Whatever, I could do this.
All I had to do was avoid him for another two to three years and everything would be fine. I’d done this before. I’dsurvivedthis before.
It was like paying taxes, only I paid in dignity and bodily autonomy.
After a while, the crew lowered me and unhooked the harness, finally freeing my limbs. While I struggled to regain my land legs, my mind desperately searched for something to focus on other than Terri.
Like, for example, how fantastically awkward Armand had been yesterday teaching his first class. Even now, I full-body cringed just thinking about it. It had been a little adorable, in a really neurotic way ... like when you watched a video about a diabetic, two-legged pig learning to walk again.
Hopefully tonight would go better; according to the syllabus, we’d be talking about gutter lines and how they could be used as narrating Greek choruses. Okay, sure.
I was being mean. He’d actually been pretty informative, and if I hadn’t still been shaken up from my run in with Terri, I would have been geeking out with the rest of the class. Especially since he’d reiterated that at the end of the workshop, we’d be displaying our final projects gallery-style at the Drawn & Quartered Comic Convention. It was going to be so cool; three full pages ofmyart (a tasteful meet-cute between a vampire and a wizard, in a coffee shop, no less) on a gallery wall. And other peoples’ too, but whatever.
It was disconcerting how Armand had just assumed that our work would be worth displaying. As if we were as cool as him. Armand Demetrio, still dark, alternative, and indie to the core. Perhaps he could be forgiven a certaincompletelack of elegance.
That’s whatIwas for. That and bureaucracy. Which reminded me, I still needed to write up that job posting for the workshop—Armand had asked if I could find him a live model for next week’s classes.
“You want me to find you a naked guy?”I’d asked him.
He’d blushed and sputtered,“I need a life model, gender hardly matters, just— We need a body, someone with a presence—”He’d gone on to explain a bunch of technical things that made it clear he wanted to make the selection himself, but we both knew he’d struggle to figure out the campus job site. The key to a happy life was reasonable expectations, so I’d set it up so applications were sent directly to his email.
I chugged some strawberry-flavored vitamin water and stretched. I still had time for a good long shower and maybe a few hours studying my script before I had to go pick him up. Maggie had disappeared somewhere into the bowels of the theater, but I was hoping to pull her away from whatever important work she was doing and get her to run lines with me later on.
I started back toward my dorm, letting the sunshine dry my sweat and already reaching for my phone to text Maggie.
I was about to turn the corner when—
My hair stood up and my blood ran cold.
Hide.A deep, animal part of my brain yanked me into a crouch behind a hedge. He’s coming.
“—so that sets precedent.Obviously.Professor Yang couldn’t be more wrong.”
Terri. I shut my eyes tight and tried as hard as I could to not exist.
It worked. Terri and the gaggle of pre-law students disappeared behind the museum, and I finally let myself breathe.
I could feel my pulse in every single part of my body. Even the tips of my fingers.
See? All the old instincts were coming back. I could do this.
I couldsurvivethis.
July 17th- Twenty-nine days until the convention
I woke in the late afternoon, prickling with unease. The more I thought about it, the more troubled I was by Finch’s lack of chatter on the drive home the night before. At the time, I had appreciated the reprieve, but now I couldn’t help noting its strangeness. The boy hadn’t looked too healthy either.
Oh well, chalk it up to ... something. God knew I’d been a mess during my brief stint at uni. Finch appeared rather more sheltered than I’d been at that age, but that hardly seemed likely to inoculate him from stupidity. In my time, the poison du jour had been a toxic relationship with an older man who aided access to binge-drinking and a variety of exciting new party drugs. What did American teenagers use to harm themselves these days? And why was my head now filled with scenes fromAmerican GraffitiandFootloose? Harrison Ford in a cowboy hat dancing arthritically with Kevin Bacon in Small-Town America—
Time for coffee.
I levered myself up and out of bed, found a pair of crumpled yet clean pants, and officially rejoined the ranks of humanity. I had temporarily exiled myself the night before on account of my first teaching experience, with the aid of Californian Whiskey and a bath. Evidently, I’d grown and evolved, and nowplannedmy binge-drinking ahead of time. My friend and old colleague Sam had always had a thing or two to say about my choice to combine alcohol and slippery wet surfaces such as porcelain tubs, but they were an ocean away now, and my current flatmate appeared to be completely nonexistent, so they hadn’t a say in the matter either.
The hangover hadn’t kicked in yet, so I must have still maintained an inoffensive amount of blood in my alcohol system, but pre-emptive measures never hurt anyone, as far as hair of the dog was concerned. Coffee was necessary, yes, and if it was a little Irish, none would be the wiser.
I made it to the living room and glared at the bright bloody sunlight streaming in through the huge curtain-bare window at the front of the room. I stumbled toward it blindly and managed to wrench the curtains closed with only the minor injuries of a banged shin and a stubbed toe. Once the apartment was habitable again, I opened my eyes and tried to blink away some of the hangover headache ... and bite back the hangover nausea awakened by the light.
Right, yes, yes, there you are, Consequences. I was expecting you.
