Chapter 56
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
A foreign beanbag chair greets me in the suite lounge—bright purple, with a squish so deeply satisfying. Like a Willy Wonka x Sophie collab. I stare at it, willing it to answer my questions.
Kit doesn’t have the funds. Levi would perish at the sight of it. Does Mia have a secret admirer? Has Ayumi returned from the dead? Has a benevolent soul taken pity on our suffering? Davis … Couldn’t be, could it?
It fits snug in the corner of the room, molding to me as I burrow in with my Bible and pens. But as I try to read, my brain keeps sliding back to Graham. The two most confusing days of my life. I shudder, shove it away, and fiddle with a pen.
Sophie, I want you close.
I huff. Isn’t that why I’m sitting here?
A nudge. Something like, Look at it. Face it.
So I do what any spiritually mature person would do—dig deeper into my pen pouch and pretend I didn’t hear it.
But the silence is loud.
Lately I’ve been having this nightmare where Austin’s standing right there but can’t hear anything I say. In his kitchen. With the cows. I ramble on and on, and he carries on with his task, completely unaware. It’s awful.
What happened? Why was I so crazy?
Unable to shrug it off, a reel runs in my head. Driving through the gate, gripping the wheel. Mom’s voice: Only grief is on the other side. Austin’s hug-fest with his Brunette Stepford family. That look with his dad. My words evaporated. I couldn’t function. Everything was heavy. A blur.
The pen stills in my hand. I hang my head.
I was Dark and Twisty?
It’s a key that decodes.
Knowing doesn’t fix anything, but it helps.
Back in the Hundred Acre Wood, I couldn’t keep my hands off Austin.
I wanted him to lighten the weight. And for a second, he did.
Just a second. But then I wanted more. Craved it, like an addict chasing a fix he wouldn’t give me. That morning in his room was—
My legs jolt me upright. I can’t.
Sophie
I smack my Bible onto the table and collapse back into the beanbag.
Fine.
I let the memories rush in, and I’m nearly crushed under their weight.
I asked you for forgiveness for what we did. Why isn’t it over?
“What you did?” the troll answers. “No. Who you are.”
I flinch.
This isn’t helping. I feel so much worse.
I love you. I want you close.
Then, it’s like I can see Jesus’s eyes on me. Fiery but gentle. Watching me crumpled on this beanbag, waiting for me to look back.
He loves me. Fully.
Maybe … I’ve been waiting for him to leave too. To give up on me.
I reach for my Bible, flip back to Psalms.
I’m here. I’m staying. I need you close. You forgive me.
My finger skims, then stills. This one. The one Mia mentioned.
“He does not punish us for all our sins; he does not deal harshly with us, as we deserve. For his unfailing love toward those who fear him is as great as the height of the heavens above the earth. He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west.”
My ribs unlock. Something under them fuses back together. And the troll falls silent.
On Friday I cut out of the stairwell early—onto A2. My nerves hum. Maybe this thing with Davis isn’t a long-term fix, but the pain management is undeniable. The flirting, the joking, the texting. Shallow, but tremendously distracting.
We’ve hung out a little every day—MSC, a Taco Bell run. Some of the G3-ers are even easing up on me, mostly for his sake, making room at their tables. Hanging out with him is fun, no pressure, easy. He’s so eager. So straightforward.
I stop the first A2-er I pass. “Hey, which room is Davis Powell’s?”
The guy stiffens. “Hey.”
I huff. Even the A2-ers are loyal to Austin?
“… Is he around?” I press.
“Uh, yeah. West Lounge.” He points to the one that would be called the Dark Lounge one floor up. “His room is after that.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
I stop in the doorway of the lounge. The guys are launching Styrofoam balls across the room. I recognize a few from lunch earlier.
“Sophie Appel,” Davis calls across the room. “Who are you looking for?” He grins.
Every eye swings my way.
“Mm. Dontrell Wayne?” I tease, citing one of A2’s most campus-famous names. “Have you seen him?” I pretend to look around.
Davis’s face falls, hardens. “Nope.”
“Ohh,” Davis’s friends call, smacking him on the arm and throwing pillows.
Yikes. He’s mad?
I’ve never seen Austin self-conscious. Not once. If he hadn’t mentioned his freshman year, I’d assume he didn’t understand the concept. To think I always took that for granted.
The guys are still watching us like a tennis match.
“Just kidding. I’ll be in your room.”
“Bro,” someone says as I leave. “Isn’t that Samwise’s girl?”
I hate how much I love that question.
“Not anymore,” Davis says.
Not anymore.
More ohs and bros and dude noises.
“You’re brave. He’s like twice your weight, dude.”
“Yeah, Samwise is jacked.”
“And off his face for her.”
“I thought you and Samwise were buddies.”
“I heard she dumped him hard. Zero warning.”
“Savage.”
With a whimper-sigh, I lean on the doorframe of the room next door. A guy I assume is Davis’s roommate is studying at his desk.
“Hi, I’m Sophie. I’m waiting for Davis.” I point back to the lounge.
“Uh-huh.” And he’s back to his work.
“What happens when he comes back for her?” I hear.
“Bro gets pummeled. That’s what happens.”
“What is this, 1805?” Davis says. “No one’s fighting over a girl. She gets to pick.”
He saunters over, his near-constant smile returning. My tension eases in an instant. Look at that. His quick forgiveness earns him a hundred points. And that cologne earns him another five.
