Adeline
After hour four of studying, I decide to take a break. Except instead of turning to Instagram like I’d normally do, I stare bleakly at old texts Nat and I have sent.
Not even twenty-four hours ago, I lost my virginity to Ciaran O’Connell. As monumentally life changing as this event was, it’s not where my mind has floated to most of the day.
It’s the weird, stupid argument I had with Natalie that’s keeping me on a knife’s edge.
I woke up this morning in Ciaran’s bed and tried to slip out.
Ciaran’s hand wrapped around my arm before my toes touched the floor. “Permission to leave the bed wasn’t granted.”
And that’s when I discovered that a sleepy Irish accent does something to me. I told him I had to go study and when he argued about breakfast, I simply shrugged. Maybe he read that I needed space because he stopped fighting me, though he did walk me to my dorm, stopping to buy us coffee.
I couldn’t tell what we were doing on this coffee run. If he thought it was chivalrous or if this was something he normally did with girls he slept with.
Our talk was stilted because, for the first time, we didn’t talk about any of the people we were mutuals with. You know, people with nefarious backgrounds.
It seemed trivial talking about the weather and asking Ciaran if he’d gone to any museums as if he hadn’t once killed a guy in front of me before.
He kissed me before I walked back into my dorm, wearing yet another one of his T-shirts. I grabbed my backpack and headed to the library, where I’ve spent hours studying since.
But my thoughts keep drifting to Nat.
I don’t like how short she was with me. How she sifted through my responses looking for an argument. But I was wrong to talk about Lia’s engagement. The fact that her parents keep denying her sexuality is a very real problem, and it affects my sister.
Typing out an apology doesn’t feel right, though. Two little words on an electronic screen aren’t enough. I’m afraid she won’t pick up if I call.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard until the right words form.
Adeline: One time offer: I’ll kill Peter Sablin.
That’s who Lia is supposed to marry, a thorn in all of our sides.
Nat loves the message but doesn’t type out a response. Knowing her, it’s the best outcome. She’s methodical even when sorting through her feelings.
I can’t stand sitting in the library anymore, and I’m tired of staring at my statistics assignment. Gathering everything up, I tiptoe out.
I’ve almost made it to my dorm when Lennie’s name pops up on my phone.
Lennie: The parents are fighting in their respective languages.
It’s sort of their thing and the reason we’re all trilingual. From a young age we watched Mom lob complaints in Italian while Dad replied in Russian.
Lennie: What’s going on?
Adeline: They don’t like my boyfriend.
Lennie: You already have a boyfriend? You’ve been at school barely a month.
Adeline: Time moves fast.
Especially, when your life is threatened by a guy working for an arms dealer and you’re saved by a morally gray Irishman.
Adeline: They met him last night, and they’re not fans.
Adeline: Neither is Nat.
Lennie: Why?
I chew on my bottom lip as the elevator takes me to the tenth floor. Lennie is the empathetic, open-minded sister. She’s my best shot at claiming an ally, but she also smells bullshit better than Nat. It’s the watchfulness in her.
I let myself into my room, typing out a response.
Adeline: Mom and Dad seemed stressed. They barely even looked at Ciaran. Nat thinks I’m trying too hard.
Lennie: Ciaran?
Lennie: Your Irish Boyfriend
Lennie: What is he like?
My fingers hover just like they did when I tried to type out an apology to Nat.
What is Ciaran like? My initial instinct is to tell her he’s Irish. But I don’t want to be the windswept American girl fawning over an accent. Plus, she’s clearly overheard our parents arguing and already knows his nationality.
There’s got to be more to Ciaran.
Adeline: He’s got a beard and tattoos.
Adeline: He calls me Adeline Marie and argues a lot.
Adeline: Like a total know-it-all style, but it’s not in a mansplaining way. More like, you should eat your vegetables.
Or rather like please for the love of God, stop drinking and pay attention to who is handing you said drinks.
Adeline: He’s really sweet.
Like when he held me in the shower last night.
Adeline: But also I think we’re probably both just incredibly high strung, strange people.
I mean how else would you describe our meet cute?
The bathroom door opens, and I realize Rina just took a shower. Her face is blotchy, her kohl lined eyes red.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask from my bed.
“No,” she hoarsely says, holding her towel tight around her torso. A shaky hand reaches for a crewneck.
Before I can fight this obvious lie, our door bangs open and Trish appears. She’s talking on the phone, loudly, which gives Rina the opportunity to pull on some sweatpants and stuff her shoes on. She’s out the door in thirty seconds.
Trish’s bag lands with a heavy thud on her bed. Heavy metal blasts from her earphones.
Before having roommates, I’d considered myself the type of person who didn’t care about noise. Whispers in the library never bothered me. Loud crowds or blasting TV commercials never made me bat an eye.
But I swear every tiny noise that comes from Trish makes me want to stab my eye out. Though, I suppose it’d be better if I went for my eardrums.
It’s constant. Her headphones do nothing to contain her music. She practically yells into the phone. Sometimes she’ll leave our door open, standing in the doorframe, yelling down the hall at her friends.
No wonder I’ve taken so much refuge in the library. It’s not exactly a safe space like my bedroom back home, but at least I don’t grit my teeth as much.
“I’d be careful if I were you.”
It takes me a second to realize she’s speaking to me. Last week, I made the mistake of thinking she’d said something to me and got my head bitten off for interrupting her phone call.
“What?” I ask.
Trish jerks her head toward Rina’s retreating figure. “She’s fighting with her boyfriend because he found out she’d been impersonating his mother.”
“What?”
Trish nods. “Yeah, anyway, she’s a psychopath, but seriously, like, if you start getting strange messages.”
“How do you know she was impersonating his mother?” I’m pretty sure Rina and her boyfriend have dated since middle school.
“He called her last night, and she put him on speakerphone. Super awkward.” Trish makes a face. “But you know they call each other every night, so I’m sure you’ll hear them fighting again tonight.”
“Why would he call her if—” Wouldn’t he automatically break up with her?
I smush my face into my pillow. Rina does talk to her boyfriend every night on speakerphone, another example of her lacking boundaries.
My temples begin to pound. Trish lies back on her bed, taking out a pair of drumsticks and tapping them together.
I can’t believe I lied to Nat about how awful my roommates are. Would it really matter if I just admitted how godawful they are?
But that’s not how NYU was supposed to go!
Thanks to Trish’s noise, the possibility of Rina’s upcoming phone call, and the fact that I don’t want to die, I make a split-second decision.
I grab my backpack, stuffing sweatpants, socks, and a fresh shirt into it. I grab the tiny toiletry bag I keep on my desk, and then I’m out the door.
I can’t face going to the library. Not after all the amount of time I’ve spent there. Yes, I’ve got a crap ton of studying, so it’d make sense, but it’s a Saturday for God’s sake.
I’m not looking to get wild, though. I’m wistful for a peaceful, chill autumn afternoon. The kind where I’d curl up in my bedroom, reading a book and feeling utterly free.
At the moment, I can’t grasp that feeling completely, but I can at the very least free myself from two shitty roommates.