He doesn't even bother taking out his laptop, knowing I'll take notes for the both of us, and starts scrolling social media instead.
"Considering you failed this class, you might want to at least pay a little bit of attention."
"More like considering I already learned all of this shit last semester and wasunjustlyfailed, your notes should be sufficient. Why are you all fucking dressed up? You going somewhere or something?"
I scoff. "Not that it's any of your business—"
"It is," he interrupts. "Everywhere you go is my fucking business."
"I thought you said I shouldn't worry about that anymore," I say, lowering my voice.
"That's not what I said at all—I said you didn't need to feel bad about it. But if someone knows about it, then you have to fucking worry. And you still have to hold up your end of the agreement, preferably without the fucking attitude."
"I'm not dressed up, and I'm not going anywhere."
"Well, why do you have all that makeup on and shit?"
"God…leave me alone."
I'm not going to tell him I woke up happy today—that I'm not sure when the last time that happened was or that I felt lighter than I've felt since I got here, and so I just felt like looking pretty. God, can you imagine how much he'd fucking laugh at me?
The truth is that my life was a fucking mess before I got here, too. Most mornings, I wake up with a headache, a hangover, and little memory of the night before. I keep the people I call friends at arm's length, waiting for them to disappoint me, and it's been fucking lonely. It's also been mostly his fault.
But I didn't feel lonely yesterday.
"You know Dax isn't your boyfriend, right?" He laughs a little when he says it.
I swallow a lump in my throat. "Yeah. I know."
"Just making sure," he says. "Because it looks like you think you're his girlfriend, so let me tell you something about Dax…"
"I really don't want to know any more about Dax, thanks."
"Cute. That's cute, Saige." He whispers now, as class started a minute ago. "Dax likes sad, needy people. He likes to take them in, treat them like his pets for a while, and then he gets bored and moves on to the next. And he's incapable of beingfaithful, so anytime he's out late or doesn't come home, he's fucking someone else—at least Nolan understands that."
"I don't care what he does."
But I know I'm lying when my chest starts tightening. It's getting harder to breathe. Not only do I care, thinking about it is making me sick.
"Okay." He shrugs. "Honestly, I thought you were too smart to fall for it. It's kind of sad to know I overestimated someone I already have such a low opinion of…alas, here we are."
Alasmy ass.
"So, tell me—has he promised to take you to their house in Paris yet?"
"No."
"What about tattoos? Did he draw you a tattoo?"
If my chest felt tighter before, it feels like my insides are falling out at my feet now. "What are you talking about?"
It doesn't come out convincing, and I know it. Elias laughs, but says nothing else for the rest of the hour. He doesn't have to; he made his point, and he knows it.
After class, he follows me out of the building and into the quad. I can feel him there; I walk a little quicker, hoping he'll lose the nerve or interest to say whatever it is he's going to say to me.
"Where are you going?" he asks. "Why are you running? Did Dax call?"
"I'm going to lunch, Elias. Leave me alone."
