Chapter 4
Four
Zee
Eastmount isn’t part of the city.
It’s a golden reef built above it.
The rest of Montreal is loud, vibrant and unapologetic.
After-hour clubs stay open as long as the depanneurs—convenience stores you can spot on every corner.
Potholed streets stay littered with flyers about the next party or exhibit.
The subway rumbles beneath seventeenth-century buildings with wobbly, winding metal staircases.
Eastmount, on the other hand, has perfectly manicured hedges, leafy empty streets and Victorian homes dripping in wealth. Heck, people from Eastmount don’t even consider themselves Montrealers. They put Eastmount first. Always.
You can feel it the minute you enter, and as I walk through the Eastmount University campus, there’s no doubting it. Did my father fit into all this? Or did he stand out as much as I do now?
The polished campus is an extension of Eastmount’s perfection. From the pristine walkways to the flourishing mini-gardens, there’s no litter in sight, as if no one really lives here. They just exist. Even the old buildings decorating the campus look like they’re from a movie set.
The women on campus are all thin, dressed in variants of white and beige. Designer skirts, dresses, and polished heels. The men are still polished and put together, but they dress in darker fabrics. Navies, blacks, and maroons.
My eyes drift to the bar a few feet off the path. My gaze narrows at the black awning sitting under the sign lit up like Broadway. ‘Sir Smith’s.’
Hoping I don’t look as lost as I feel, I bring my phone into view, flipping it, twisting it. I can’t make out the map on the screen, and the clock is ticking. I spent way too long back at the house checking if the latches on the doors and windows actually work.
Heat stings my neck.
My eyes drift to the forest lining one side of campus, scanning for a shadow that isn’t there.
Focus, Zee.
I pull my eyes back to the bar.
Asking for directions will save me some time, even if it gets me a few stares. This outfit was the most appropriate I could find. A sheer collared top and a wrinkled black mini skirt. It’s not the most glamorous, but it won’t matter if I don’t make it to the interview.
My high-top sneakers move towards the building, half-covered in vines. It’s only noon, so it shouldn’t be too busy.
When I push through the tall glass doors, I’m mistaken. And floored.
Piano music fills the air, leather chairs tucked around marble tables. It’s brighter than the bars I’m used to, sunlight pushing through its floor-to-ceiling windows. White and beige decorate the walls. A literal slab of white marble serves as the bar in the middle.
With a deep breath, I move towards it, hoping the bartender will be of some help.
She matches the beige colours that other women wear, but her outfit is different.
A beige sweatervest with nothing underneath and golfing shorts.
She’s busy fixing up some drinks, so I wait, squeezing in next to a couple as I glance at the time on my phone.
Fifteen minutes.
“Really?” One half of the couple says. The man. “You came all this way to say no to me?”
Glancing towards them, the guy speaking embodies wealth. Shiny blonde hair, a pretty face and an expensive suit. He hovers over his date, a thin blonde who keeps pulling away the closer he gets.
He places his hand on the bar behind her, blocking her in.
My chest heats.
She doesn’t look any older than a freshman.
“Why don’t you just be the little whore you are and get on your knees back in my dorm?”
My eyes shift to her. She lowers her head, speaking, but I can’t hear her. Her body language is loud, leaning away further.
My fists clench.
“What if I don’t take no for an answer?” he asks.
He wraps an arm around her, pulling her closer.
Glancing around the room, no one else sees this. Or no one cares.
“No, baby, I want you. Have another drink with me.” The more he speaks, the more the world blurs. “Stop acting like a virgin.”
My ears ring, a flash of another night in my head.
Another woman trapped by a man. Another man’s blood on my hands.
I’ve seen this before. I know how it ends.
I reach forward without thinking, my hand wrapping around the nearest glass.
“You’re nothing without me, baby.”
The room goes silent, a prickle of heat climbing up my neck.
Crash!
The glass shatters against the marble, a shard in my grip.
A hand wraps around my wrist, but it’s too late.
Before I know it, the shard in my hand presses to the fucker’s face.
The room rushes back, my heartbeat racing.
Fuckface holds his hand to his cheek, blood pouring from it.
He lowers his hand, glancing at the blood on it. Then he smirks.
“I’ll take that,” the bartender says, removing her hand from my wrist before she pulls the shard out of my grasp.
Fuckface rises off his stool, taking a step towards me. I straighten up, glaring.
He makes a sound with his mouth like a click, and the girl he’s with rushes away. Not without glancing back at me with… a glare?
“You must be jealous.” He sounds a lot less angry than I imagined, intrigue in his voice. My eyes move to the long line of red on his cheek, blood still streaking down his face.
“You know she wasn’t interested,” I say, his smirk growing. “And neither am I.”
“I chose her,” he says. “You clearly don’t get how things work here, do you?” He takes another step toward me, his chest almost touching mine. “Who are you?”
“She’s obviously not for you, Ezra.”
A woman’s voice comes from beside me, a hand landing on my shoulder. She pushes Fuckface back, taking his place.
Like the other women here, she’s pretty and put-together in designer duds. But there’s something else about her. She wears a pleated mini and a matching plaid blazer in bright yellow. It complements her pastel-pink hair, curled to one side.
She smiles, wide, showing off her perfect teeth. “Seriously, who are you?”
The bartender slams a bottle of wine on the bar. “It’s on the house, Ezra.”
My jaw drops, my glare shifting to the bartender. She lifts her hands in surrender, as if she had no other choice but to reward Fuckface for his behaviour. Heat stains my chest, but I shouldn't press. I've drawn enough attention.
“I'm just looking for the Insectarium.” I turn back to the woman in front of me. She looks about my age, glittery shadow on her eyes. “Do you know where it is?”
She laughs. “You’re just, like… casually looking for the insectarium?”
“It’s for a job.”
She continues to blink like I’m some castaway from a foreign place.
“Fuck it.” My feet pivot towards the door, pulling my tote bag tighter on my shoulder. “I’ll figure it out.”
Making my way back to the door, I ignore the stares around the room. A buzz fills me, that scar on Fuckface in my mind.
You could’ve killed him.
He deserved it.
You’d do it again.
My hand hits the door.
“It’s on the farthest end of campus!”
Looking over my shoulder, the Cher Horowitz wannabe calls after me, flipping her pinkish hair. “They moved it past the Science Building. It’s part of the old greenhouse. Try not to get lost.”
My mouth drops when I get to the modern glass building, its parking lot nearly empty.
Vines crawl up concrete walls, plants and florals surrounding it. The glass roof glimmers under the sun. It’s much more beautiful than I expected.
After calling around, the Insectarium was the only gig still open. Winter comes fast, and I need heat. So, here I am.
Heat pricks my neck.
Snap!
I turn to the sound behind me.
Glancing back at the path I followed from the bar, there’s no one else in view.
My gaze slowly moves to the forest again, between the trees. My chest tightens as that feeling comes over me again. Maybe today wasn’t the day to skip a dose.
His voice comes to my head. Rolling. Deep.
“Three things you can hear.”
Closing my eyes, I suck in a deep breath, focusing on the sounds around me.
A rustle of leaves.
A crow.
Trickling water.
My eyes snap open to a fountain nearby.
It’s beautiful, water sprouting out of the mouth of a stone fish.
My heart begins to slow, my muscles easing as I take another long, deep breath.
But the feeling remains, lingering.
Like he never left.