19. Seraphina
19
Seraphina
“You look fine; it’s going to be great. They’ll love you. You love books. It’s a win-win,” I say to my reflection in my bedroom mirror, hoping the confident, if somewhat juvenile, pep talk works. “You have your power suit on. Nothing can go wrong in a power suit, right?”
Smoothing down the lapels of my black, seventy-five-dollar Zara suit, I wince slightly at my clothing choice. While it is my power suit—the one I wore to my graduate admissions interview—I also look like a middle-aged lawyer with the black cigarette pants, oversized jacket, and high-necked white pussy-bow blouse.
I may also look like Benjamin Franklin, and that thought has me ripping my blazer off and attacking my shirt.
“Don’t you have to leave in five minutes?” Liv’s voice slams into me from my doorway, and I sigh, my fingers working overtime to unbutton the shirt.
“Yes, but this shirt makes me look like a founding father, and I can’t show up to my interview looking like I’m about to invent a lightbulb.”
“He invented the lightning rod, but Nikola Tesla perfected it,” she muses, tilting her head as she looks at me. “And, anyway, you don’t look like a three-hundred-year-old man, so I think you’re fine.”
“It’s this shirt, Liv. It’s supposed to be a pussy bow, but it looks more like ruffles down my chest. I—”
“Are you going to start reciting the Declaration of Independence?” Bianca cuts me off, humor lacing her voice.
“I hate you. So much, I really do.”
“You don’t, but here.” She throws a shirt at my head. “Just wear a silk tank under your shirt so no one asks you to produce the Bill of Rights.”
“That was a decade after the Declaration of Independence. I’m worried you don’t know your history, B,” Liv comments.
“Stop being a know-it-all, Olivia. It’s annoying.” There’s no bite to my sister’s voice.
Finally wrestling the shirt from my body, I pick up the silk tank Bianca threw and pull it over my head before picking my blazer up from the floor and pushing my arms through. Turning back to the mirror, I survey my appearance, relieved with the results. “Okay, is that better?”
“Dr. Harrington will hire you on the spot, my friend,” Liv comments, her voice soft and emotional. She knows how much I want the graduate assistant position at the Marymount library.
The impending interview served as a distraction from thoughts of Lincoln. In the days since I saw Lincoln in Ava’s kitchen, I’ve only thought about him fifty or so times. Which, by my estimate, is significantly less than if I didn’t have my library interview as a distraction. Bianca tried to corner me and force me into a confession that I had no intent of giving, but my refusal to speak gave her no traction. I’m lucky because my sister is nothing if not persistent.
But when I’m alone, in the solitude of my bedroom, I let those thoughts flow freely. When I’m out, functioning like an adult—or trying to function—I keep those thoughts in a vault. I don’t think about his warm hand on my face. I really don’t. But sometimes, there’s a crack, a slip of a whisper of a memory or recollection that bombards me, or the curiosity of needing to know what he was going to say to me in the kitchen. Still, for the most part, I’m doing a good job of keeping him from the forefront of my mind.
Okay, a decent job.
Some may say subpar.
Just as I think to myself that I’m doing well, not thinking about him, my eyes snag on a sweatshirt folded in my closet, and I’m forced to remember the night we met.
Dante and Lincoln got out of the truck, leaving just me and Celeste inside. Confusion forces my brows to draw down as I take in the unfamiliar area. “C.” I grab her hand, stopping her mid-step. “Where are we?”
She looks over at me, squeezing my hand before extracting herself from my grip. “We’re at the guys’ house. Ava and Grey are inside.”
My eyes widen at her admission, and I whip my head back to the house, taking in the flower boxes and black shutters. “You’re telling me three guys live here?”
Nodding, she laughs at my disbelief. “I know. We were all shocked when we first came here.” Offering me a final smile, CeCe trails after Dante, yelling, “You better have food in this house, Dante. I can’t be held accountable for my actions when I’m hangry.”
I shake my head as their forms disappear through the front door. “Okay then,” I murmur, internally hyping myself to go inside.
“Hey.” Lincoln’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Do you want to take a drive?”
“Have you been drinking?”
