Chapter 19 #2
Me: I’m okay, really. Just need to sleep off whatever it is.
I’m aware that this is what those girls want. To drive a wedge between us. To humiliate and shame me enough that I cut him out of my life altogether.
Maybe you should...
I can’t.
I crave him too much. His attention, his affection, his light. His smile makes my day, and don’t get me started on his laugh. I can’t cut him out. At this point, it would be like cutting off a limb. It would be detrimental to my health, and I really, truly mean that.
In the past few weeks, I’ve seen a difference in myself.
I smile more. I stutter less. I actually want human company and outside air.
I’ve gained back my appetite and a little weight along with it.
Even when Wes isn’t in the room with me, it feels like he is.
We text constantly, and in the classes where I’m alone, I’m never really alone because he’s only a message away.
Cutting him out is not an option, but a little bit of space might not be the worst thing in the world.
We’ve been inseparable since the speech, and people were bound to notice eventually.
I just didn’t think it would make national news or trend on the dark side of the internet, where everyone apparently has some sort of negative opinion to voice.
Lights off, blinds shut, bundled beneath the blankets, I doze on and off.
I let the hours slip away until I hear a knock on the door to the apartment.
At first, I think the banging’s in my dreams, but when it continues on, I roll out of bed and crack my bedroom door.
The knocking persists. Wondering who would show up unannounced and praying it’s not someone here to meet Kinsley or Ava, I shuffle over and reluctantly open the door.
The last person I’m expecting to find is Wes, standing with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched forward. He’s got a sullen look on his face in place of the usual easygoing grin, and it seems unnatural.
“Hey,” he says softly, dark eyes boring into mine.
“What…what are you doing here?” I manage, stepping to the side to let him in.
I wrap my arms around myself, aware that I look like shit.
I can feel my messy hair falling out of its bun, and I’m wearing my oldest, most worn out pair of sweatpants.
Plus, there’s the fact that my eyes are so puffy from crying, it probably looks like I’m having an allergic reaction.
He closes the door and turns to face me, crossing his arms over his chest. “I ran into Quinn.”
"Oh.” I swallow. “Did she…”
“Tell me about the fucked-up shit online? Yeah.”
“Oh.”
His jaw clenches. “I’ll have it taken down. Don’t worry.”
Shifting on my feet, I debate his words. “It might be a bad idea for you to get involved.”
Wes adamantly shakes his head as though the idea of him not stepping in to help is unthinkable. "No one will know it’s me, Ivy. I promise. I’m just…I’m so sorry you have to go through this. Those comments. They make me fucking sick.”
I wince, thinking about all the hateful things those girls said, picking apart my appearance, my weight, my body. “You read them?”
“Not all of them,” he admits. “I had to stop.”
My eyes drop to the floor, and I stare at my socked feet. “I didn’t want you to see them.”
He steps forward and folds my right hand in both of his. “Why not? Why didn’t you tell me that was what was upsetting you? I would have been here in a heartbeat.”
Slowly, my gaze travels back up to his. “I was trying to process, I guess. I didn’t think being friends with you would draw this much attention.”
When panic flickers across his face, I realize that I should have worded that differently. “Are you saying you don’t want to hang out anymore?”
“No!” I blurt, having already settled this debate in my head. His face relaxes a little, though his brow remains creased. “I just didn’t know it would get this bad. I’m used to being invisible.”
“You were never invisible to me,” he says seriously, and he steps closer, cradling my face in his hands. His thumbs graze my cheekbones, his eyes roaming over my face as his frown deepens. “I hate seeing you sad.”
“What am I going to do?” I whisper. “Those girls online—”
“—need to get over themselves.” His hands fall to my shoulders, squeezing them gently.
“Once the next scandal hits, this will die down. Trust me. And if anyone says anything to you, please tell me, Ivy. I know a lot of students and professors on this campus, and I can make things happen if I want them to.”
I don’t doubt that to be true. Nodding, I step back out of his grasp and gesture down the hall.
I thought what I needed was to be alone—to process things by myself and shed a few (okay, more than a few) cathartic tears.
But now that Wes is standing here in the flesh, I feel ten times better, and the uncomfortable knot in my chest eases.
I don’t want him to leave. “Do you want to watch a movie or something in my room?”
His brow quirks. “I finally get to scope out your room?”
“I wasn’t hiding it from you. It’s just nothing special. I’ve hardly decorated it.”
He follows me and pauses in the doorway, taking in the twinkle lights strung up—about the only bit of effort I exerted—and the pink bedspread and matching rug.
