Rubbing the back of my neck, I lift my phone to type out a message one handed.
Thi:For what it’s worth, I never meant to hold you back. I just wanted to make sure…
“Fuck it,” I huff, deleting the whole lot. My intentions don’t matter, it took getting tipsy for the truth to slip out. And me being the resilient, confident man that I am,cough cough, can handle the truth. Switching my phone off, I chuck it on the desk and push upright, hunting down some clean-ish clothes. Maria is due tomorrow, and she has a big pile of washing to do. Namely, the mass of crusted socks beside my bed.
Despite making the conscious effort to leave my phone behind, I still pat myself down and have a slight panic attack at the feel of empty sweatpants’ pockets. Cursing beneath my breath, I zip the hoodie up my front and leave my room behind. Sure, I’ll get some fresh air. I’ll even get some company. How’s that for personal growth?
The night air hits me the second I step outside, settling in my lungs and forcing me to breathe deeper whether I want to or not. Ugh, purity. The street is quiet, as it always is. Nothing interesting happens around here, not since my cousin and I grew up and stopped terrorizing the neighbors. Speaking of neighbors…
“Hey Rosa,” I wave, crossing the road and striding up her steps. The porch light is on, the soft amber glow spilling over chipped white railings and floorboards that have probably been repaired more times than I’ve rewritten code. Old Woman Rosa is exactly where she usually sits in the evenings, wrapped in athick knitted shawl. She glances up with a prepared, knowing smile.
“Evening, Thiago. Miss Lola here told me that I would be seeing you tonight.” Rosa gestures down to the fat, ginger cat on her knee. I just manage to withhold rolling my eyes.
“Oh yeah? Did she also tell you if my wannabe girlfriend is going to get railed by her co-captain this evening?” I drawl, dropping into the empty wooden rocking chair beside her. Rosa leans forward, stroking beneath the cat’s chin until she makes a strangled mewl sound.
“Apparently, yes she will.” Rosa nods, unfazed by the question. I sink further into the chair, pinching the bridge of my nose. Great, just great. I knew there was a reason I hated cats. There’s a fuss beside me about making some sweet tea, but I’m not really listening. Instead, I’m cementing myself in the chair, fighting against every instinct to run back to my room and turn my screens back on.
Watching the little dot pulse across the map calms me. Seeing her arrive and leave her destination in one piece soothes me. I thought Meg would find comfort in that too. After all, there was no one around the night Harrison took her. No one even knew she was missing for the first few days. The thought of what she felt, what she’s been through, it causes an ache within my chest that I struggle to breathe through.
One night at the hospital, while Meg slept safely under my watch, I’d vowed to always be there in the way it counts. To be watching and primed to intervene. It just so happens I’m better with a keyboard than with my fists. A gift and a curse.
A heavy weight settles on my lap. The warm, plump body of a tuxedo cat vibrates softly, his paws making tender biscuits against my thigh. Rosa has returned to push a steaming cup into my hand and a knitted shawl over my shoulders. She doesn’t sayanything, simply resuming her seat and rocking back and forth as cats fight for the victory of her lap.
As I watch Rosa stare out into the darkness, her head angled towards my bedroom window, a thought occurs to me. One that causes a slight shake to the hand holding the cup. When was the last time I was cared for? The answer isn’t something I’m in the mood to face, although it reminds me that I need to pay a visit to the local graveyard soon.
Ironically, I’m hiding behind a mask just as much as Meg is. Whereas hers is formed from stubborn resilience, mine is built of surface-level jokes and easy going smiles. I find it’s easier to combat pity that way. Staying locked in my bedroom helps too, saving myself the ordeal of benevolent expression and questions of how I am doing. I’m a man in his early twenties with an inherited house and no one to share it with. How the fuck am I supposed to be doing?
Alas, I’m starting to consider that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to let someone in. To let someone care, just a little. A feat I’ve been telling Meg for months, but it’s easier to give advice than to put it into practice. The hypocrisy is real.