He holds up his hand in a Boy Scout salute. “I’ve had one beer, Scout’s honor.”
I take in his expression and pose, unable to contain my laughter. “Were you ever a Boy Scout?” I tease, amusement bleeding into my tone.
“Do I look like a Boy Scout?” My laughter fades, and my mouth suddenly feels parched. I take in his caramel skin, vibrant green eyes, and shaved head. With the tattoos spanning almost every visible inch of skin, Lincoln definitely does not look like a Boy Scout.
“Uh, no. No, you don’t.”
His expression softens at my words. “You’re right, but I promise you’re safe with me. Let me grab my keys and Celeste’s room key. I’ll bring you back to their dorm room tonight. Okay?”
Nodding my assent, he places a hand on my lower back, leads me through the front door, and deposits me in the foyer with a hushed, “I’ll be right back.” Staring after him, I let my eyes linger on his form as he races down the hall. I’m not sure how I ended up here—technically, I know how I ended up here, but I’m surprised all the same. This time last week, I was in my bedroom crying over Mitch’s and my most recent breakup, and now I’m waiting for my sister’s incredibly hot friend to bring me back to her dorm room.
Thoughts of Mitch, my on-again, off-again boyfriend, make my throat tight. Our most recent breakup was not good, and I try to push him from my mind. So far, I’ve thought of him minimally, taking it as a positive sign that maybe, just maybe, I’m ready to move on from the toxic pattern we’ve found ourselves in.
My thoughts are dispelled when, less than five minutes later, Lincoln reappears, this time with a sweatshirt in hand and a backward baseball cap on his head. Holding his arm out to me, he offers, “Here, I brought you my sweatshirt. It’ll be big as fuck, but you look cold.”
“Cold? What—” I start to ask before realization dawns, and I feel the blood drain from my face as I cross my arms over my dress. When I picked out my outfit for tonight, Ava and Celeste said the party would be a sauna. I went with the lightest dress I brought, a short pink baby doll. When I was in their dorm room, appraising myself in their mirror, I thought the girly dress would be simple yet keep me cool in a crowded room. The straps holding the top of the dress lace in the back, and I made the very foolish decision to forgo a bra.
My nipples must be poking through my dress, and I pray that the fabric is thick enough to hide my areolas.
“Thanks,” I mumble, grabbing the sweatshirt and quickly putting it on.
“Maybe wear a bra to your next party, hmm?”
I feel my eyes widen and my jaw drop at his statement. “I… You…” I stumble over my words, shaking my head in disbelief. “Not that it’s any of your business,” I sneer the words, “but I couldn’t wear a bra with this dress.”
He shrugs, his smirk firmly in place.
Huffing, I pull the strings of the hoodie, closing the neckline as much as I can without strangling myself. Lincoln watches my movements, his eyes lingering on where my fingers play with the strings. “Are you always this infuriating?”
“Ask your sister. She’ll probably say she wants to stab me with a Wüsthof Hollow Edge Santoku most days.”
“Oh no.” I cringe. “Don’t tell me that you’re a culinary arts major.”
His eyebrow rises at my statement. “And if I am?”
“I’ll need to hide from you because I can’t deal with two adrenaline junkies.”
“There’s nothing like being in the kitchen, baby,” he muses, his smirk pulling into a full grin. “Now come on, Seraphina.”
“Sera, are you okay?” Liv asks, her voice breaking through the memory.
I swallow the thickness in my throat and nod, not trusting my voice after the memory that just assaulted me. I’m not sure why I held on to the sweatshirt and why I still wear it like a comfort blanket, but for some inexplicable reason, I did. And like an idiot, I brought it here. Shaking the remaining memories from my head, I grab my red leather backpack from the hook by my desk and turn to face my best friend and sister, hoping my face is more composed than my mind. “I need to leave. I’ll call you guys later.”
“Celebratory drinks after?” my sister asks.
“You don’t have plans later? I thought you said your sorority had something?” Liv asks.
