Chapter 3
Chapter Three
TALON
I wake up slowly, like my body’s finally calm but my brain’s still running laps.
The sunlight spilling through the blinds makes everything too bright.
The room smells like leftover cologne, and when I stretch, something in my back pulls tight.
My skin still feels warm in the places her hands touched.
For a second, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself Saturday night didn’t mess me up the way it did. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. A release. Nothing more.
But then I shift, and the faint sting where she swatted me with the crop reminds me it was real. Proof she existed. Proof someone finally saw me.
“Get it together,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.
I roll out of bed and hit the shower, hoping the water will rinse her out of my head. It doesn’t. Every time I close my eyes, she’s there; the sharpness of her voice, the way she told me to breathe, the quiet smile when I actually listened.
When I step out, the mirror’s fogged over, but I swipe a hand down the glass and study myself.
My hair’s a mess, dark and still dripping.
A day’s worth of stubble, a few faint marks across my collarbone—leftovers from a regular hookup back at boarding school.
Graduation night, too much whiskey, too many goodbyes.
Easy. Forgettable. The kind of thing that used to make me feel something.
The ink on my chest catches the light, all black leaves and wings curling up my shoulders.
I grab my glasses from the counter and slide them on; the world snaps into focus.
I smirk at my reflection and mutter, “You look like trouble.”
Black jeans. Tank top. Silver ring. The same necklace I’ve worn since I was fourteen, when my dad gave it to me. No point in dressing up when all I’ve got to my name is a dorm room the size of a closet and a reputation that won’t die.
By breakfast, I’ve already checked my phone three times, like Velvet House might somehow text me to say she asked for me again. Stupid.
A ping breaks the silence.
Mom: Make sure you’re enrolled full-time this semester. Passing grades, Talon. Those were the rules if you wish to stay in town and see your sister when she’s home on breaks.
I stare at the message until the screen goes dark. My chest tightens.
Right. The deal.
Behave. Study. Stay out of trouble.
I shove the phone in my pocket and grab my keys.
“I’m not going back,” I tell myself. “One night. That’s all.”
It sounds convincing until I catch my reflection in the window of my car—eyes shadowed, jaw tight—and I know I’m lying.
I try to shake it off and do something normal. Coffee. That always helps.
7 Brew is already packed when I pull in, cars lined up around the building, people hanging out their windows to flirt with the baristas.
The speakers are blasting some overplayed pop song that makes me feel about a hundred years older than I am.
I roll down the window when it’s my turn, give the girl working the drive thru my order.
“Medium Sweet and Salty,” I say. “Extra shot.” I pull up to the first window and get ready to pay.
She grins as she slides the window open. “Rough morning?”
“You have no idea.”
She laughs, “It’s seven dollars and ten cents.”
She runs my card, hands it back, and passes me the drink. I pull away before the smell of sugar and espresso can start reminding me of anything else.
The caffeine helps a little, enough that I decide to run errands.
There’s a grocery store a few blocks from campus, small and half-dead inside, the kind of place that plays eighties music and smells faintly like old produce.
I grab a basket and start tossing in the basics—ramen, sandwich stuff, bottled water, as well as a few frozen meals I’ll pretend count as dinner.
My dorm doesn’t have a real kitchen. Just a microwave, a mini fridge, and a portable burner I shouldn’t technically have but do, anyway. One pot. One pan. That’s it.
It’s not much, but it’s better than staying at my mom’s house pretending she’s an amazing parent. She wanted me to move in, but it was only so she could keep her judgmental eye on me. No thanks.
The dorms are tiny, loud, and smell like detergent and bad decisions, but it’s mine. No expectations. No rules I didn’t agree to.
I swipe my card at self-checkout, load the bags into the backseat, and sit there for a second, sipping my coffee. The world feels too normal, too bright, like it doesn’t know it’s missing something.
I tell myself again I’m fine. That I’m not thinking about her.
But the truth is, I still am.
And tomorrow, when the first day of fall semester starts, I’ll have to pretend like none of it ever happened.