Chapter 6 Haven
Haven
Someone should warn people about the way happiness sneaks up on you mid-Twizzler while your not-quite-boyfriend dozes on the other end of the sofa with a highlighter dangling out of his open mouth.
Piaget’s stages of cognitive development: sensorimotor, preoperational, concrete operational, formal operational.
Right. Cool. Got it.
Except I absolutely do not have it, and midterms are next fucking week.
I glance over at Kai sprawled on the opposite end of the sofa. His one leg is bent, foot propped on the coffee table, the other stretched out so his sock-covered toes press against my thigh. The Corporate Finance textbook balanced on his stomach rises and falls with each breath.
The very picture of academic dedication.
A cold, half-eaten pepperoni pizza sits between us in its grease-stained box. Five empty beer bottles line the coffee table. Three are Kai’s—his fourth is on the floor beside him, half-finished.
I’m working my way through a Twizzler, my study material neatly piled in my lap.
Kai’s notes are everywhere. On the cushions, on the floor.
One page even ended up on the top of the sofa’s headrest. His phone is blaring out some random hip-hop track that sounds exactly the same as the last ten on his playlist.
It’s domestic as fuck.
I hate how much I love it, because this is what I’ve always wanted, and it feels too good to be true.
Someone to study with—check.
Someone who saves the last slice of pizza without being asked—check.
Someone who doesn’t make me apologize for taking up space…someone who actually wants me here.
Check.
My heart quivers. I touch the butterfly pendant at my throat to ground myself. The silver is warm from my skin. The tiny blue stone catches the lamplight as I twist it in my fingers.
I still can’t believe he finally gave this to me.
Scratch that. I can’t believe he apologized for losing his shit about Bastian’s phone. That was two days ago, and I’m still reeling.
It happened on Wednesday, right after lunch. With the temperature dropping every day, we’ve been cloistered up in the college library in between classes. He shuffled up to me in the booth we were snuggled in, all nervous energy and fidgeting hands, and actually said sorry.
Not, “Sorry, but—” or “Sorry you feel that way,” or some other non-apology bullshit. Just a straight up, “I’m sorry I was a dick about the phone.”
I didn’t know what to do with that.
Still don’t, honestly.
But it gives me this dangerous, stupid, giddy hope that maybe—just maybe—we can survive my fuck-ups. That, when I inevitably hurt him or prove I’m exactly as broken as he suspects, he won’t just bail.
And I let myself believe it, even though experience tells me this feeling has an expiration date.
I glance at Kai again. His eyes are closed, the textbook slowly sliding down his stomach. The highlighter dangling from his now-open mouth is in danger of falling out.
“You’d better not be sleeping,” I say.
He jerks, failing to catch his textbook before it hits the floor, but catching the highlighter as it drops out of his mouth. “My brain does its best processing while I sleep. It’s how Einstein studied.”
“That’s such a lie.”
“It’s totally not a lie. He took a lot of naps.”
I sigh. “If we could nap our way to better grades, they’d have sleep pods in the classrooms, not desks.”
“The combined snoring would be a health hazard.”
I snort-laugh.
“See?” He grins. “I make studying fun.”
“You make studying impossible.” But I’m smiling too, and God, when did I become this person? This girl who smiles at dumb jokes and feels warm inside and actually believes I can be normal?
Kai shifts on the sofa, tapping my thigh with his foot. “How you doing with Piaget?”
“I’m gonna piaget myself off a bridge if I read any more of this bullshit.”
It’s his turn to snort-laugh. “No, but seriously.”
I flip another page, my eyes refusing to focus on the dense text. “I still don’t know what to write for my essay.” I groan dramatically, snapping the textbook closed and bashing it against my forehead. “I’m. So. Fucked!”
“You’re not fucked.” He leans over and pulls the book out of my hands, then holds it out for me to take. “You’re smart as hell.”
He states it like Haven Lee being smart is as obvious as the sky being blue.
My throat is too tight for words as I take the book from him.
“Hey.” His voice is softer now. “You okay?”
I nod quickly, not trusting myself to speak. Because how do I explain that the only other person who’s ever said that to me was Bastian?
In Riverside, being smart turned you into some kind of tragic comedy. In Ashwood High, being smart made you a target. Kai throwing it out there like it’s no big deal is fucking with my head.
His phone buzzes on the coffee table.
We both glance at it. The screen lights up with a notification, and Kai reaches for it, scanning whatever message just came through. He glances up at me, suddenly beaming.
“What?” I ask.
“Halloween party next Friday. We’re so gonna go!”
I blink at him. “But it’s midterms.”
