Chapter 6 - Monroe
MONROE
Eight Months Prior to Present Day,
Early January, Junior Year,
Dornell University
Igroan, lying starfish style on my bed. My feet ache from standing all day. I can’t believe I let myself get talked into running for sorority president. I stupidly assumed someone would run against me, but when no one did, I knew I was fucked.
‘It’ll look great on your resume, you’ll make connections with alumni, and it’ll help you get a job,’ they said. I mock their words in my head because I’m pretty sure they were desperate, and no one else was stupid enough to step up. I’m so goddamn gullible sometimes.
‘And you get to have the large president’s room in the sorority house,’ they said, like living in a house with thirty underclassmen is something to be desired.
Don’t get me wrong, I love these girls, but we’re not close like I’m close with Gabi, Ele, and Viv.
I also feel like their mom in some ways.
Ugh, why do I always feel like I need to be the responsible one? I just can’t help my altruism.
The only upside is that all of my meals are free, and Colleen’s cooking isn’t terrible. Questionable, sure, but edible. Growing up with only one parent who was absent most of the time, I’ve regrettably eaten worse.
I’m so tired that I didn’t have the energy to drive back to my apartment after we wrapped up tonight.
The four of us signed a two-year lease for an overpriced apartment in the heart of College Town at the end of our sophomore year.
Three months later, we moved in and felt like we were on top of the world.
The location is epic – right across from our favorite dive bar, Tommy O’s – but it’s expensive as hell.
Part of me regrets not subletting my room this semester, while the other three girls are abroad, because I could have used the cash.
After taxes and realtor fees, the proceeds from the sale of my grandmother’s house after she passed were paltry.
Turns out, people aren’t dying to live in a derelict, two-bedroom home in small-town Ohio.
If I stick to my budget, the money from the sale will carry me through graduation.
I’ll still have student loans to contend with once I get my diploma, but hopefully my computer science degree will help me land a well-paying job at a tech company with deep pockets.
Maybe I’ll move to San Francisco after college.
I’ve never been, but for whatever reason, living in California has been my dream for as long as I can remember, and living across the country means I’ll be three thousand miles away from my incarcerated mother.
It would be a chance to start over. A chance to reinvent myself.
Perhaps it’s not too late to sublet my room.
The other three rooms are rented by foreign exchange students this semester – two from Singapore and one from South Africa – and the patchwork quilt of personalities isn’t the most fun to be around.
The exchange students seem nice enough, but they’ve been here for less than a week and each time I’m at my apartment, I either get sucked into a forty-five-minute conversation with the South African or asked if I can drive their motley crew somewhere.
And sure, maybe this makes me an asshole, but I can’t play chaperone right now because I’m in the midst of sorority rush, where we have to make bubbly chit-chat with hundreds of freshman girls during the day and then talk the most ruthless shit about said girls at night.
I drag my hand down my face at the memory of tonight’s debate.
One of the girls rushing Delta Gamma is a legacy – some granddaughter of a prominent Delta Gamma member from a southern chapter – so she’s supposed to receive a bid by default.
The problem is everyone hates, no, loathes, this girl.
Apparently, she’s made a name for herself already and has been an asshole to some of the current members at a few frat parties.
And she’s not cute, which shouldn’t be a prerequisite for joining a sorority, but we’re all vain, shallow bitches at heart and unfortunately, people judge a book by its cover.
Tonight, one of the existing members called this girl ‘brutish and abrasive’ and threatened to leave Delta Gamma if we extend this girl a bid.
Personally, I don’t give a fuck that she’s a legacy.
She shouldn't be invited to join if she’s been unkind to our sisters.
So, we cut her, and I can guarantee tomorrow I will get a nasty phone call from some faceless hag at DG headquarters, because I’ve already gotten several nasty calls about our delinquent chapter fees thanks to our unfilled treasurer position.
Yet another unappreciated job I’ll have to take on.
God, the list does not fucking end, does it?
I rub my temples, already overwhelmed, and the academic semester hasn’t even started.
