Chapter 4
Ethan
I'm drunk.
Not falling-down drunk, but enough that Marcus has to help me back to our dorm after the party.
"You good, man?" he asks for the third time.
"Fine. Perfect. Never better."
"You danced with Ivy."
"I did."
"She looked like she wanted to murder you." He jokes, but it’s the truth.
"She did."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Nope."
Marcus drops it, which I appreciate. Once we're back in our room, he goes to bed and I sit at my desk, staring at my laptop.
I should work on the Business Strategy assignment. Should start researching potential companies for our project.
Instead, I open the document I've been avoiding all week.
A letter to Ivy. The one I started writing the night I decided to transfer to Thornhill.
Ivy,
I'm coming to find you. I know that sounds creepy. It probably is creepy. But I can't do this anymore, can't keep living knowing I destroyed the most important relationship I've ever had.
You won't forgive me. I know that. I don't expect forgiveness. Don't deserve it.
But I need you to know the truth. Need you to understand why I did what I did.
Three years ago, my parents gave me an ultimatum...
I can't finish it. Every time I try to write the next sentence to explain about their threat, about the impossible choice, the words die.
Because what does it matter? I still chose wrong. Still destroyed her. Still prioritized my family's demands over her heart.
There's no explanation that makes that okay.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown: Saw you at the party tonight. You're the transfer, right? We should hang out sometime. - Chelsea
I delete it without responding.
Another buzz. This time, a group text from some guys on my floor inviting me to a poker game tomorrow.
Delete.
My mother calling.
Ignore.
I just want—
I don't know what I want.
That's a lie. I know exactly what I want.
I want Ivy to look at me the way she did before. With trust. With affection. With the comfortable familiarity of someone who knows you better than anyone.
I want to tell her the truth and have her understand.
I want to undo every cruel word I said tonight at the party.
I want to stop being the villain in her story.
But I don't know how to be anything else.
My laptop pings. Email notification. I almost ignore it, but the sender catches my eye.
Professor Hendricks.
Subject: Business Strategy Project Requirements
I open it.
Students,
Your semester project requires extensive collaboration. I'm mandating weekly meetings with your partner, with documented progress reports due biweekly. Partners who fail to meet regularly will receive grade penalties.
Additionally, there will be a required overnight research trip in October to visit your chosen company's headquarters. Transportation and lodging will be provided by the university.
Plan accordingly.
Overnight trip.
With Ivy.
I should be horrified. Should be figuring out how to get out of this.
Instead, I'm thinking about how I'll have her alone. Away from campus. Away from her friends who guard her like protective dragons.
A chance to finally make her listen.
It's manipulative. Probably crosses lines. Definitely will make her hate me more, but I'm desperate.
And desperate people do desperate things.
I close my laptop and finally crawl into bed, but sleep doesn't come.
Instead, I think about the dance. About the way Ivy felt in my arms, tense and angry but still there. Still dancing with me even though she hated it.
Still affected by me, even if that effect is negative.
It's pathetic that I'm clinging to that. To the evidence that I still matter to her, even as the person she hates most.
But that's all I have.
And I'll take it.
Monday morning, I wake up to seventeen missed calls from my mother.
I call her back reluctantly.
"Finally. I've been trying to reach you all weekend."
"I was busy. Settling in." I say annoyed with her overbearing mothering.
"Too busy to answer your mother?" Her tone is sharp. "We need to discuss your progress."
"I've been here a week, Mom. There's no progress to report."
"There's always progress. Have you made connections? Joined clubs? Met with your academic advisor?"
"I'm handling it."
"And Miss Chen? I trust you've been... appropriate with her." Which I know means, stay away from her.
My jaw tightens. "What does that mean?"
"It means I hope you've learned from your past mistakes. That girl was a distraction then. She'll be a distraction now if you're not careful."
"She's my project partner. I have to work with her."
"Then work with her professionally. Keep your distance otherwise." A pause. "Your father and I didn't facilitate this transfer so you could repeat old patterns." There comes that tone which is her warning.
"You facilitated this transfer to control me."
"We facilitated it because Thornhill has the connections you need for your future. Don't make us regret it."
The implied threat is clear, step out of line and there will be consequences.
"I have class. I need to go."
"Ethan—"
I hang up.
Sit there for a long moment, my phone in my hand, anger simmering under my skin.
This is what I chose. Three years ago, when they threatened Ivy's family. I chose their approval, their money, their vision for my future and I've been paying for it every day since.
Marcus emerges from the bathroom, already dressed for class.
"You look like hell."
"Thanks."
"Rough night?"
"Rough three years."
He doesn't push, just tosses me a granola bar. "Eat something. You've got Business Strategy in an hour."
Right. Business Strategy. Where I'll sit behind Ivy and feel her radiate hatred.
Where I'll watch her be brilliant and composed and everything I destroyed.
Where I'll continue to play the asshole because I don't know how to be anything else.
I get ready mechanically. Shower, dress, gather my stuff. Head to class fifteen minutes early because I know Ivy will already be there.
There she is.
Third row, right side. Color-coded notes ready. Hair pulled back. That jade bracelet on her wrist.
I sit behind her. She stiffens but doesn't turn around.
"Morning," I say.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Talk to me. Look at me. Acknowledge my existence."
"Kind of hard when we need to discuss our project."
"We can discuss it during designated meeting times. Not before class."
"When's our first meeting?"
"Never, if I have my way." Those words come out with venom.
"Professor Hendricks requires weekly meetings. With documentation."
She finally turns around, eyes blazing. "Then we'll meet in the library. In public. For exactly one hour and you'll keep your comments professional or I swear I'll report you for creating a hostile work environment."
"Hostile? I'm being perfectly pleasant."
"You're being you. That's hostile enough."
Other students are starting to file in. Watching us with undisguised curiosity.
Ivy turns back around, her shoulders rigid.
Professor Hendricks arrives and launches into the lecture. Something about Porter's Five Forces. I take notes automatically while the back of Ivy's head occupies ninety percent of my attention.
This is unsustainable. I can't keep doing this, being near her but not really being with her. Wanting her attention even when it's negative. Playing this twisted game where we hurt each other because we don't know how else to interact.
But I don't know how to stop.
When class ends, Ivy's out of her seat before Professor Hendricks finishes speaking.
I follow her into the hallway. "We need to set up our first meeting."
"Library. Wednesday. 3 PM. Don't be late."
"What company should we research?"
"I'll have a list of options ready. We'll decide together."
"Very democratic."
"Very necessary. Now leave me alone." She snaps and walks away, and I let her go. For now.
Marcus catches up to me. "Dude, what's going on with you and Ivy? The tension is insane."
"History."
"Bad history?" he asks, and I roll my eyes. Does it look like good history?
"The worst."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not even a little."
He nods. "Fair. But for what it's worth? Whatever happened, she's clearly not over it. Neither are you. Maybe you should actually deal with it instead of whatever this is."
"This is dealing with it."
"This is avoiding dealing with it. There's a difference."
He's right. I know he's right.
But talking to Ivy, really talking to her, explaining what happened, asking for forgiveness requires a courage I don't have.
So instead, I'll keep playing the villain.
Keep sitting behind her in class.
Keep showing up at places I know she'll be.
Keep taking every opportunity to remind her I exist.
Because if she forgets about me, even for a moment, I'll disappear entirely nd that's the one thing I can't handle.
Even if her hatred is all I get.
It's still something.
It's still her attention.
And I'm pathetic enough to cling to that.
For as long as she'll let me.