Chapter 18 The Other Me
THE OTHER ME
AURORA
It gets harder every time I have to leave them.
But at least there's the distraction of essay writing and Maisie's ability to make conversation out of anything.
She sets a paper coffee cup next to me at the table, slipping into the neighboring seat.
"They were out of caramel," she says. "I took a guess and grabbed you a peppermint mocha. You seem like a mint chocolate girl."
"I'm an as-long-as-there's-coffee-in-it girl," I whisper back, even though this area of the library is all but deserted this late into the evening. I take a long sip, and sigh. "Thanks."
It's the second time we've met up to compare notes and work on our essays since last week. I'd been coming up with excuses to say no the first few times she asked, but the guys said I needed to lean into my life here. Do 'normal' college things. Like make friends.
Something I've never been particularly good at.
Maisie pulls out her laptop and a notepad, her emerald-painted fingernails clicking over the keys as she brings up her essay, which looks like it's already mostly done.
Fuck, I'm barely a quarter of the way into mine and still considering scrapping everything I wrote to start again with a different topic.
I sigh and take a couple more sips of my coffee, praying for divine inspiration in the form of adequate caffeination.
"Is that all you have so far?" Maisie asks with a wince, indicating my half-empty page of text and the blinking cursor on my MacBook screen.
I groan and close it. I can't exactly tell her I've been epically distracted by a revenge plot to take down a billionaire casino magnate who is also an art thief that stole from the other art thieves I'm currently in bed with. Literally.
"You know what you need?" she asks, lifting a brow like she's about to say something cheeky. "A distraction."
I give her a dubious look.
"You know, something to give your mind a break. Like…a party? There's one this weekend. You should totally come."
"There's always a party on the weekends," I correct. "But I don't know anyone here."
She pushes her long golden bangs away from her face, tucking them behind her ears as she leans in. "And how do you think you get to know people?"
I scoff dramatically, even though there is a real smile tugging at my lips. Maisie has been bugging me to go out with her since I first met her. "Fine. I'll think about it. If not this weekend, then the next one for sure."
She squeals. "You swear?"
"I swear."
She sets her coffee down, sitting up straighter in her chair as she pivots to the desk and opens my laptop for me.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I'm feeling inspired," she replies cheerily.
"My essay is pretty much done, but yours needs some serious help.
" She takes a minute to read what's there, then nods.
"The topic is why you're struggling so hard.
I think you should narrow it down more. Instead of just 'streaming services', maybe do something like 'the impact of streaming services on music consumption patterns'? "
I blink at her as all the pieces of this stupid essay click into place in my mind. That's it. That's what it was missing. A narrowed focus.
"Maisie, you're a fucking genius."
She smiles like she knows it. "Well, I didn't bring you an eight-dollar coffee for you to stare at the screen." She gives me a pointed look. "Put that caffeine to work."
The days leading up to the official meeting Ambrose's assistant Linette scheduled for us are long.
By Wednesday night, I'm beyond being able to sit still in classes or the apartment. I've written and rewritten my essay twice and walked Ellie so often that I think I might've accidentally lost weight in the process.
All I know is my jeans are more loose than they were last week when I decided to leave Ellie at home to sleep, and grab armfuls of clothes that aren't even dirty, throwing them in a hamper.
It's reasonable to do laundry twice a week, right?
I'm only a step out the door when I hear the phone ring. Not the one in my pocket, the other one. The one I keep tucked between the mattress and box spring, deeper in than the vibrator, so anyone who could come looking will find that first and stop there.
Cursing, I step back inside and set down the basket, kicking the door shut with the toe of my boot. I get to the phone before it stops ringing and immediately shut the ringer off. I must've accidentally hit the volume button when I stuffed it back in there last night.
"Hello?"
"Where are you going?"
It's Atticus's voice on the other end of the line, and I frown. He's never called me on this phone before. And hold on…
For him to have caught me leaving that quickly, he would've had to have been actively watching the cameras. "Are you so bored that you sit there and watch my front door all night?"
I can hear the exasperation in his silence, and it makes me grin.
"I saw the basket, figured if you were rushing over here, it must mean something happened."
So he's the one over there right now. "Are Elijah and Seven—"
"They're at home."
I wonder if he can sense my disappointment through the phone.
"Aurora?" he presses, and I'm not sure when I decided to start talking to him, and I'm not sure yet if I'm completely cool with it or not, so I just sigh.
"Are you all right?" he asks, like that's all he needs to know, and then he'll hang up.
Do I want him to hang up?
I grind my teeth. "I'm fine."
"Every man with half a brain cell knows what 'fine' means."
I huff out a breath as I sit on the edge of the bed.
"I'm going crazy," I admit. "I can't sit here. I know you already gave me all this shit to prep me for the meeting…"
I look at it all, spread out over my bed, and push the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I start to gather it all back up into the manila envelope it came in. "But I feel so…"
"Restless?" he finishes.
I stuff the envelope under my mattress and bat the annoying flyaway hairs away from my face. "I guess. I should probably go—"
"Wait," he says, and I bite my lip.
I do wait.
Only for a second, I tell myself. I can always hang up in a second. But something tells me he's exactly who I need to talk to.
I can't tell Elijah I'm freaking out about the meeting two days from now. And even though Seven would probably reassure me, it's not really the kind of reassurance I need.
If I tell Atticus, I don't think it'll make him any more worried than he already is.
