24. Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Maeve Henderson
My mouth tastes like it's full of cotton.
Well, that is until I sit up, and an indescribable wave of nausea rolls over me, and my mouth feels flooded with moisture.
Drinking is gross, or maybe I just drank too much.
I remember last night in far too great detail, which is surprising. I thought you were supposed to forget nights like last night, but I couldn't be that lucky.
I got way too drunk on free tequila, told Shelby about my deepest secret sexual fantasy, got humiliated by my own friend group, got a ride home with Leon, and proceeded to pass out while he tried to make me drink water.
Fantastic.
I hope Carlie was even drunker than I was and somehow forgot our little argument at the bar. I can't afford to live anywhere else, and besides, we've been friends our entire lives. Are we really going to throw everything away over a silly fight?
When I finally make it downstairs, the first thing I spot is the disaster in the kitchen.
Carlie is making breakfast, frying eggs, and toasting bread on my pans, which have never touched gluten or animal products. I will now have to scrub them so thoroughly that I can't promise they'll still be useful.
She glares at me when I walk down the steps, making a show of flipping her bread with her bare fingers before walking over and opening the fridge door.
So now I can't even open the fridge without disinfecting that either.
I guess I understand that she's mad, but to purposely contaminate the home that I also live in is sickening. She knows how dangerous it is for me if I touch or ingest any gluten, yet she's touching almost every single surface in the kitchen.
I don't feel like I know the girl I'm looking at anymore. Carlie is a stranger to me right now, and I can't even stand to be here.
I rush upstairs and get dressed, locking my bedroom afterward.
I don't trust her not to contaminate my living space anymore.
I'm also making a mental note to throw my toothbrush away. Who knows just how low she'd stoop, and I'd rather not find out, either.
Luckily, the dining hall is open; I need coffee.
I need to study.
Finals are coming up in a few days, and I feel just as unprepared as I was at the start of the week.
My mind has been so clouded by everything going on with Shelby, Professor Turner, these apparent assaults that are terrorizing campus, and finals. It's gotten me so distracted that now I feel lost.
Luckily, it is a cooler morning as I walk to the dining hall.
Or maybe it's because I skipped my usual attire and settled on cotton shorts and a t-shirt with flip-flops.
I'm far too hungover to dress nicely. I need some coffee and something greasy to make me feel better.
That'll do the trick; at least, that's what all the movies show: a nice fat burger fixing all their problems.
I wonder what the vegan alternative to that is?
I bet it's French fries.
When I walk into the dining hall, the smell immediately hits me and I feel nauseous all over again, but my favorite workers smile and wave at me as if it's been a lifetime since they've seen me.
They're the only thing making my day better.
We make a little small talk, but ultimately, they leave me in peace to study after wishing me a happy birthday and asking what I'd like for a special breakfast.
I shouldn't enjoy being in the dining hall more than being in my own apartment, but even with the chaos of the students, it's more peaceful than my apartment, and the workers seem to care more about me than my own roommates.
Well, former roommates.
I hope I can find somewhere else to live before the fall semester starts, hopefully somewhere within my budget.
It doesn't even matter if I get along with my roommates; it'll be my senior year anyway. I just need a bed.
Anything else I can put up with, but I can't drop out. I'd have to start over somewhere else, and I'd likely never finish; I'd never be able to afford to.
This can't be as far as I go.
I can't just almost be successful, so finals have to go well, and I have to find a place to live.
Luckily, I don't have too many distractions during my day.
The workers periodically bring me fresh coffee and snacks. They check in on how my studying is going and tell me I'm going to do great.
They encourage me more than my own friends and family.
I hate that it's true, but it is.
The entire time I'm studying, my mind keeps thinking back to how nice Leon was being last night.
He made sure I got home and into bed, he made sure I got water and took something to lessen the hangover, and he even wiped my tears when I cried like an idiot in the front seat of his fancy car.
I'm embarrassed, and now he knows where I live.
Fantastic.
I feel like a fool, but I am thankful he was driving by as I was walking home.
Seven miles is a little too far to walk when you factor in that I was too drunk to even shower before passing out.
I'm not so sure I even would have made it home if it weren't for Leon.
I would thank him, but I still don't know anything about him. I still don't even know what department he teaches in.
Maybe next year.
By the time I've studied enough, I feel confident that I won't immediately fail every final; it's late in the evening, and the sun is starting to set.
The workers send me home with a goodie bag filled with dinner and a few snacks and send me on my way.
I'm so thankful for them after seeing how Carlie purposely contaminated my cookware and the entire kitchen just to spite me.
That still hurts to think about.
As I walk through campus, I make a pit stop at the bulletin board to check if anyone is hunting for a roommate next year, preferably someone with multiple roommates to lessen the financial burden, but all I find is a flier seeking immediate residency.
In my apartment.
It hasn't even been an entire day and Carlie already has fliers hung up for my room.
I feel sick.
I don't understand how she turned on me so fast, but I intend to find out.
I make it home in record time, speed walking the whole way.
I don't even know what I'm going to say, but when I bust through the door, Sean and Carlie are sitting calmly on the couch. "Sit." Carlie says in a cold, clinical voice.
She doesn't sound like the friend I've had most of my life; she sounds like a school principal about to yell at a student for fighting.
I don't like that this attitude is towards me. "I'll stand." I snap back.
Carlie rolls her eyes at me before shifting her gaze to Sean as if speaking to me isn't worth her energy.
"Carlie thinks you need to leave." He announces. His face looks a bit more sympathetic, like maybe he doesn't agree with this.
I'd like to believe that's true, like I haven't lost every friend I have because of a drunken confession.
"And what do you think? You're the main leaseholder." I remind him.
He sighs and crosses his legs to be more comfortable. "Carlie says if you don't leave, she's going to. And I know you can't afford to split the rent 50/50 with me like she can. It's not really leaving me with another option." He says sadly.
Well, at least he doesn't like this.
It doesn't change my circumstances, but it does make the blow hurt a little less.
"Fine. How long do I have?" I ask. I'm paid up for the next three weeks, so if he tells me any sooner, I want a check. However, I also wish he'd say I could stay during the summer since neither of them will be here during the summer anyway.
I'd be home alone, so why does it matter if I'm here if she's in Louisiana? "Until the new tenant moves in next week, I'll write you a check for the two weeks you're paid up and for your part of the security deposit." He promises me.
All I can do is nod. If I try to argue, I'll cry again, and I won't cry in front of them.
Carlie doesn't deserve to know that she got to me.