“Shoulda left me with Lewis.”
“No way in hell.”
“Things are easy with him.” She sighs. “Why do I always end up getting hurt?”
My chest tightens. Did she just compare me to Kirk?
“What am I doing wrong? Why do I always fuck things up?”
Tears are trickling down her cheeks and I can’t help but lean into her. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her cry—but it’s the first time I’ve seen her cry because of me, and it’s killing me.
“Lois—”
“We aren’t friends,” she sobs. “We’re nothing. Leave me alone.”
Her words cut me to the heart, knocking the breath out of me. I shut my eyes. Anything to stop the wave of dizziness crashing over me. I bite down hard on my cheek. Lois is a hot mess. Now’s not the time for anything deep or meaningful. When finally I open my eyes, I realize I was right. Her face is buried in a cushion, her shoulder rising and falling, slow and steady.
I spend too long sitting there watching her sleep, before getting to my feet and padding down to my room. Before I shut the door, I glance over to Mike’s room. I like having Lois here. It’s just that I can’t let her take up space that belongs to Mike. And that will never change. Ever.
28LOIS
I prize my eyes open and wince. It’s the same old room I’ve called home for four months now. Ceiling, kitchen, coffee table. Check, check, check. My stomach is churning—and not just because I was tanked last night. What happened on Friday was pure hell, especially when I went back to see the administrator on Monday to tell her I changed my mind and that actually Ididwant that room I turned down, after all. She laughed right in my face, waved me away, and before I knew it I was drinks-deep with Lewis—Lewis, of all people!
I’ve got a blinding headache, and the details are a little fuzzy, but what I do know is that Lane came to the bar to pick me up. The ride back is a haze, but he definitely put me here, on the couch.The couch, of course. Where else?
I squeeze my eyes shut. This place suddenly feels cold and claustrophobic—just like Lane’s whole vibe. I glance at the oven clock. He’s probably sound asleep in his cozy bed.
I should have left on Friday, made a run for it straight after our fight. But instead, I spent all weekend lying here, waiting for… something. Him to come back, maybe. Some kind of answer. An apology? The point is: He didn’t come home, and he was probably hoping I would leave.
He looked at me like I was trash—like some kind of grosscockroach he needed to exterminate. Part of me just wants to burst into his room and force him to explain himself, but I know I can’t take any more pain. He was pretty clear on Friday, anyway—what else is there to ask? And whatever he says, there’s no coming back from this. There’s no way we can be friends.How could I get it so wrong?He never felt a thing for me—or at least not the way I thought. I get that now. He can just about stomach me—so long as I shut up and just take what I’m given. Which is the couch, basically. I’m his charity case.
How could he sleep with me and then just move on like nothing happened?
I’ve never felt this ashamed before. Except I have, haven’t I? When Kirk dumped me—it was just as painful, just as humiliating. But though it’s only been a few months, I actually think Lane hurts even more. I shake my head in disbelief. He never promised me anything. How could I have been so off base? I thought it meant more. If he thinks I’ll be the girl who sleeps on his couch and gives him sex whenever he feels like it, he’s got another think coming. I know some people would simply roll with it, but I can’t. That’s just not me—and it hurts to think that’s how Lane sees me.
This shitty little couch is suffocating me. I throw off the blanket, jump to my feet, and creep into the bathroom, doing my best not to wake him, scooping up all my remaining things and standing there in front of the mirror, gazing at the total loser staring back at me. One thing’s for sure—it’s time for me to grow up and stop acting like some lovesick kid. It’s time for me to start owning my shit.
Once I’ve packed away my stuff, I leave the spare key on the table in the hallway along with a hastily scrawled thank-you note, and throw down the fifty Lewis gave me last night when he lost the bet. And then I leave, tears streaming down my face as I race down the stairs, feeling so stupid, feeling so mad, too. Hurt. I toss my bags into the cab that’s waiting for me outside, and call Becca as we drive.
“Hey, Lois!” she trills.
I sniff, steadying my voice. “Can I leave my stuff at your dorm?”
I just need to buy myself a little time while I work on finding a hotel room, and though the plan was never to spill my guts, I start to sob. Becca sighs, muttering something pissy under her breath, before clearing her throat.
“No problem. I spend most nights at Carter’s, anyway. You can even have my bed, if you want. I’ll ask Cart to drop me off—”
“No, I’m serious! Stay where you are!”
I plan on keeping the most painful parts to myself—all these feelings I’ve conjured out of thin air.
Twenty minutes later, and I’m in her room, bumping into Carrie on her way out to class.
“Becca told me you’d be coming by. Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks.” I smile, propping my bags against the desk.
“Do I need to call my cousins and get them to go ’round and deal with O’Neill? They’re all like six foot three.”
