Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The next day I wake up … off. A pit carved into my stomach overnight. The defiance I rely on for survival has all seeped out. I know why—I’ve lived with this off and on for years. But also, I don’t know why. I never do.
Since middle school I’ve been calling these Dark and Twisty days.
Thanks to Meredith Grey and Cristina Yang for the helpful terminology.
I wake up or I wind up—it just depends—with a weight on my mind and heart and body.
Sometimes it’s just one day, out of nowhere.
Or a few days. Or months, and they call it a depressive episode.
I can’t control it. I can’t predict it, except that it seems to latch on to overwhelm. I’m just along for the sickening ride.
Sometimes, Dark and Twisty is the emotional equivalent of wearing sunglasses inside.
Sometimes, it’s an IV drip of apathy and exhaustion.
Sometimes, it’s a black hole.
Today I manage classes with minimal interaction. I almost skip lunch, but a muffin from Common Grounds is my attempt at self-care. Carefully avoid Kit, mirrors, Saga.
I start typing an excuse to our suite group chat so Kit and Mia don’t track me down, but—
Ding.
I flinch. It’s Austin.
Austin
Lab is canceled
You free? I’m outside
I can’t let him see me like this, but I won’t lie to him. Won’t leave him on read. Wiping under my eyes, I push out of bed. Sneakers, joggers, hair in a clip. I check my reflection—ouch. Should not have done that.
Maybe he can distract me from myself. If anyone can, it’s Austin.
It’s a slog into the stairwell, but the second I remember the life-giving hug within reach, my legs take over.
I blast through the stairwell door and slam full force into Austin’s brick-wall body.
A bear hug from my immovable grizzly. His bulky, hairy arms wrap around me, and I melt into his chest. A T-shirt day.
Warmth seeps through his shirt, grounding me.
He tucks his face into the hair at my neck.
For three fleeting seconds, I feel good.
Like my brain flickers on after hours in the dark.
Maybe a kiss would hit harder than the hug. Maybe it would drown out my thoughts. I reach up to steal one.
“Hey,” he murmurs against my lips.
I huff. That was not a kiss. My insides ache with the almost, the not enough.
“What’s wrong?” His giant hand brushes my hair out of my face clumsily.
I shrug.
“Is it a Dark and Twisty day?”
I nod.
He knows about these, but he’s never seen one. I’ve felt so light in the alternate reality of Mayberry, like maybe this part of me wouldn’t find me here.
A sinister voice cuts through. “Of course it did.”
“Worst day ever,” I mumble.
My brain interjects that nothing bad has happened all day, but my heart shrugs, rolls its eyes. The world is dark, and I’ve never been so out of place, so lonely, so out of my league. What am I thinking trying to make a relationship work with Austin Scott? If he’s the prince, I’m just a stepsister.
“C’mon.”
I’m not getting the kiss I need, but his hand is warm, his confidence a relief.
He leads me toward the pine grove next to Griffin Hall, all the way to the fence.
Only thirty or forty steps from the edge to the fence, but it may as well be the Hundred Acre Wood.
Strong pine smell. Crunching under every step.
No grass, just fallen needles and scattered pinecones.
Going outside is on the list of tasks Dr. Shannon gave me for these days. This is good.
Austin slides to the ground against the chain-link fence, facing the campus way out there. When I join him, he takes my hand in both of his and kisses it. “Wanna talk?”
I shrug again. I don’t have words.
“You said the hard things feel harder on these days. What feels hard today?”
My chest warms at his affection, his attention, his memory. “Maybe I like you too much,” I blurt—and cringe.
His eyes widen. Both paws fold around mine. “By all means, please keep talking,” he jokes.
I stare at his hands.
“What can I do to help?” He smirks at my expression. “No, Soph. You’re too important to me to let this become just physical. We have to work through what’s bothering you.”
“You’re the one guerrilla kissing me.”
“Gorilla kissing? What in the blazes is that?”
I almost smile. I needed this. “Like guerrilla warfare.”
He chuckles, deep and warm. “Guerrilla. Got it.” But then his face softens. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that? I’m new at this too.”
No he’s not, and I shouldn’t have mentioned it, and I’m ruining the one good thing I have. Despair washes over me again.
His bushy eyebrows furrow. “We can just sit here if you want. But something tells me you need to talk.”
“I’ll talk if you agree to a kiss.” Anything to get a hit of that stuff that lifted the fog for a second.
With no apparent intention of kissing me, his giant hand encases the side of my face, his expression all care and acceptance. My eyelids droop.
I think … I love him.
Why this moment? On one of the bad days?
Those realizations are supposed to hit during fireworks or running through a field of sunflowers.
Not for me apparently, because mine just knocked the wind out of me like a volleyball to the chest. I love his enormous hands and his otherworldly patience.
I love his loyalty, his positivity, his cleverness.
I love that he’s up for anything—my wacky plans and his floor’s pranks.
He never makes me feel like I’m too much or not enough.
I want the love to fill me with joy and warmth and contentedness—it’s supposed to, right?
But no. My breath turns shallow and fast. I’ve always been so fiercely independent.
I had to be. I’ve never needed a single soul.
But now? What happens when he leaves? I squeeze Austin’s fingers and crumple over my knees. There’s only one thing I can do …
Pray a prayer I’ve been too scared to pray.
Please make this work. Only you can. It doesn’t make any sense, but I want it so much it hurts. Please.
Kit could do this. She is doing it—one day at a time, locking it down with Levi. But I’m no Kit. I wish I could be happy for her. I should. I would if I were a good friend. But all I can think is, why does she get to be Kit?
Did Austin notice her first? I remember the first time I saw him at Saga, talking to Levi, when we caught Kit staring. I remember him walking over. I remember him on his floor at movie night. He talked to Kit first. He invited her to game night the next night. Levi must have called dibs.
They would have made beautiful brunette babies. Their parents would have become instant best friends. An explosion of perfection with so many functional people in one family tree.
Austin elbows me gently. “Soph?”
“Huh? Yeah.”
“What are you thinking about so hard? You look like you’re getting mad.”
“Just Kit.” I shudder.
“Kit?”
“She’s so perfect. And perky. She’s just”—my voice turns into a shaky whimper—“the worst.”
“She’s our friend,” he says quietly. “I’m not gonna talk about her like that.”
With a jerk up, I stare him down. My worst nightmare. “Did you … do you …” I don’t want to know, but I have to. “Kit is … attractive, right?”
He eyes me suspiciously. “She’s practically my sister-in-law. And I want to be with you.”
“But she is, isn’t she?”
“Is Jeeves?”
“Huh?”
“You’re mad at Kit because you think she’s pretty?”
I press on my eyes. This is probably irrational. I’ll hate myself for this tomorrow. But the screaming thoughts are no quieter than five seconds ago.
“Just … did you notice her? In August. I need to know.”
Please help. I know I’m breaking this.
“You still don’t get it,” he mutters.
When I peek at him, his eyes are scanning my face. Then they close. Is he praying?
“Okay, Sparky.” He bumps my shoulder. “Here’s what happened.”