She shrugs, looking away from my assessing eyes. “It’s a rush video we have to film, but it shouldn’t take long. Round Robin starts in August, so we don’t have a crazy schedule yet.” Bianca always speaks highly about her sorority, and with it being her senior year at Marymount, I thought she would have opted to live with her sisters in a rental house or one of the dorms on campus. I was shocked when she decided to live in an apartment with Liv and me.
“We’ll see.” I shrug my shoulders, keeping my words short. I squeeze Liv and Bianca’s shoulders as I stride out of my room and race out of the apartment to my car. Sliding into my seat, I give myself a final glance in the rearview mirror and cringe at the wild look in my eyes.
“Dammit,” I whisper to myself, shaking my head again as I turn the car on and shift to reverse. Backing out of my parking spot slowly, I force myself to zone into the drive, paying close attention to every stop sign, stoplight, and traffic signal on the ten-minute drive to an interview for a job that means more to me than I care to admit.
While I love books, it’s not why I love libraries or why I need them to exist. No, my obsession is born from the rare books and archives hidden within the confines of the cases and shelves. Old books, many of them discarded or overlooked, receive new life in libraries; their value affirmed, their authenticity verified. I love the preservation, keeping the folios safe and whole and usable for generations so that their words and importance can live on in perpetuity. If I could live in a library surrounded by books and history and knowledge, I would. But as it stands, I can only work in one while I preserve texts, tombs, and other people’s pasts.
Pulling into the library’s parking lot, I drive to the front of the building, where all the patrons park, and find the first available spot. Grabbing my phone, I look at the slew of text messages that have come through since I left the apartment. Unsurprisingly, I have texts from my parents, a group message from Ava and Grey, and even Rafe, checking in and wishing me luck for the impending interview. Thanking each of them as succinctly as I can, I lock my phone and throw it into my backpack.
Stepping out of my car, I inhale a deep breath and exhale slowly, letting my shoulders and muscles relax before I make the short walk from the parking lot to the entrance of the library.
—
“Your schedule will be Monday through Wednesday, from eight until four. You’ll have an hour lunch break in there, so don’t worry about starving to death, dear.”
I smile at Dr. Harrington—or May, as she instructed me to call her—and nod my head repeatedly as she talks. “That sounds great. My classes are mostly evening courses, so I have no scheduling issues. Is there anything in particular you’d like me to work on?”
“You’ll start in the archive room; all this school funding, but they’re stingy on the library preservation effort. Luckily, we’re down to the school newspapers and periodicals. You’ll be responsible for digitizing and cataloging those files.”
“That’s wonderful.” I breathe, excitement filling my chest. Dr. Harrington—May—is nothing like I expected. Unlike the stigma associated with most librarians, whose hair is pinned back in a severe bun and frown lines mar their faces, May seems well-lived, cultured, and vibrant. The bright-pink caftan she’s wearing looks better suited for a day on a yacht than a library, but I can’t say I don’t love how eccentric she appears to be.
“Follow me, dear, and I’ll show you where the archive room is. Don’t be alarmed; it’s in the basement.” I don’t respond to her confession because I’m not worried. Most libraries keep their archives and infrequently used texts and materials in a space separate from the general activity. For these documents to be in the basement isn’t a surprise.
I follow May’s footsteps into a short hallway right off the entrance and down a flight of stairs. The stairwell is larger and brighter than I expected, and I’m surprised to find the archive room one large, well-lit space with stacks of boxes and a commercial scanner in the center. Next to the scanner is a giant computer, one that looks suspiciously like it’s from the nineteen hundreds.
“The boxes are set in chronological order, from oldest to newest. We bring in new archives every five years, so, lucky for you, we haven’t had more documents come down here for three years. You’ll see over there.” She points to a wall lined with boxes. “Those documents are already scanned and named according to the nomenclature formula. They’ll be taken to another part of the basement for permanent storage.” Nodding at her explanation, I do a mental tally of the number of stacks; unless there are some hidden, I count twenty-seven.
“How far back do these files go?”
“The last graduate assistant finished the forties and the first year or so of the fifties. She was only here for two months. I’m confident you’ll be able to work through more of these files.” May looks over the boxes, her mouth twisting in a scowl. “As long as you don’t bring food down here like she did, we should be fine.” She sneers the pronoun, keying me into the fact the previous assistant definitely brought food down here and probably made a mess.
