’ve lost Kason. If I had been here from the start, I wouldn’t have had to endure the nightmare of that horrific night.
“At least I’m here now.”
He casually drapes his arm around my shoulders, and we begin walking again. “Come on. You don’t want to be late on your first day.”
We head back over to the Memorial Building and make plans to meet up after our classes are done before we go our separate ways.
When I make it to my class, most of the seats are already taken so I find an empty one toward the back. I pull out my notebook and watch as students file in until every chair is occupied. I glance to my side where an overly tanned girl sits. She wears a shirt donning her Greek letters, and I look away the moment my gut twists in memories of Lana.
As soon as the professor takes his place behind the podium, I open my notebook. After a brief introduction, he hands out the semester syllabus. As the stack gets passed around from student to student, my eyes catch on a guy seated a few rows down. In a split second, my body pricks in chills, and I swear to God, it’s Liam. I’m frozen solid, staring at the back of his head in the fear I’m trying to hide. Everything in me screams to leave this class, but I can’t move. I can barely breathe.
“Hey,” the girl next to me whispers while giving me a nudge.
I turn to her and find that she’s holding out the stack of papers for me. “Oh, sorry.”
I take one and pass the rest along, my focus fixing back to the guy, and I’m finally able to let go of the breath I’ve been holding when he turns around to say something to a girl seated behind him. My lungs deflate as I get a good look at his face, which is nothing like Liam’s. Dropping my head into my open palm, I realize I’m sweating, and I give myself a quick pep talk and do my best to refocus. I hone in on the professor as he goes through the class outline and explains the curriculum, all the while, feeling the flames of lingering fright burning low in my gut.
I’m one of the first out of the classroom after he dismisses us, and I find my way to my math class, which is in the same building. I have about ten minutes before it starts, so I settle myself against the wall as classes empty out. At one point, the walkway becomes entirely too congested, flaring my anxiety as everything closes in around me. I shut my eyes, standing flat against the wall, and when I open them back up, the crowd of people is already dissipating.
As I wait, a few more students gather by the door that’s still closed. Pulling out my cell to disconnect from my stress, I find a text waiting for me.
Kate: Trent is an asshole!
I read the text a couple of times, wondering what on earth he could’ve done before responding.
Me: Why? What happened?
I wait for her to text me back, but I see the first text she sent me was nearly an hour ago. When the door opens, I wait for the class to empty out before shoving my phone back into my pocket and stepping in. This time, I opt for a seat in the front row. It’s another hour of going over the syllabus, but all the while, I can’t shake the irrational feeling that Liam is seated somewhere behind me. I know he isn’t. I know I’m safe here in Miami, so why do I still feel the ghost of him?
Before I know it, the hour is up, and I’m heading across the lawn to the Cox Building for my last class of the day, which doesn’t actually start for another hour. I find a spot next to a palm tree to wait and pull out my phone.
Kate: Are you at the condo?
Me: No. I’m on campus, waiting for my class to start.
Kate: Thank God! I’m here, too. How long until your next class?
Me: An hour.
I then tell her where I’m at, and ten minutes later, she’s walking over to me.
“What’s going on?”
She drops her bag onto the ground before plopping down next to me. “I swore I’d never be this girl.” I raise my brows, and she goes on to say, “I found out that Trent slept with my friend’s roommate. And before you say anything, I know I’m being stupid . . . but still . . .”
“You aren’t being stupid.”
“I am, and I hate that I’m letting this crap get to me. I’m serious, I’m so not the girl who obsesses over a guy.” She starts picking blades of grass. “Has he always been this way?”
I nod. “He means well, and I promise you, he isn’t a bad guy. He’s just a free spirit and does his best not to lead girls on. I’ve only ever seen him be upfront with that.”
“I get it. I just . . . I really like him, and I’m stuck in the damn friend zone.”
“I know you like him, but I assure you that you’re better off having him as a friend,” I try to convince her. “He’s too into his own thing to make a good boyfriend, and you’re too good to sell yourself short just to get the satisfaction of hooking up with him. That isn’t who you are anyway.”
She then yanks out a wad of grass and tosses it out in front of her with annoyance. “Don’t you ever tell anyone that I’m desperately crushing on a guy like this. It’s majorly embarrassing.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
We hang out a little longer before she has to get to one of her classes, and not much later, I’m sitting in my last one of the day. Once it’s over, Micah is waiting for me outside.
“How was it?”
“Good.” I lie, and he buys it with no questions asked.
By the time we get home, my nerves are shot and I’m tired. What I was hoping for today, I didn’t really get. No matter where I turned, I couldn’t escape the fears that are still inside me. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself that I’m fine and I have nothing to worry about, I still can’t shake it. I can’t make it stop. I wanted freedom and normalcy, but what I got was a hard slap in the face, reminding me again of all the reasons why I’m not normal.