“I can get rid of my roommate,” he whispers in my ear.
“Eh, I’m not really into assassins.”
He chuckles and grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers.
This is new. I want to like it.
“C’mon.” Davis steps through the doorway. “Hey, bro, think we could have the room for a bit? I’ll owe you one.”
I drop his hand, pretending to fix my hair.
His roommate looks between us and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, fine.” He drags his books with him and shuts the door on his way out.
I blink at the closed door. That’s strictly against Mayberry rules.
Davis turns the lock, as casual as can be, crosses the room to plop down on his cushy blue couch.
I should go unlock it, open the door back. But my legs don’t move. My brain doesn’t move. Everything’s stuck. I just barely stop myself from twirling the piece of hair I grabbed. Maybe just some more information first. “Um. Random question. What are your thoughts on beanbag chairs?”
Not even a flicker of recognition. “I’m firmly pro-beanbag.”
“And how was your test?” I stall.
“Better than I thought. C’mon.” He pats the cushion next to him.
I wish he’d quit saying that. He says it just like Austin.
When I lower to the sofa, I run my hands over the cushion, expecting the same worn fabric as a certain rust-colored one a floor up. But no.
“Want a shoulder rub?”
“Really?”
He points in front of him. “Have a seat, pretty lady.”
I drop to the carpet and move my hair over a shoulder. A back rub. That’s so nice.
When his hands move into my hair, I feel like a cheater. But I’m not. I glance at the ceiling as if I have X-ray vision. The one who did this first doesn’t want me anymore. I lean back and smile at Davis upside down. He smiles back …
And leans in for a kiss.
I slump down to miss his lips.
“Oh. Wow. Did I misread that?”
“Um. It’s just … We’re—” I motion around his room and between us.
“The RA just left. We’re good for a bit.”
“Good for what?” I blurt.
“Whatever you want.” A line appears between his brows. “Hey, sorry. I thought—Well, you offered to come over here, and then you said you’d be in my room. I kinda thought you wanted to mess around.”
My face burns. Did I give him the wrong impression? I flash back to Zoe in the hallway. Is that why Davis’s mood improved so quickly? I shift to the sofa next to him, plenty of space between us. “I’m not … That’s not me.”
“Isn’t it?” the troll replies. My vision darkens.
“Got it. Should we, uh …” He motions at the door.
“Yeah. Yes.”
He opens it, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Hey, Davis?”
“Yeah.”
I wave him back to his spot.
He sits, his expression softer.
“Do you have, um, boundaries? Like, physical boundaries?”
He shifts. “Sure.”
“And what happens if yours aren’t the same as the girl you’re with?”
The line between his brows deepens. “I wait till she’s ready. Obviously.”
“And if she’s waiting till marriage?”
He eyes me. “This isn’t hypothetical, is it?”
I falter. Because I didn’t. But I am again.
“But you didn’t,” the troll insists. “You aren’t.”
He exhales. “Thing is, around here everybody says they’re waiting. Few people mean it.”
I gape.
“It’s up to each person to decide what’s right for them. Sometimes opinions change over time.”
My heart hammers. One floor up and one door down, Austin pushed me away over and over again. He loved me, chose me, wanted more—but he kept stopping me.
What happens when you date someone with stronger boundaries than yours? You wait for them to change their mind.
I jerk up from the sofa.
“Sophie? I’m saying it’s okay if you’re not ready.”
What happens if you date someone with fewer boundaries than you? They wait around for you to change your mind. They hope for a change of heart. They “take whatever you’re willing to give.” That’s what Davis said on our date, right?
“This isn’t going to work,” I announce.
He stands. “All this ’cause I was gonna kiss you? How is that bad?”
Every brain cell begs to find a distraction and never think about this again. To run. It’s too tangled up with Austin and what I did and everything I can’t think about for one more second.
Please, not this.
But I can’t ghost Davis like Austin did to me. I can’t withhold an explanation like I did to Leo. He deserves an answer. As I spin around, I draw the courage to meet his gaze.
Give me the words.
“I really like you, but you’d never understand my reasons. I’d always feel like I was letting you down.” I can’t imagine being the Austin in a relationship. What torture to say no again and again.
I’m dying to rush out before this can drag on, but I hold my ground. Wait for a response. Come on, Sophie. Be mature.
He shakes his head, mystified. “What if I promise not to push you?”
“But do you want that? I mean … everything?”
He softens and steps closer. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You can’t blame a guy for wanting something. But I was raised right. Promise.” Hopeful eyes trained on me. Another step.
We could keep it sweet. Innocent. Fun and light. So distracting. Healing, maybe.
He’s offering exactly what I want. On my terms. His scent drifts closer.
Gentle fingers brush my side, play with my belt loop. Another inch closer. “Can I take you out? We can talk there if you want. You like sushi?”
Sushi.
His mouth curls into a vulnerable almost smile, and I nearly close the gap. It would be so easy to lean in. To blur the lines and call it clarity. Can I afford to let this opportunity go?
My gaze drops to his lips again, and they break into that crooked smile.
Nope, nope, nope.
“Sorry, I can’t.” I jerk past him and bolt out.
Jogging down the hall, I expect regret over Davis. Or relief. Something. But there’s nothing. No ache, no loss.
Only the bandage tearing off. Air stinging the raw wound beneath. A wound that refuses to be ignored.