One of those cork board decorations they sell at Target hangs above my desk, but it’s just an eyesore with nothing tacked to it.
No notes or pictures. There are no pictures anywhere in my room—only a poster above my desk listing the ten principles of good design.
“I had no idea you had a thing for pink,” Wes says, eyeing my comforter.
My nose wrinkles. “I don’t. My mom bought that hideous comforter on sale.
And the rug.” Before I can say anything further, he kicks off his sneakers and hops onto the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him with his back against the pillow.
I laugh at the sight. “You barely fit in the room, let alone the bed.”
He grins, back to his charming, easygoing self. “It’s definitely cozy.” He pats the spot next to him. “Come join me.”
“Is there even room?” I mutter, but I climb up beside him.
He slinks down so he’s lying on his side with his arm bent, hand propping up his head.
I mimic his position, only opposite, so we’re both facing each other.
I should probably be freaking out about the fact that there’s a boy in my bed, but it’s not like there’s anywhere else he can go.
I’m pretty sure he would break my flimsy plastic office chair if he tried to sit in it. “I’ve never had a guy in here before.”
“You mean we’re christening this bed right now?” he teases.
My response is dry. “Not the word I would use, but yes.”
“I’m honored to be your first male visitor, but I better get something out of it. A commemorative plaque or a t-shirt, maybe.”
“Yeah. Sure. I’ll get right on that.”
“You’re a graphic designer, aren’t you? Wouldn’t be that hard.”
I’m about to give another sarcastic response when a door slams in the apartment. “Shit,” I mutter, sitting up so I can better hear the muffled voices in the hall.
“Is that Quinn?” Wes asks, making an attempt to sit up as well. There’s not enough room with both of us next to each other, though, so I crawl to the end of the bed and turn to face him, sitting cross-legged. This time he mimics my position.
“No,” I murmur. “It’s probably Ava and Kinsley. You’re not allowed to leave this room until they’re gone.”
He looks amused. “False imprisonment is a crime, you know.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m serious.” I scoot a bit closer, so our faces are mere inches apart, keeping in mind the gossips down the hall overhearing.
“The assholes in the comments already think we’re dating.
I wouldn’t put it past either of them to snap a photo of us coming out of my bedroom and post it on the forum with some moronic caption. ”
He glances toward the door with hard eyes. “You know for sure they’re involved?”
“Not for sure, but I have a hunch.” They’re friends with Alexis, after all.
Wes reaches out to grab my hand, enfolding it in both of his. “I told you I’d get it taken down, but until then, you can’t live in fear.” He squeezes my fingers. “Don’t give them that power over you.”
“I just don’t want to provide any more ‘evidence’ for their false narrative,” I tell him. “They make it seem like we’re together or something.”
His jaw flexes. His grip on my hand tightens. “Why does it matter if they think we’re together?”
I frown at him, confused by the question. “Because. You won’t be able to date anyone else if people think I’m your girlfriend or your fuck buddy or I’ve got you under some witchy spell.” And though it feels like a knife sliding through my heart, I don’t stop there. “Like Lia, for example.”
Confusion clouds his features, and he blinks at me like he’s missing something. “Who’s Lia?”
“That girl in our class. She asked you out for coffee, remember?”
It takes a moment, but the memory finally clicks in his head. “Oh, right.” His brow furrows. “Who said I wanted to go out with her?”
“You told her you’d get coffee,” I pull my hand out of his and make air quotes, “‘another time.’”
He shakes his head at me, amusement dancing behind his eyes. “Ives, I say that to everyone I’m not interested in. Feels nicer than telling them I’ll never go out with them in a million years. It’s probably the wrong approach, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to be a total dick.”
I blink. Now it takes me a moment to process. “So…you don’t want to date her?”
He can’t hide his laugh. “It never even crossed my mind. Not once.”
“Okay, well.” I shrug a shoulder, a bit thrown by his comments. “Not Lia then, but I’m sure there are other girls out there.”
He considers my statement, his eyes staring intently into mine. Something that looks a lot like longing flickers in their dark depths, and it takes all my effort not to look away. “What if I am open to something more?” he says softly.
Ice shoots through my veins, and I lose the staring match, my eyes dropping down to the bedspread. I struggle with the question because I’m absolutely dreading the answer. “With, um, who?”
His hand reaches out and settles on my knee, his other taking my own hand. His thumb traces circles in my palm, my skin tingling everywhere he touches, coaxing me to look up at him again. When I do, his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh. “Who do you think? With you, Ivy.”