Ice cracks against the glass window pane. Oh great, a winter storm. Perfect timing.
Another crack has me seated upright. Was that ice or something else?
This time, I see the small rock hit the glass, and I startle.
I scramble off the bed when a fourth crack collides with the cold glass because if this thing breaks, my already fraying patience will snap. The ground below my second-story window is dark, the light from the streetlamp is too far away to do any good.
Squinting, I think I see the white-blue glow of an illuminated phone screen. I step away from the window to retrieve my phone. I’ve been neglecting it for the last hour because I just need one shred of fucking peace.
Kieren: Open the door.
Shit. I completely forgot about him. Rush has been such an all-consuming shit show, that I somehow managed to forget his outlandish grand entrance today.
The clock on my phone reads five minutes past one a.m. Dealing with Kieren and my unresolved feelings is the last thing I need to contend with tonight.
Me: I can’t. You’re not supposed to be here. Boys aren’t allowed.
Kieren: Then I’ll stand here and throw rocks at your window all night.
I debate what to respond when he texts me a picture holding a rock the size of his fist.
Me: You’ll break the window.
Kieren: That’s the point.
Me: Go away.
Kieren: This rock leaves my hand in two minutes.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Rushing out of my room, I make the hasty decision that letting Kieren inside is less disruptive than him hurling large rocks at my window.
Light chatter seeps under a few bedroom doors as I tiptoe down the hallway.
Most of the rooms are silent; nearly everyone is exhausted after four marathon days of rush.
It took eons to come to a consensus tonight.
Our final list of bids was due by midnight since tomorrow is Bid Day.
I told the girls to get some sleep because once formal invites are received and accepted, the real work begins.
Yet, here I am, ignoring my own advice and on my way to rip open old wounds.
The first floor of our sorority is empty and quiet – a stark contrast to the state of these rooms twelve hours ago.
It’s strange and also a relief. I quietly crack open the heavy front door.
Glacial air pummels my face as I stand in the doorway wearing only thin sleep pants and a tee.
Kieren wastes no time and steps inside, kicking snow off his shoes.
I put my index finger over my lips, indicating we need to be quiet, and then turn to lead him upstairs.
Frozen fingers grip my wrist, and I’m tugged backward.
I gasp at the feeling of his brittle, cold clothes against my skin, but when I feel his hot tongue in my mouth, my resolve turns into a puddle like the melted snow at his feet.
Our kisses start to grow hungry, because fuck, it’s been seven months of me wondering if he’s alive or not, of hating him but also wishing he would answer my calls.
I’ve missed him like a recovering addict misses heroin, knowing I’m better without him, but wouldn’t one last high feel so good?
Touching him, tasting him, needing him like I need air…
Goddamn. I burned for this man. I burned for him until there was nothing left.
I couldn’t admit the truth to Gabi – not after what Jace did to her.
I made sure the nights I snuck out to see Kieren, Gabi was either out partying with Ele and Viv or with another guy.
She had a few hookups since her breakup with Jace, but none were serious.
I claimed I was in the library and needed to study or pull an all-nighter.
It wasn’t that hard, especially the first semester of our sophomore year when Kieren was still lucid.
It wasn’t until the second semester that maintaining my secret relationship with Kieren became impossible.
He was out of his mind most nights, and I knew he needed help, but I couldn’t reach him.
My hollow threats were feathers against his cavalry of alcohol and pills. Throw cocaine into the mix, and it was over. We were over. I’ve never been enough for Kieren Hunt. I never have, and I never will.
But fuck, I can’t stop. And I hate that the first thing he did upon returning was come crawling back to me. I hate that he makes me believe I’m the missing piece he needs to feel whole. But what I hate the most is how badly I want to believe it’s true.
I pull back from his kiss and cup his cheeks; his slight stubble feels scratchy under my fingertips. A lump rises in my throat. My chest clenches. If I allow myself to breathe, I’m going to fall apart.
He places his hands on top of mine, pulling one hand away from his cheek so he can plant a kiss on my palm, and perhaps unironically, it’s the palm with the band-aid.