Chapter 6 Sebastian #2
The campus arboretum is a ten-minute walk, a small wooded area with paths and benches, maintained by the environmental science department. We walk in silence, the weight of impending honesty heavy between us.
When we reach a secluded bench overlooking a small pond, I gesture for her to sit. She does, and I sit next to her, not too close, but closer than we've been outside of required date activities.
"Freshman year," I begin, and my voice sounds strange even to my own ears. "I noticed you on the first day of our English seminar. You challenged Professor Hendrix about The Great Gatsby. Everyone else was just agreeing with him, but you had your own interpretation. You were brilliant."
Isla doesn't say anything. Just watches me with those careful eyes.
"I started showing up in places I knew you'd be.
The library. That coffee shop you used to go to.
It took me three weeks to work up the courage to talk to you at that party.
" I run a hand through my hair. "I'd never had to work up courage before.
Everything always came easy. But you... you didn't even see me.
Looked right through me like I didn't exist."
"Sebastian—"
"Let me finish. Please." I take a breath.
"When I finally asked you out, I meant it.
It wasn't a joke or a bet or whatever you thought.
I wanted to take you to dinner. Wanted to get to know you.
And when you laughed in my face and told me I was nothing but my father's money and a heartless asshole.
.. you were the first person who ever saw me clearly. "
"I didn't see clearly. I saw what I expected to see."
"No. You saw what I was." I look at her finally. "Maybe not all of it, but you weren't wrong. I was entitled. Privileged. Disconnected from reality. You called me out, and I couldn't handle it."
"So you spent two years proving me right."
"Yes." The admission hurts. "I spent two years being exactly what you accused me of being. Because if you were going to hate me anyway, I might as well earn it."
She's quiet for a long time. A bird calls from somewhere in the trees. The pond ripples with wind.
"That's the most fucked up logic I've ever heard," she says finally.
"I know." I say softly.
"You made my life hell because I hurt your feelings?"
"Yes."
"Jesus, Sebastian." She stands, paces away from the bench. "Do you have any idea how that sounds? How petty and cruel and—"
"I know. I know exactly how it sounds and I can't take any of it back.
Can't undo two years of being an asshole.
But I can tell you the truth." I stand too, facing her across the distance.
"I didn't bid on you to humiliate you. I bid on you because I wanted another chance.
A real chance to show you I'm more than what you think. "
"Why should I believe that?"
"Because I'm standing here telling you something I've never told anyone. Because I wrote poetry about you that no one's ever seen. Because every time I tried to hate you, I couldn't." My voice drops. "Because you scare the hell out of me, Isla Monroe."
"I scare you?" She almost laughs. "I'm a scholarship student with two jobs and second-hand clothes. You're Sebastian Thornhill. What could possibly scare you about me?"
"Everything. You see through all the bullshit. You don't care about my name or my money. You work harder than anyone I've ever met and never complain. You're real in a way no one else at this school is real." I take a step toward her. "And you made me want to be real too. That's terrifying."
She stares at me, and I can see her processing. Weighing my words against two years of evidence to the contrary.
"I don't know if I can trust this," she says quietly. "Trust you."
"I know."
"Two years, Sebastian. Two years of comments and sabotage and making me feel like I don't belong. You can't just apologize and expect that to disappear."
"I'm not expecting anything. I'm just asking for a chance to do better. To be better." I close the distance between us until we're standing a foot apart. "Three more dates. That's what the contract says. Let me use them to prove I'm not who I was. That I can be who you deserve."
"And if you can't?"
"Then you walk away, and I'll have earned that too."
The air between us feels charged. Dangerous. Like we're standing on the edge of something neither of us fully understands.
"This is insane," she whispers.
"Probably."
"You're asking me to give you a chance after everything you've done."
"Yes."
"Why would I do that?" The question escapes in a whisper.
"Because I think you felt it too. On the ice. In the kitchen. Right now." I risk reaching for her hand. She doesn't pull away. "Because maybe we're both tired of hating each other when we could be something else."
"What else could we be?"
"I don't know. But I want to find out."
Her hand is warm in mine.
"Three more dates," she says finally. "But I'm not promising anything. You don't get forgiveness just because you're finally being honest."
"I know."
"And if you hurt me again, if this is some elaborate game, I will destroy you. I don't know how, but I'll find a way."
Despite everything, I smile. "I believe you."
"Good." She squeezes my hand once, then lets go. "I should head to my library shift."
"I'll walk you."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
We walk back across campus in silence, but it's different now. Less hostile. More uncertain. Like we've opened a door neither of us is sure we should walk through.
When we reach the library, she pauses at the entrance.
"Sebastian?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For being honest. Finally." She adjusts her backpack. "It doesn't fix everything. But it's a start."
"A start is more than I deserve."
"Probably." She's almost smiling. "See you for date three?"
"When is it?"
"Friday. Movie marathon at..." She trails off. "The contract says your place. The Legacy House."
Right. The third date package. Movie marathon in a private setting. Suddenly that feels incredibly dangerous.
"Friday works," I manage. "I'll text you details."
"Okay." She hesitates, then: "Don't make me regret giving you this chance."
"I won't. I promise."
She heads inside, and I'm left standing on the library steps, my hand still warm from holding hers, my chest tight with something that feels dangerously close to hope.
I pull out my phone and text Marcus: I told her. Everything.
His response is immediate: And?
Me: And she's giving me three more dates to prove I'm not a complete asshole.
That's more than you deserve.
Marcus: I know.
Marcus: Don't fuck this up, Seb.
Me: I won't.
I hope that's a promise I can keep.
Because if I hurt Isla Monroe again, I won't just lose her. I'll lose the only chance I've ever had at being someone worth knowing.
And that's a loss I don't think I'd survive.