“Understood,” I squeak, my voice high-pitched.
She looks over at me, her face falling back into the pleasant smile she first greeted me with. “Excellent. Let’s fill out your paperwork for the provost before you leave. Follow me to my office, please.” She spins on her heel and heads back to the stairs. I hurry after her, making sure not to linger too long in this history-laden room, even though I would love to dive right in. “Now, Seraphina, do you prefer Sera, Phina, Seraphina, or another name entirely?”
“Seraphina or Sera is fine.” I shudder at the thought of Fin or any variation of that.
“Lovely. Now—”
“May, oh, thank goodness.” A frazzled middle-aged woman rounds the corner, stopping short as soon as she sees our approach. “One of the professors spilled their coffee all over one of the computers in the east wing. The coffee seems to have dripped down to the power bank and shorted the outlets in that wing.”
“Was it Professor Reddenbalm again, Julia?” At the other woman’s nod, May’s face turns stormy. “I will ban that man from this library. This is the second time he’s caused damage, and the faculty doesn’t seem worried about it.” Releasing a breath, she turns back to me with a tight smile. “Come back later this week, and we’ll handle the paperwork. It was a pleasure meeting you, and I look forward to having you join our team.” She extends her hand, and I don’t hesitate to grab it in a firm grip.
“Likewise. Thank you for this opportunity. I hope everything works out with the computers and the outlet.” I give her a guilty smile as though I had something to do with the catastrophe. She shakes her head and leaves me with a smile before marching into the stacks.
I would be terrified if I were the professor on the receiving end of her wrath. Julia follows May, casting an apologetic smile over her shoulder before disappearing behind the rows. Once they’re out of sight, I let my smile stretch over my face, allowing myself to feel the excitement of this opportunity. I take in the dark wood beams, the rows upon rows of books, and the coffered ceilings. I feel like I’m in another world, another person’s life, one that’s romantic with a tiny bit of mystery.
I swing my backpack around, allowing me access to the front compartment’s zipper. Opening the pouch, I fish out my keys and phone, preparing to call my parents and text my siblings and Liv as soon as I leave the library walls. Looking down, I take my time walking through the main part of the library and toward the entrance. But my footsteps halt at the sound of an all-too-familiar nickname being called out.
“Fin!”
Part of me wants to shush the voice and tell them to have some respect in the library. But a larger part of me is confused by who would call out my high school nickname in the middle of the Marymount University library when everyone I know who attends this school is not here. Whipping my head around, I search for the voice, confused by the anthropomorphic books lining the shelves, shouting my name.
“Fin! Hey, this is a shock.” A hand grabs my shoulder, and I look down at the offending touch. Instant panic seizes me at the all-too-familiar gold bracelet that adorns that wrist, one linked by two lion heads devouring a snake. Mitch had that bracelet and refused to remove it as soon as he received it our junior year of high school.
Something inside of me knows that whoever this is grabbing me and speaking an old nickname isn’t Mitch—it’s not his voice or his hand with the small scar on the thumb from where he broke it playing lacrosse. But that bracelet, that nickname, is an omen. I’m frozen until the hand on my shoulder spins me around, putting me face-to-chest with the phantom voice. “God, you look fucking good. How are you?” the chest speaks, decidedly male, before pulling me in for a bear hug.
I feel uncomfortable with the hug and even more uncomfortable that I still have no idea who approached me in the middle of the library. Lifting my palms, I push against the chest, stepping back as soon as my assailant’s hands drop to his sides. Looking up, I’m momentarily speechless by the person in front of me.
“I thought you were at Penn. When did you get back to Jersey?”
“H-hi, Chris,” I stutter, blinking twice to make sure I’m not imagining things.
I haven’t seen Chris Kopicki since that horrible bonfire four years ago, where Bianca and I fled with our brother. He was part of Mitch’s crew, an entitled teen who thought his parents’ money was justification to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to. I never liked Chris, and I don’t have any illusions that he liked me. So I’m not entirely sure why he’s giving me a big hello, but it’s unsettling.