And I don't think he'll try to make me feel better about it, either.
I can tell him I'm terrified I'll fuck it all up for them, and not care what he thinks about it.
Fuck, he might agree with me. Just…be real with me about how this could fail.
Then we could figure out what to do if it does, because that's one thing we haven't talked about: what happens if Ambrose sees right through me?
I've almost given up on waiting when Atticus finally says, "I know they're not here, but you can still come. I mean, if you want to."
I bite my cheek hard, and the edge of the phone bites into my palm.
"Um, I'll think about it."
It's all I can offer before I bring the phone from my ear and tap the button to end the call, then I'm up and pacing the length of the bedroom.
And he better have removed every single camera and listening device in this room because the idea of him watching me as I struggle to decide if I should go or not makes me shudder.
I don't want him to know he has this effect on me, or any effect on me.
It isn't that I'm not still angry. I am. But I've seen the small ways that he's trying. How he hasn't pushed. Not really. Not as hard as I know he wants to.
No. I'm not going. Why would I go?
It would only make him think I've forgiven him, and I haven't.
It still flashes back to me some nights when the silence of lonely nights in this apartment get too heavy. How he made me feel trapped. Scared. Angry. Guilty for something I didn't even do.
I groan in frustration and throw the phone under the mattress. I could take Ellie for another walk. It's barely ten o'clock. We could grab some late-night takeout.
That's what I need. Some carbs. Maybe another shake.
But when I storm into the living room, Ellie is dead to the world. So much so in fact that she only chuffs when she hears me come in and flips partially onto her back in the corner of the fluffy dog bed, looking away from me like even she's sick of my shit.
"So that's out," I mutter to myself and take my regular cell phone from my pocket. I flick to my texts and see a new one from Chris—he's been trying to get me to go up for a visit on break.
Chris
We can even go to the range like old times. It's been boring going alone and no matter how much I bug Grace she still refuses to come with me.
Chris
Or if not this break, maybe we can plan ahead for Christmas?
Guilt eats at me as I skip past the convo with Chris to find the one with my classmate, Maisie. I can't answer Chris right now because I have no fucking clue what the next several days look like, let alone Christmas.
But maybe Maisie's still awake and we could finally go grab that drink. Anything to keep from sitting here driving myself insane.
The previous message from her was a not-so-subtle attempt to convince me to go to some frat party with her this weekend, so I deal with that first.
Aurora
Hey! I can't this weekend, but if you're free now I was thinking we could grab a drink?
The three dots dance over the screen and then vanish.
I think she's probably pissed at me for never wanting to check out the campus parties and won't reply, but a second later a message pops onto the screen.
Maisie
Can't tonight, sorry! You know that guy Bailey from our Intro to Music Business class? His friend Trip asked me out. I'm meeting him at that new tequila bar everyone's been talking about. Send good vibes!
Oh, I will.
If 'Trip' has the same vibe Bailey did, she's going to need the extra good vibes to balance out their shit ones.
Aurora
Okay! Be careful. Text me if you need an escape route.
Maisie
You're so paranoid. I'll be fine! See you tomorrow xx
I lower my phone and eye the front door.
Now what?
"Fuck."
I rock back on my heels. Shake my head. Taste blood from chewing on my lower lip.
"Ugh." I grab the keys and laundry basket before I can change my mind, snagging my warmer jacket from the hook by the door as I exit and lock up behind me.
This is a bad idea.
This is such a bad idea.
But maybe this needs to happen. We need to hash this the fuck out.
They need me and I have to work with him to get this done.
I need to lay out some clear lines for him and tell him exactly what will happen if he crosses them. It doesn't mean I'm weak. And it doesn't mean I'm letting him get away with what he did or that I'll ever let him touch me again. It's the adult thing to do.
I'm about to press the button to unlock my car when the keys slip out of my fingers and land in a muddy patch next to the walkway.
"Great," I groan, bending to pluck them from the muck. I shake the mud off and something catches my eye. A boxy black shape in the wheel well of my front passenger tire makes me pause. I tip my head to the left, trying to get a better look at what it could be.
I never would've seen it if not for dropping my keys, but I am almost completely certain it is not a necessary part of the vehicle. It looks like a…
Oh my god.
It's a fucking tracking device.
Atticus.
My face heats.
He swore there weren't any other devices I needed to know about. He fucking swore to me.
And it shouldn't hurt, because isn't this what I expected? Didn't I choose to believe him against my better judgement? But this presses on that still healing wound until it aches and bleeds.
I shiver and something clicks in my mind. And then I'm her again. The girl I saw in the rearview mirror—the one who picked up the gun.
The one who is fucking done being walked on.
Knowing the motherfucker is watching me through the apartment cameras, I trudge to the driver's side and throw my basket into the back seat, too hot all over to even think about putting the jacket on now.
I asked him if there were any other tracking devices I needed to know about. I asked him and he said no.
It's not like my driving routes from my apartment to class, to takeout windows, and the grocery store are all that personal, but it's the fucking principle of the thing.
I heave hot air through my nose as I start the ignition and back out of the parking space with fire burning in the pit of my stomach. I should go over there and bite his fucking head off.
My fists tighten on the steering wheel, but then I smile, because I'm not going to do that.
And maybe it's the adrenaline or that other more terrifying version of me in the driver's seat, but I think I know exactly how I want to get even.