“Exactly. We’ll need to blow off steam after exams.” Restless energy practically hums off him as he sits up straighter. “We gotta do the whole couple costume thing!”
It sounds like fun. Normal, college fun.
“Yeah,” I hear myself say. “Let’s do it.”
“Fuck yeah!” Kai tosses his textbook aside and shoves his notes on the floor. So much for his system. “Okay, hear me out…Ketchup and mustard.” He spreads his hands like he just mic-dropped a Pulitzer speech.
“That’s definitely…an option…” I say carefully.
Why does vetoing his idea feel like stepping on a puppy’s paw?
“Okay. Can see you’re not vibing with it. Uh…” His face scrunches up. “We could do chips and salsa?”
“Yeah, so, maybe something not food related?”
“Guess that rules out peanut butter and jelly,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.
I laugh despite myself. “Oh my God, Kai. Seriously?”
“I’m brainstorming.” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up even more.
“Please stop before you hurt yourself.” I pick up a slice of cold pizza because all this talk of food has made me hungry again. “We could do Romeo and Juliet?”
“Too morbid.”
“It’s Halloween,” I say dryly, but he shakes his head. “Fine, Beauty and the Beast?”
“Glorified Stockholm syndrome.”
“You’re really limiting our options here.” But I’m grinning, and he’s grinning, and fuck, I want to live in this moment forever—where we’re just two college kids being stupid about Halloween costumes. No childhood trauma, no fucked-up professor hunting us both.
His phone buzzes again.
Kai glances at it and laughs—a real, genuine laugh that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“What?” I ask.
“Kruger.” He types something back, still chuckling. “He’s going as The Dude.”
“Which dude?”
Kai looks up, smiling through a frown. “The Dude. You know.” When my eyebrows lift another quarter inch, he sighs. “From The Big Lebowski?”
I shake my head. “My dad pawned our TV back when I was seven…or did you forget?”
“Shit, yeah.” Kai whistles low, hitting send on his reply, then tossing his phone back onto the table. “Can’t wait for you to meet Kruger. He’s super chill.”
The warm and fuzzies disappear. Kai’s not the weirdo loner he used to be back when we were kids. He has friends now. People to text. People who make him laugh. People he can hang out with whenever.
And I have…
I check my phone like something might have changed in the last ten minutes. The notification screen is as empty as my contact list.
Nothing from Melissa.
Nothing from Bastian.
Nothing from anyone…as if there is anyone else.
“Melissa text you back yet?” Kai’s voice pulls me back.
“Nope.” I set my phone face-down on the couch. “It’s been five days, Kai.”
His expression softens. “You think something’s off?”
I drag a hand through my hair. “I’m probably just overreacting. It could be anything. Family emergency. Mental health crisis.”
But even as I say it, I don’t believe it.
“Maybe she’s in rehab or something,” Kai says.
“Rehab?” I snort. “She’s not an alcoholic.”
“Drugs,” Kai says it like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world.
“She took molly once—” I start, but Kai speaks over me.
“She does coke.”
“What? No she doesn’t.”
“You know she dated Ezra, right?”
I blink at him. “Yeah? And?”
“She tell you where she met him?”
I shake my head. “She didn’t say much about him.” The lie sends a warm flush up my neck.
Kai takes a sucker out of his pocket, unwrapping it before he speaks again, his word’s muffled around the sweet. “Rehab.”
I shove my textbook off my lap, rocking forward so I can slide my legs under me. “No way! She’s been in rehab? For what? Drugs?” The last is a whisper-shout.
He nods, looking smug as he twirls his sucker around in his mouth.
“Coke.”
I lean back, shaking my head. “No. No way.”
He nods again, popping his sucker out of his mouth. “Ezra was pounding the stuff every chance he got back then. It got so bad, he ended up in rehab. That’s where they hooked up. Bet she went on a bender over the weekend, woke up on Monday feeling like dogshit, and booked herself into rehab again.”
I stare at Kai, open-mouthed.
Not just because I had no fucking idea Melissa had been—was?
—into coke, but because every time I think I belong in this new world, I’m reminded how different my version of rock bottom is from theirs.
Of course these rich pricks binge cocaine and book themselves into rehab on the regular.
Because that’s what trust fund babies do, right?
But Melissa never spoke about rehab or coke. Maybe she’d been addicted in the past, but I’m sure she’s been clean since I met her.
“Still. This doesn’t feel right.” I draw my legs up, resting my chin on my knees. “I think something’s happened to her.” The words come out softer than I intended, like I’m too scared to say anything out loud in case I will it into existence.
“What?”
“Don’t know.”
Kai doesn’t look convinced. “You tried calling her?”