Chapter Seventeen
Lying back on my bed, I gave up trying to play Jeremy’s guitar a while ago and now it just rests across my chest while I stare at the ceiling.
Kenneth picked up an extra shift and said he was going to study hall afterward, which gave me some much-needed time alone.
Though now that I actually have it, I’m starting to realize solitude might be the exact opposite of what I really want.
Take away the window and shove five psychopaths-in-the-making into my shower and I could be back in the JDC for all I know.
Moments like this make me feel like I’d take just about any job that would have me, mostly for the distraction of doing something other than memorizing every crack in these walls.
The extra cash wouldn’t hurt either. But thanks to the permanent shadow of my record, I’m pretty much unhireable until I’ve earned some kind of qualification to prove I’m not a walking liability.
I’d considered calling my mom again, which would make it the second time this week, but there’s only so much of the act I can stomach.
At first, pretending to be Jeremy felt like I was doing her a kindness, trying to protect what’s left of her mental stability.
But lately, each phone call feels less like protection and more like a mask I can’t seem to take off.
It’s not pretending anymore. It’s hiding.
And then there’s her. I can’t close my eyes without her fabricating in my mind.
Harper’s soft skin, her curves, the whisp of her hair against my face, I’m convinced I can still feel it all.
She is so small compared to me, yet not fragile in the slightest. I know she doesn’t need my help, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
I’m drawn to her like a drug, getting high on being there when she needs me most. I’m surprised I’m not loitering outside her building, on high alert for the next stunt Wavershit pulls.
No, I’ll stay right here, holding Jeremy’s guitar and telling myself I’m better alone. I deserve to be alone.
A knock sounds at my door and I sit up bolt upright. Is it Harper, does she need me?
Fuck’s sake Clayton, get a grip. No one besides Kenneth knows what dorm I’m in, and I’ve worked hard to keep it that way.
My privacy is one of the only things I still have any real control over.
Assuming the knock must’ve come from further down the hall, I wait, but then it comes again, louder this time.
I don’t hesitate now. I cross the room in a few strides and swing the door open, not sure who or what to expect.
For a fraction of a second, my heart kicks hard at the sight of shabby blonde hair and a wide-set frame standing just outside, the ghost of someone I wish more than anything I could see again.
But I blink twice, and the illusion breaks.
The eyes staring back at me are warm brown, not endless black.
The jawline is too square, and the clothes are all wrong.
Jeremy would never wear unlaced tan boots with baggy jeans and a plaid jacket with sheepskin lining.
Reality settles in with a quiet thud, dragging the hope inside of me back down where it should stay buried.
“Clayton,” Huxley says with a casual nod in greeting. I eye the sophomore warily, not bothering to hide my skepticism.
“What do you want?”
If Huxley is surprised by my hostility, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he grins.
“A friend of mine is studying psychology this year. Remote learning setup. He needed to take some time off.” Huxley pauses, adjusting the sleeve of his hoodie.
I sense a hidden meaning to his words but I also don’t give a shit.
“Part of his course includes offering free life coaching sessions to students on scholarship, and according to him, you haven’t taken him up on the offer. ”
I recollect a series of unread emails from a couple months ago. I’d scoffed at them then, the same way I’m scoffing now.
“Nice to know you’ve been talking about me behind my back.” I roll my eyes, already retreating back into my room. Huxley takes this as an invitation to follow me inside.
“Loosen up, Clayton. You might pull something.” He drops onto Kenneth’s bed, crossing his ankles.
I take my time, putting Jeremy’s guitar away, not caring for the eyes watching my every move.
I close the closet on the guitar and the shoe box of memories I leave stashed there, finally turning back to face the man relaxing back on his hands.
“I’m not interested.” I declare. In fact, the last thing I want to do is sit around and talk about my feelings. I’m going to internalize them like a big boy. Moving to the door, I gesture for Huxley to get the fuck out. He glances over his shoulder at the window, weighing up his options.
“The sun’s finally out. Take a walk with me.”
Huxley doesn’t wait for a response. He stands and strolls out, stopping by the stairwell. I watch him from the doorway as he leans against the railing, props one leg up, and folds his arms patiently. He’s really not going away, is he?
I drag on a pair of worn sneakers, grab my beanie, and head out, catching up as Huxley leads the way down the staircases without saying a word. We push through the doors and step outside into a burst of sunlight.
Against my better judgement, I must admit Huxley was right.
The break in the rain and dark clouds would have been a shame to miss, but I’m careful not to look like I’m enjoying myself.
I tug the beanie low over my hair and squint against the glare.
My hands disappear into the pockets of my gray sweatpants, the same shade as the hoodie I’m wearing, as we walk side by side toward the courtyard.
If I keep my gaze straight ahead and avoid looking too closely at him, I can almost convince myself I’m walking with Jeremy through the campus he once dreamed about.
I brace for the usual twisting knot in my chest, maybe even a wave of nausea at the lie I’m living, but neither comes.
Instead, there’s a numbness deep-rooted in my chest, as if I’ve come to terms with my reality.
I know he’s not coming back. I know I need to start living for myself.
Huxley and I pass the stone fountain and drift by the main hall, where auditions for some end-of-semester talent show are in full swing.
Judging by the voice currently massacring what sounds like an opera ballad, I make a mental note to avoid being anywhere near here that evening for the sake of my ears.
Students sprawl across the lawn, soaking up the rare sun like plants finally being given light.
A fresh wave of posters featuring Rhys line the path through the open greens, each one plastered with his smug face above the black and yellow basketball jersey he doesn’t deserve to wear.
Huxley lifts his head, taking in the sight and muttering under his breath about spoiled assholes.
I smile on the inside, wondering if I initially misjudged the sophomore.
Veering left, heading in the opposite direction to the gymnasium, Huxley leads me around buildings I’ve not bothered to explore before.
There’s another five sets of dorm halls over this end of campus, each one having a coffee house next door.
Alcoves have benches hidden beneath overhanging foliage, creating small retreats away from the hustle and bustle of classes and the stress of having a roommate in your space constantly.
We walk for far longer than I originally anticipated, and I find myself content to match the slow, steady pace Huxley has set.
There’s no urgency in his steps and apparently no real destination in mind, which suits me just fine.
It beats laying around in bed, wasting my free periods contemplating why I care about being lonely when I actively avoid socializing at all costs.
For once, I’m going to let someone else take the reins and allow my mind to switch off for a while.
At some point, we wander off campus completely, threading our way through the outskirts of the town that borders Waversea.
The buildings grow taller with each block, yet the noise steadily diminishes.
People here are too absorbed in their errands to notice much of anything, including each other.
The shift in atmosphere offers a strange relief, as if all my usual problems have been left behind with the dorms and lecture halls, making it easier to take in a full breath for once.
As Huxley guide us down a narrow alleyway tucked behind a string of storefronts, suspicion starts to rise.
There’s a Chinese restaurant on the corner, the scent of ginger, soy, and something sizzling reaching us as the kitchen prepares for the lunch crowd.
My stomach cramps at the smell, sick of surviving on leftover sandwiches that Kenneth brings back from work.
He always insists they were going to be thrown out and that I’m doing him a favor in eating them.
I don’t thank him the way I should for his blatant lie to make me feel better.
We don’t hang around, Huxley heading straight for the rusted fire escape attached to the side of the building.
He starts climbing, the groan of metal beneath his weight echoing faintly.
I look back towards the street, debating what I’m doing here after all but I’ve come this far. The railing rattles as I follow.