When I wake the next day, I’m plagued with the same fears, but I don’t quit, because I can’t. Somehow, someway, I have to get past this. So, day after day, I get up and go to my classes. Day after day, I suffer through silent panic and fright. Day after day, I press forward while remaining in the same place with no distance gained.
Day after day.
Week after week.
It’s almost February now, and I’m no better. Exhaustion is burning me out, and I’m more scared than what I was before. Maybe it’s the stress of constantly being around so many people. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep finally taking its toll on my body. Maybe it’s simply fighting too hard for something I might not ever get.
I’ve considered taking sleeping pills, and I’ve even contemplated stealing some of Trent’s pot to help get me through the night, but I’m too scared something might happen to me if I knock myself out. What if someone breaks in and attacks me? I’ll never know because I will be doped up. I don’t ever want to be in a position where I won’t be able to remember something that’s happening again.
Night after night, I sit in bed, mindlessly flipping through the channels, passing one infomercial after another just like I’m doing now. I drop the remote and pick up my cell and scroll through the app store, only to find that I’ve played nearly every game already. Swipe and tap, swipe and tap, scroll, scroll, scroll. And there he is. His name that I find myself coming across every night in my prison of boredom.
Defeated and still holding out hope that I can beat this, I run my finger over his name—Kason Stratton—until the red delete button appears. It isn’t the first time I’ve done this, knowing well that I don’t have his number memorized and if I ever did erase it, it would forever be gone. But tonight is different. I’m barely hanging on to the end of my frayed rope. Part of me is numb while the other is too aware. My finger hovers over the end, and with a silent I love you sent up to our moon, wishing somehow he’ll hear it, I close my eyes and touch the screen.
Delete.
Before I can even mourn the loss, my door opens, startling me.
“I knew better than to believe you were falling asleep with the lights on,” he gloats with a humorous smirk, but his busting me on my lie tumbles straight through to my heart, which is breaking all over again.
His face swims out of focus, and when I blink, tears fall and he’s already by my side.
“Ady, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick.”
I wipe my cheeks before wrapping my arms around him because I’m so needy for compassion of any kind. He holds me, shifting me over on the bed to make room for himself.
I squeeze him closer when I think about never feeling the warmth of Kason again. It’s a pain that emerges from my core, a pain I’ve been able to stifle, but with everything bearing down on me, my strength’s depleted. I can’t do anything while I lie here and take the affection Micah offers as he slips his fingers through my hair and presses me against his heart.
“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
I shake my head, needing him not to push me, but he isn’t one to coddle every request of mine like Kason used to.
“For months, I’ve laid in bed and stared at the light that shines beneath your door, worrying about you and wondering what it is that keeps you up at night.”
“I’m stressed.” It’s a half-truth.
“If you tell me it’s Kason, I’m going to tell you that you’re a liar.”
I slip my head out from under his chin and look at him. His eyes are set and so are mine. Both at a standstill until I say, “Then don’t give me a reason to lie to you.”
“Why would you want to? What is it you’re hiding?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
With an unexpected tender touch, he runs his hand along my cheek, angling it up so that he’s looking down into my eyes. “It’s me, Ady. What are you so afraid of?”
My heart begins to thump in an unusual way, and for a moment, I consider what my fears of him knowing would be. As I stare up at him, I don’t see the brokenness I used to find in Kason’s eyes. Micah, from everything I know about him, is secure and strong and without a horrid past. He’s free from pain and baggage, and I wouldn’t have to worry about what my truth would do to him like I did with Kason. What if Micah is steady enough to handle knowing what happened to me?
Okay, maybe he is, but am I? Am I ready to see how his view of me changes? Am I ready for him to know just how dirty I am? How stupid and trusting I was to allow something like this to happen to me?
“I’m afraid of everything,” I admit, my voice trembling because he’s edging too close to my secret.
“Even me?”
A lock of his long blond hair falls across his forehead, and I go back and forth on whether I should brush it back behind his ear. Why do I even want to?
“You’re my best friend,” he says, and something about his innocent words makes it okay for me to reach up and tuck his hair back. When I do, he wraps his fingers around my wrist, holding my hand still beside his face for a moment before letting go.
There is something more than that simple touch pulling me toward him, so when I rest my head back over his chest, I make my request. “Can you just hold me for a little while?”
Without another word spoken, he does, gathering me in his arms. We lie here for I don’t even know how long as the tempo of his heart’s beats begin to lull me. And to my surprise, I find myself eventually drifting under heavy lids in the safety of the lit room and his arms. And for the first time in a very long time, I’m able to fall asleep before the sun ever touches the horizon.