Chapter 19 Genevieve
Genevieve
Lana checked my forehead for a fever this morning when I told her I was actually going to class. I laughed it off at first, but now… I’m starting to wonder if she had a point.
I’m in my last class of the day, statistics, gross, and Professor O’Gwen could not be more boring. I have no idea how anyone is staying awake—including myself.
Honestly, I don’t even know why I bothered coming today. Maybe it has something to do with the message Aspen sent me last night.
Well… the message Everest sent me. But let’s be real—it was Aspen .
I sigh, staring blankly at the lecture slides. I need something to keep my mind off him.
Everest texted me last night, asking for my number.
He said—and I quote— “What’s up, Gen? Aspen’s asking for your number. He’s begging like a little girl.”
Aspen? Begging? I can’t picture that. He’s always so firm, so sure of himself. Not the kind of guy who pleads for anything—especially not for me .
I never responded. I didn’t know what to say.
If we cut contact now, cold turkey, then the feelings won’t have a chance to linger. We won’t get any more invested than we already are.
At least… that’s what I keep telling myself.
Over break, most people went home. Others took trips with their friends.
Me? I found the love of my life.
I can’t believe I’m actually saying that, but what else could this be? Lust? Maybe. But deep down, I know the truth.
I just left the person I was probably meant to spend the rest of my life with.
And now, all I feel is this ache.
Is this really what love feels like?
Does love always hurt this much?
As I sketch new outfit designs in my notebook, my phone dings.
I glance up—only to lock eyes with the professor through her wired bifocals.
Her expression is nothing short of hideous , the kind of look no student should ever have to endure.
“Ms. Brown,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “I know you have far more important things to focus on, but some of us are actually trying to learn.”
A hundred and eighty heads turn toward me.
Fantastic.
I don’t bother responding. Instead, I roll my eyes and dramatically flip the switch on my phone to silent, making sure she sees it.
She smirks like she’s just won some kind of battle.
Please. The only thing she’s winning is the Worst Dressed Faculty at this university.
Her cardigan is riddled with holes, her dress looks like it's time-traveled straight from the ‘80s, and don’t even get me started on her hair—three different shades of brown, gray, and faded brown; barely clinging to the claw clip holding it together.
The only redeemable thing about her outfit is her Mary Janes, and even those are wasted on her because she has no idea how to style them.
And her makeup? A disaster.
Honestly, I’d love to give her a full makeover—if she wasn’t such a bitch. But since she is, she can suffer in a fashion crisis for the rest of her life.
Not my problem.
Once she goes back to lecturing her boring class, I quickly glance at my phone.
A Tinder notification from Everest.
Again.
Why is he texting me? I never even responded.
My heart skips a beat.
His message reads: “He looks like he’s about to cry, make it stop.”
I can’t help but smile to myself. But at the same time, this is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
More room to fall. More room to get more attached. More room to feel.
Fuck.
On impulse, I type in my number.
I really hope I won’t regret this.
When Professor O’Gwen’s class finally lets out, I make my way to the campus union for a hot chai from Starbucks. The air is getting colder by the day and this cup will be my saving grace for the walk home.
Because you better believe I’m going straight home after sending that message.
Fuck class.
I want to be home—where I can give him my full attention.
Just me, thinking about him.
The campus union is the heart of student life—a place to eat, study, talk, and hold meetings.
It’s the campus hot spot , where everything happens.
On the upper levels, they host banquets, career fairs, and other events; but I only ever come in here for one thing: Starbucks.
It’s the closest one within walking distance from my dorm and that’s all that matters.
As I make my way inside, I pass the infamous union fountain—where students get hazed or dared to jump in. The catch? If you get caught, it’s an automatic suspension.
I’ve never done it, but one day… maybe.
So far, only two people have actually been caught—Monroe and Lauren. But that’s just because they’re idiots .
They jumped in broad daylight , practically putting on a show for everyone. Of course, they got caught.
When I do it, it’ll be at night.
No witnesses. No evidence. No suspension.
