It's no wonder she constantly defied Zeno’s rules.
Serafina returns dressed in a cardigan and jeans, hair brushed in a ponytail, looking refreshed. Happier. Calmer.Details I normally wouldn’t point out because it means studying them, but with Serafina, it’s further proof of how she affects me.
“How are you?” I find myself asking—wantingto know.
She shrugs, staring at her phone. “Turned it back on this morning. No more calls, so seems he got the hint.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m as good as a person who broke up with their boyfriend can be.”
Which is?
“I’m…torn.” The calm of her eyes shifts into a storm. “There was always something off about him, something I ignored because there were some good times too. Very few, mind you, so maybe it was just my rebellion that made me think so. I didn’t reallylikehim all that much, so I’m more pissed off about last night than heartbroken.”
Zeno and I should discuss next steps; if he was Vitale, the marriage agreement means he won’t stop coming for her. This won’t be the last Serafina hears from him, regardless of the break-up she believes is real.
“Before we go to breakfast, I should warn you about this Saturday. Down the street, there’s this huge house party we’re all invited to. Amara will be back by then, so I’ll be meeting up with her.”
And so it begins.For a while, I’d been lucky for Serafina’s reality show obsession. TV means staying away from people. Means it’s tolerable.
There’s no fucking way she’s going to some stupid party where these kids will try to outdrink themselves. This is every nightmare possible at once. It’ll destroy me.
“Okay.”
It’s not okay. Not even close.
She watches me closely, searching for the dislike that probably isn’t very well hidden. “You don’t have to come. Youdon’t seem like you want to. I get it might be a lot, so stay here. Hell, I’m only going for Amara.” Her lips fold down in the corners, but she shakes off whatever’s in her head. “It’s down the road. I’ll call if anything goes wrong.”
“Out of the question. Nice try.” She couldn’t even go on a date with her own boyfriend without running into trouble.
“Alright. Just…fit in. Have a drink.”
She takes my grunt as agreement and drops the subject that’ll consume my entire week.
The week passes without any more issues. As it creeps closer to the weekend, there’s more conversation around campus about this party. Following her through a house with people tightly packed together will be an actual fucking nightmare. This might very be well my death.
Other than the approaching dread, we fall into a routine. She often sits in the centre of her lecture halls, surrounded by classmates, sometimes making small talk with a few. I always sit in the top row where I don’t have to pretend to take notes. We alternate buying one another coffee, a pattern that has me uncertain.
Serafina’s workload is picking up, so she spends a lot of time studying in her room. Sometimes, she’ll do it on the couch, and occasionally in the library, where silence is a welcome reprieve. I camp out in a corner, usually skimming a book from the Computer Science shelves. Everything I learned came from the internet and trial and error, so it’s interesting reading textbooks.
At the dorm, I work while she studies. If not working, I’m remoting into my networks to tweak things that don’t really needfixing, simply forsomethingto do. After studying and finishing assignments, Serafina watches her shows.
Since the incident, there’s been no sign of her boyfriend, which is annoying—for me. Once getting through the party, I’ll contact Zeno about how we bring him out of hiding.
When mentioning him—his name, the possibility of them getting back together—anything that’ll help me and Zeno, Serafina avoids the conversation, strangely tight-lipped.
The dreaded day arrives, and, without classes as a distraction, I’m bored hanging around the dorm. Serafina said her friend, Amara, has returned from dealing with family issues, but instead of getting together during the day, they’re waiting until the party.
All afternoon, the normally comfortable couch hasn’t been doing it. It’s like sitting on a bed of spikes, my head thumping, body tensed to fight at any given moment. Nothing about this day is easing, every second one closer to the party that’ll be the true test.
It’s nearly as bad as all the instances Papa tossed me in prison for not being the son he wanted. It’s becoming as painful, shoving all the memories forward. Which, when bored, is not helpful.
She’s in the bathroom, showering, and minutes after the water cuts off, the door opens, and her voice floats out, abrupt, like she’s continuing a conversation we were never having.
“I was thinking about last night’s episode and how stupid they are for voting Lucy out. If she stayed, she’d have been a great shield. The rest of them hate her, so it’d be easy to use her and get rid of her another time.”
“The ones who get saved always rise to power,” I shoot back. “They made the smart decision, coming from someone who’s spent much of his life strategizing. Trust me, it was the best call.”