“Hey, Rosa?” I start, pausing to sip my tea for a spread of courage. The old woman doesn’t look my way, but her head tilts to signal she’s listening. “Does Miss Lola have any other insights into what my future might hold?”
Chapter Twenty One
Unsurprisingly, Laura is perched on the low stone wall outside the apartment when I exit. We hadn’t planned where to meet, but I figured since she chased me down outside class, she’d pop up somewhere along the way between here and Everest’s.
Before noticing me, Laura picks at her nails, her shoulders curled inward. She’s picked an outfit that looks similar to my second option. A sexy little number in shimmering black that makes her skin appear paler beneath the streetlight. Her blonde hair falls in ringlets, twice the volume as yesterday. Paired with dark, sultry make-up, it helps her to appear older, which will make my job of protecting her from the hounds even more difficult. But that’s future-Meg’s problem. My current concern isgetting across campus with a light buzz in my veins and warm uncertainty in my head.
The second Laura spots me, she straightens and smoothes down her skirt with nervous fingers. There’s something almost painfully hopeful about the way she smiles at me, as if she’s hinging her time here on the outcome of tonight. No pressure. I slow my stride as I approach, simply offering out my arm for her to jump up and take.
“You came,” she smiles. I feel my own lips curl up, the gin working in the way I’d hoped. Clenching my palm around the neck of it, I lead us towards the courtyard where clusters of students are migrating in the same direction, cream envelopes in hand. The excitement is already palpable, hordes of guests flooding towards the strobe lights and pounding of music beyond the dorm blocks.
Everest’s place is perfectly situated for those who aren’t deemed worthy enough of an invite to be forced to listen in and watch on. It’s also fenced off, with the large gates that are manned by hired security this evening. Moving closer, I spot the line of people waiting to be admitted from a mile off. Fuck that. Sidestepping, I keep my pace even, despite the way Laura hesitates, the crook of her elbow tightening in mine.
“Maybe we should—” she starts but I only make my steps wider, forcing her to half-run in her six inch heels to keep up. At the gates, a large man dressed in black with an earpiece looks me over with raised brow.
“Invitation?”
“I’m Everest’s co-captain. I don’t need an invite,” I challenge. There’s a beat where the security look at each other with amused expressions and I’m sure I’ll get told to get lost, before he grunts and steps aside to allow Laura and me to enter. A rush of adrenaline floods me, the power trip mixing with the alcohol in my system. Finally, a trickle of my forgotten confidence slithersback in. I push the gin bottle into Laura’s hand to hold while I drag my party invitation from my pocket and toss it into the nearest, overflowing trash can.
We come to stand in front of the house, giving Laura a moment to drink it all in while I snatch back my gin and take a long swig. I’m going to need to be wasted to survive this. The house is a spectacle of white columns, sweeping steps and oversized windows. Light pours out onto the front yard, the silhouettes of those dancing inside reflecting across the fake grass like looming shadows. I can already smell the sweat of bodies being pressed together, and the thump of music pulsing beneath my ankle boots.
Glancing up, I raise my bottle in mock salute towards the Calloway crest etched into the stone above the porch. Everest isn’t the first of his line to attend Hollowbrook and take up residence, and I highly doubt he’ll be the last.
“I’ve never been to anything like this,” Laura breathes dreamily, her face the picture of awe. Nothing like the slight snarl of disgust curling my upper lip.
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” I reply dryly. “Come on then. Let’s ruin your life.” Dragging her up the stone steps, we smush our way through the bodies crowding the entrance. There’s no clear path ahead of us, raised red cups sloshing dangerously close to the rim and arms nudging us along. We veer around a small wooden table that is straining beneath the man dancing upon it. Further inside, the music becomes even more deafening, causing my chest to pound as if I’m having the first tremors of a heart attack. A group of lacrosse boys in the hallway are chanting something unintelligible near a keg, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, shirts unbuttoned or torn clean open.
In the corner, I clock at least three freshmen who look overwhelmed and one girl arguing with her friend by the stairs,mascara smudged under one eye. We’ve been here less than thirty seconds.