Just me and the thrill of getting away with it.
I walk into the union, passing a row of booths, and nearly every student I see is knocked out . They’re slumped over their paper notes and laptops, fighting for their life.
Pre-med, I’m guessing.
And boy am I glad I’m not in that major anymore.
I continue my path to Starbucks and am first in line. I order my hot apple chai with almond milk, then step back outside, savoring the warmth as I start my walk home.
With the way Everest made it sound, you’d think Aspen desperately needed my number. Yet, my phone stays silent.
It’s probably for the best.
If he had texted me already, I’d be too busy staring at my screen to even find my way home.
After a long walk across campus, I finally make it home and change into something comfy. I’m calling it a day—I have zero plans to leave this room again.
Slipping into my favorite Skims set, I crawl into bed, ready to shut out the world.
Just as I reach for my phone, a notification pops up from an unknown number.
Could it be Aspen?!
My heart skips as I unlock my phone, Face ID registering in an instant.
The message comes into full view.
"Genevieve, I’m so sorry I missed you. I had no idea what day you were leaving. I’d love to call you tonight if I can?"
The message was sent twelve minutes ago.
Twelve minutes of this message on my phone and I didn’t notice it because stupid Professor O’Gwen can’t handle a stupid phone notification going off.
Unbelievable.
Once again, I’m at a loss for words.
Guilt crashes over me, heavy and sudden.
I hate the way I left him. The way I just disappeared without a real goodbye.
But that’s the only way I know how to end things—leave and avoid.
What do I even say? How do I respond without sounding like a complete asshole?
"I’m sorry, Aspen. I thought it’d be easier if we just forgot about each other since we don’t really have a chance."
No. Way too harsh, that makes me sound like a monster.
Or like I thought he was interested.
Instead, I type:
"Aspen, I’m so sorry I left without warning! I would love to talk tonight. Call me whenever."
That makes me sound less like a bitch. Then, before I can overthink it, I press send.
Relief washes over me. Now, all that’s left to do is wait.
Four agonizing hours have passed. I’ve watched way too many episodes of Sex In The City , mindlessly staring at my laptop, and devoured three—maybe four—sushi rolls from my favorite spot, Seito Sushi.
Now, I just feel gross. Tired. Restless.
Even though I’ve done nothing , all I want is to hear Aspen’s voice.
As I’m waiting for my sushi to settle, my phone finally rings.
Aspen!
I cranked the volume up earlier just to make sure I wouldn’t miss this call.
I scramble to find it, shaking my silk comforter in every direction, hoping my phone will fall out.
I must look like a complete idiot— feel like one too—fawning over a guy like this, but I don’t care.
My phone tumbles to the floor and I dive for it, snatching it up just before the ringing stops.
I take a deep breath and collect my thoughts. "Cool, Genevieve, be cool ," I whisper to myself, then I hit accept .
"Hey!" I say a little too cheerfully, normal people don’t sound like this. I need to dial it down.
"Genevieve? How are you doing? When did you get home?" He asks, his voice laced with concern.
His tone melts all my tension away.
"Aspen," I say softly. "I’m, uh, good. I got home last night... around seven," I tell him.
"That’s great. I’m glad you made it back safe," he says.
“I did, thank you.” Now for the elephant in the room.
“Were you ever going to tell me when you were leaving?” He asks.
I swallow hard.
“No,” I admit, the words hit harder than I expected— they sting .
“Oh,” is all he says. I can hear it—he’s at a loss for words.
"Look Aspen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that. It’s just… we’re not ever going to see each other again, and I thought it would be easier to just leave things the way they were," I say being as honest as I can.
I hear him take a deep breath through the phone.
"I get it," he replies. "Can we at least still be friends? I really enjoy talking to you and don’t want to lose the connection we have."
My heart swells. Of course, Aspen would want to be friends. I guess that’s the best I can offer too.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat, “we can be friends.”
Now, how the hell am I supposed to be friends with Aspen when all I can think about is fucking him?
This is going to be harder than I thought.