Even though we both know that’s a lie right now, it won’t always be.
And thanks to the advice of the most unlikely of friends, I carefully pick the pieces of myself back up, and resolve to move forward and find it. The reason I’m choosing to endure.
17Your Place
Half a week goes by without incident, but I’m still scarred. On the inside, where no one but me and my closest friends can see. I refuse to drink anything out of a bottle or cup that isn’t my own, and I tense every time I round a corner in the academic buildings, afraid I might run into Remi again. But I’m almost never alone now. Iris, Emmy, Franco, and Zayne have made sure one of them is always with me; walking from class to class, during lunch, and even in the evenings in my dorm room when Iris spends the night with Claire.
I’m so appreciative of my new friends that my eyes start to prick every time I think about them. Especially since Noah still hasn’t been able to come to visit. With his college course load, part-time job, and baseball schedule, our weekend availability has yet to line up, and won’t for another two weeks, which means he won’t be able to make the trip until Halloween.
He was distraught when we realized this on Sunday, but I was secretly kind of glad. I’ve stuck by my decision not to tell Noah about being drugged, and I worry that if he came here now, if I saw him in person, I might crack and tell him anyway. And that’s the last thing I want to happen.
Now that I’m further removed from the incident, I canacknowledge how deeply ashamed I am, ashamed that I’ve let such an insecure, small-minded man treat me this way. Which is yet another reason why I want to keep this secret locked away in the depths of my memory, as far away from Noah as possible.
As I’ve walked around campus these past few days, I’ve also come to accept that I don’t feel one hundred percent comfortable at Lizbeth anymore. Remi took that comfort from me.
“How close are you to finishing your midterm painting?” Franco asks me, dragging me from my morose thoughts.
“About three-fourths of the way finished.”
“Damn, you’re fast,” he says, impressed.
“No, not really. I want to sign up for the Halloween Festival Art Contest too, which means I have to finish my midterm painting early if I’m going to have time to compose another for the competition.”
Midterms fall the week before Halloween this year, and all of the students are stressed about it. For Lizbeth students, the Halloween Festival is the equivalent of Homecoming, and the winner of the annual art contest might as well be crowned school royalty, only with a ribbon instead of a tiara.
“I’m proud of you,” Zayne says over his steaming coffee, dark eyes glistening with respect. “For not letting this keep you from living your life.”
We convened for breakfast today, as opposed to lunch, as heavy rain is expected later this afternoon. We’re trying our best to enjoy the last few days of fall; soon the weather will take a turn for the worse, and we’ll have to retire to the main cafeteria in the student center for meals.
“It wasn’t even a conscious choice, really. When things are bad, painting’s always been the only thing that makes me feel any better,” I murmur softly.
A tender silence descends as my friends nod their understanding. I let myself bask in the safety of it for just a moment before Ishake off my melancholy and ask with as much merriment as I can muster, “What about you all? Anyone else entering the contest? I need to know who my competition is going to be.”
“I am,” Emmy admits enthusiastically. “I can’t pass up an opportunity for a shiny red ribbon and bragging rights.”
“I’m not this year,” Iris discloses. “I’m focusing my attention on my midterm piece instead. I have my eyes set on the top graduate programs, after all.”
Curious, I turn toward the guys, eyebrows raised in invitation.
“I might as well,” Franco says with a nonchalant shrug.
Zayne chimes in, “I think I’d rather observe this year. If I compete, I’ll just win. And I want to give lesser artists a chance at victory this time around.”
“So arrogant,” I tut.
“Have they announced what the prompt is yet?” Emmy asks.
“There’s a prompt?”
“Yup,” Franco confirms. “It’s always something vague though, so you’ll have plenty of leeway to get creative with it.”
“Good,” I say as I check the time on my phone. “I should get going. I have an hour before class to work on my midterm painting, and I want to be able to get started on the competition piece this weekend.”
“I’ll walk you. I don’t have class for another hour either,” says Franco as he stands and tosses his empty coffee cup in the nearest recycling bin.
“Thanks.”
I can’t help the way my lips begin to curl as we walk in silence, our gazes raised to watch thick, low-hanging clouds drifting by.