Just like before with Lincoln, memories of Mitch slam into me with the subtlety of a freight train—images of him scowling at me, disappointed in me, grabbing me just a little too hard.
“Hey, Fin,” he repeats, a boyish smile on his face. I’m sure most women fall for that look, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, making me shiver in the warm air.
I step back, placing more distance between our bodies. Pointing over my shoulder, I furrow my brows, attempting an apologetic look. “I have to run, but nice seeing you. Have a great rest of your summer.” I don’t ask why he’s here; I don’t care to know. But I do want to get away from him, his creepy smiles, and the memories that he evokes.
“Wait.” He reaches out, grabbing my arm just as I turn. “Does Mitch know you’re back? I’m sure he’ll be happy as hell to see you.”
My eyes widen, fear and disgust fighting for supreme emotion. Mitch should have absolutely no knowledge of my whereabouts. But now, because I ran into Chris Kopicki, he will have the intimate knowledge that I’m here. My blood turns to ice at the notion.
Ripping my arm from his hold, I shake my head, not bothering to answer his question. “Good seeing you, Chris.”
I don’t care if he’s watching.
I run out of the building as though it’s on fire.
—
My hands shake as I start my car, making me worry I might back into a pole as I reverse from my parking spot. Chris’s disgusting smile and dead eyes play on repeat in my mind, and I bite my lip to keep the tears at bay.
Maybe I’m overreacting, but there was something about his face and his tone that made me so uncomfortable, so completely repulsed by his presence, and I can’t shake the feeling of dread that settles low in my gut. Releasing my lip, I grip the steering wheel tighter and put on my blinker, pulling over on a side road a few blocks from my apartment.
Picking my phone up from the center cupholder, I dial my brother’s number, ten digits I’ve memorized over the years, and wait for him to answer. People talk about twin bonds, the twin telepathy that seems to exist among siblings who share a womb at the same time. It’s not exactly like that with us.
I don’t know what he’s thinking all the time, nor do I have some spidey sense that alerts me as to when he’s in pain or in trouble. More than a twin or a brother, he’s my best friend and the only person I know who can speak to me rationally and—hopefully—assuage my fears.
“Ser, what’s wrong? Shouldn’t you be in your interview right now?”
Shutting my eyes, I lean my head against the headrest and sigh at his voice. “Rafe, I saw Chris.”
“Chris who?” His voice is sharp, and I know that he knows exactly who I’m referring to.
“Kopicki.”
“Fuck. What did he want?”
I shake my head as though he can see me. “He was in the Marymount library. I have no idea why he was there, but he had a backpack, I think. Do you think he’s a student there?” I try to recall the image of him in my mind, and I vaguely remember a backpack strap digging into the side of my face when he pulled me in for a hug.
“Seraphina, I need you to listen to me. He cannot hurt you, okay? He will not hurt you because if he or Mitch, or one of those assholes from high school, even try, I’ll kill them.”
A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of me at my brother’s statement. “You’re a cop, Rafael. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Rafe sighs on the end of the line, his frustration ringing clear. “I will make sure none of those fuckers ever come near you again. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about what Mitch or Chris or any of those assholes did. I may not have been able to do much about it then, but trust me when I say that their time will come.”
“I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me, Rafe. And I don’t trust Chris. I can’t explain it, but the moment I realized it was him, I felt like running away, running to something safe.”
“And where do you feel safe, Ser?”
An unwarranted image of Lincoln pops into my mind. I look down at my clenched hands and slowly relax them, hoping that the picture in my head releases too. “I don’t know, Rafe, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. Anyway, where were you on Friday? You were supposed to meet us at Garganello’s , but you never showed up.”
“I don’t like this, Seraphina. Have you told Mom and Dad yet?” Rafe asks, ignoring my question about his whereabouts last Friday.
