Without a second thought, I grab my phone and frantically dial Mom’s number, waiting for the medications to kick in.
“What’s wrong?” she asks after the second ring.
She’s been paranoid since I was diagnosed and now always answers the phone this way. Usually, I call when I’m with Andrew to let her know I’m okay, but this time, I’m glad she knows something’s wrong.
“Stephanie!” she yells, snapping me out of my stupor.
A sob finally escapes me.
“Goddammit, I knew it. Where are you?”
I mumble the address, and she promises to get here in a few minutes.
My anxiety and shock are stronger than it was before because now I’m alone. Staring up at the bathroom ceiling while I ignore the customers knocking on the door, I ask myself the questions I know I won’t like the answers to.
Finally, the medications swim through me, helping in every way possible. The next thing I know, Mom’s dragging me out of the bathroom, with a box of pizza in hand, and stuffing me into the car with my two suitcases already in the back. I don’t ask how long she took to get here or how she managed to get the suitcases from Andrew’s and my apartment building.
No, not mine and Andrew’s,his and Tiffany’s. I cry, letting out sob after sob.
“Why? What did I do wrong, Mom? Why did he do that?” My clothes are drenched in tears, and I’m drooling all over myself.
Mom pulls into a parking lot, tugging me in close. “You did nothing wrong. Please relax, sweetheart. I know it’s hard, but let the medication do its job.Sleep.”
And after what feels like hours of crying and asking incoherent questions, the adrenaline seeps out of me, finally letting sleep take over. Right before I drift off, I question whoever is up there about what I could’ve done to deserve this punishment from the boy who took all my important firsts and his friend who treated me like one of her own.
Chapter One
LEVI
January - Spring Semester - Junior Year
My eyes are closed as my fingers strum the guitar strings of the first notes of “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls. It’s the song I’ve been addicted to playing lately. It’s always been a favorite, but it seems to be the only one that relaxes me whenever I’m anxious. Music, specifically when I’m playing it for myself, allows me to silence my thoughts, giving me a moment of fucking peace.
Sometimes I sing, but my voice is different. That’s what they used to tell me in choir, and ever since then, my unfortunate stage fright has taken over. But when I’m alone, when there’s no one and nothing to judge me, I let it all out. The pent-up anger, hurt, and frustration that sit below fuel my passion. No one knows about it or has been able to understand it. It’s gotten better over time, and I like to see myself as a kind person, at least that’s what everyone tells me. Writing lyrics also helps, not that many people have seen those either.
I start the song repeatedly, knowing I’ll be interrupted soon, but I don’t know when exactly. As soon as I start the song over for a fourth time, I decide to sing, belting out as much as I can. When the short guitar solo hits, there’s a knock on the door, and my moment is ruined with the sound of multiple women’s voices. Someone must’ve left the downstairs door open.
That must be my new roommate. The one I know nothing about, except that she goes to Driscoll University like me.It’s the reason I was playing my favorite song. I only found out that Stevie Winters was coming a day earlier than expected last night while watching aTwilightmarathon with my best friends. It’s a series I didn’t expect to enjoy but did. Not that I’ll ever admit it to my two best girlfriends. That’s neither here nor there.
Of course, I was annoyed and fucking furious that my last roommate left me high and dry three weeks before classes started. Although, with his history of being an absolute asshole, it shouldn’t have surprised me. I started to give up on finding someone to share rent with until a week and a half later, when a student on the school site offered me a deal. Since I had no other choice than being thrown out onto the street, I agreed and tried to find them through social media, but it’s hard to find someone who seems to have no online footprint. The only thing I could see was her gender on the school page.
My best friend, Jake, had offered to investigate her past, but I refused for him to use any connections that have to do with his father, since he’s a complete dick.
Not wanting to be rude, I let the people at the door know that I’m on my way. Dropping the guitar on my bed, I walk to the entrance and open it to find a short woman who seems to be in her late forties.
“Hi there,” she says with a bright smile. And even though I’m dreading who my new roommate will be, I smile back and wonder if this is Stevie. It’s possible with the number ofcommuters and parents I’ve seen around campus to have an older roommate. It might be a nice change of pace. As long as she doesn’t bring a kid in to live with us.
She looks sweet. Long, dark hair and blue eyes, similar to the way my mom looks.
“Hi, you must be Stevie?” I stick my hand out, but I’m still unsure if this is the person I’ll be living with for the next couple of months.
The woman laughs. “Oh no, sweetheart. But it’s nice to know I look twenty-one and not forty-eight.” She shakes my hand. “I’m Lucy, Stevie’s mom.” She smiles warmly at me while I try to do the same.
Okay, so my roommate is twenty-one, a year older than me. It’s not much, but it’s something.
“Stevie should be up any minute now. My wife is helping her with the three other suitcases she brought.” The woman looks at the two suitcases behind her and rolls her eyes.
My body relaxes slightly knowing that Stevie is familiar with living with someone who is also part of the queer community. It would’ve been unacceptable to live with someone who despised me because of my sexuality.