“No, you were my first call. I’ll tell them this weekend when I see them, but I also don’t want them to panic. You remember how bad it was when I first filed the report.” I pause, bringing my thumb to my mouth and biting down on my nail. My parents tried to keep me home—to delay my freshman year—after I filed both a report and a restraining order against Mitch. Part of me understood that they were terrified of something happening to me while I was away, especially since Ava had almost been killed at Marymount months prior. But after deleting all of my online presence and changing my phone number, I couldn’t bring myself to remain in that godforsaken town, hiding from the same people I once attended parties and social gatherings with. I needed a new start, and while it was hard convincing my parents that leaving was the only possible option while they wrapped up their document review and the police looked into Judge Abernathy and his family’s personal and professional dealings, I succeeded. I worry that telling them about Chris will cause hysteria, but I also don’t keep these kinds of things to myself anymore.
The miscommunication trope died with my old life, my old number, and my ex-boyfriend.
Shaking my head, I clear my throat. “And you never answered my question. Where were you on Friday?”
“Work stuff,” he grumbles, his tone changing from fierce and protective to dismissive. “How was it?”
I let his avoidance slide since I’m doing the same thing after telling Rafe about the initial shock of seeing Chris. “It was… good?” I hesitate, saying the statement as a question rather than a fact. “All of Ava and Grey’s friends were there.”
“How was it seeing him?”
I don’t have to ask to whom he’s referring. Rafe knows almost every detail about my past feelings with Lincoln Simmons. I don’t even bother pretending ignorance. “He has a girlfriend now, did you know that? She must be a model or actress or something because she’s stunning. And tall. I looked like a child compared to her.”
“Hmm,” Rafe hums, internalizing my words.
That nonresponse triggers me, and I let everything out. “Before she came, Lincoln and I spoke, really spoke. For the first time in years. It was—he was—it just—” I cut myself off, shaking my head at my stumbling of words. “He looked good. Great. But he has a girlfriend, and for some reason, seeing him with someone hurt.”
“You can’t help how you feel, Ser,” my brother says in a resigned voice, as though he knows the exact way I’m feeling. It’s that tone that has me swallowing the words about my interaction with Lincoln in Ava’s kitchen, how he seemed ready to tell me something before I continuously interrupted him, and Bianca stormed in.
Drawing my lips under my teeth, I weigh my words before responding. “I tried to put him from my mind, and this interview helped, you know? But I can’t deny that I’ve thought of him this week,” I confess. “A lot, if I’m honest. Part of me wants to text him to see if his old number is still the one he uses, but a bigger part of me is disgusted with myself for even thinking about that when he has a girlfriend. Does that make me a monster?”
“No, Ser. But you still shouldn’t do it. I understand how you feel, but from what I know about Lincoln from Ava, he’s living with his long-time girlfriend. I know you had feelings for him, but that’s not fair to you or to him when he’s with someone else.”
My shoulders deflate, and I feel disgusted with myself for even contemplating the thought. “I know. You’re right.” My voice is a whisper that holds all the self-loathing I feel. My previous good mood, brought about by the job in the library, has evaporated, and in its place is this hollow feeling.
The full scope of what Rafe just said registers. “Wait—you knew about Lincoln’s girlfriend? I assumed Ava did when I met Gemma, but how did you know?”
“We all knew, Seraphina. We all have social media. But…” He clears his throat in preparation for the bomb he’s about to drop. “But every time we brought up Lincoln, you acted like you didn’t want to hear about him, much less talk about how he has a girlfriend. No one said anything because any time we did, you either left the room or blocked us out because you were too miserable to hear about him.”
“Oh,” I squeak. I can’t be mad at my siblings; I know that rationally. But even so, an irrational seed of anger plants inside me, and I do everything I can not to act on it. It would have been nice to prepare with that knowledge.
“Listen, Ser. I need to get back to work. There’s a case I’m working on, and I need to meet with my partner to talk about some of the field notes.”
“Right, right. Sorry to call you during work.”
“Never apologize for that. You know we’re all here when you need us. Just be careful, and if you see Chris or anyone else again, call me immediately.”
“I promise,” I whisper, hanging up after a tense goodbye.
Shifting my car into drive, I put my blinker on and wait for the oncoming traffic to slow before I pull back onto the road and drift home, thoughts of the library, the past, and my uncertain future heavy in my mind.