Chapter 16
Ifeel terrible we had to bail on you guys last night,” I say to Zayne and Franco as we lounge around their living room later that day. Avoiding their gaze, I pick at a loose thread on the cuff of my sweater, not wanting them to see how close I am to drowning in fear, guilt, and embarrassment.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Zayne replies with heat in his voice. I look up to find his normally stoic features twisted in anger. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
I swallow thickly and nod.
Emmy walks into the room a moment later with a homemade tomato and cheese sandwich. With a soft clink she sets the plate down on the coffee table in front of me. “Come on, eat up.”
“I’m not hungry,” I murmur, averting my gaze again.
“The meds curb your appetite,” Franco says with a jerk of his chin toward the food, “but you still need to eat.”
I let a shaky breath loose and reach for the plate. When I take a tentative bite, the sandwich feels like cotton in my mouth. No matter how many times I chew, I can’t seem to get myself to swallow the bite. It’s only after Iris hands me a glass of water that I’m able to take a sip and get it down.
“God, this isn’t right,” Franco declares, standing to pace around the room. “I know we’re all competitive here—hell, the curriculum and environment are even tailored to ensure it—but this is on a whole different level. This was dangerous.”
Zayne clenches his jaw. “From now on, we’ll look out for you. We won’t let that prick get within spitting distance.”
“Damn right,” Emmy agrees with an emphatic nod.
“Thanks, you guys, really, but that’s not nec—” I’m cut off by the sound of my phone ringing in my purse across the room.
Discarding the barely touched sandwich, I rise to retrieve it. My heart sinks at the name I find on the screen. Noah.
“Sorry. I have to take this.”
They nod as I exit, and I wait until I’m in the kitchen to answer. “Hello?” I say after my thumb swipes to accept the call.
“Hey! Happy Saturday. How was the haunted hay ride? I didn’t hear from you all night.” To another ear, Noah might sound chipper and completely unbothered, but I know him better than that. He’s being enthusiastic to hide the fact that I hurt his feelings by not calling or texting last night.
Silently, I curse myself. I’m already messing this up.
“I’m sorry, Noah. I—”
I what? I forgot to call you because I got drugged by a jealous psychopath who cares so much about being the best that he’d willingly drug a fellow student to intimidate them into submission?
I choke off a twisted, manic laugh that bubbles up in my throat at the thought of actually saying that to him right now.
No. No way. I’m not telling him the truth.
He would never understand. He would spend weeks—no, months—trying to convince me to drop out and come back home.
Either that or he’d come running to punch Remi’s teeth in.
And even though that mental image makes me all too happy, I know I can’t be honest with him right now, because no matter what he’d actually do with the truth, he still doesn’t get it.
He doesn’t get why it’s so important to me—being here, with these people, my people, learning this craft.
I actually feel like I belong here, in a world surrounded by art, even if I don’t necessarily feel safe in it at the moment.
“I fell asleep right when we got back,” I lie. In truth, I haven’t slept since yesterday. My voice sounds hollow, even to my ears.
“Oh,” he says. And nothing more.
He knows I’m lying. I have to be more convincing.
I try my best to make my voice sound light and airy. “It was fun though. Thanks for asking.”
God, I feel like shit.
“Of course,” he murmurs.
And it’s official. I’m the worst girlfriend in the world.
“But enough about me, tell me about your night,” I deflect. “I want to hear all about it.”
Thankfully, Noah perks up at that and he tells me about a gaming tournament that he and his friends went to in a neighboring town. Drowning in guilt, I egg him on, encouraging him to talk. After a while, I look back toward the living room, wondering if the others think I’m being rude.
“Hey babe,” I interrupt gently. “I don’t mean to cut you off, because I want to hear all about it, but I really should be getting back to my friends. They’re waiting on me.”
Noah coughs. “Yeah. Of course. Call me later?”
“Sure.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
My heart aches as I end the call. More than anything, I wish I could feel comfortable being completely honest with him, but with this—this ugly truth, that ultimately won’t change anything—I just can’t.
Do I really love him then? If I can lie to him like this?
I groan my frustration as I turn back toward the living room. Zayne’s leaning against the doorway, eyeing me with a dark, contemplative gaze. His arms are crossed over his chest.
“You didn’t tell him?” he asks quietly, studying my face.
I shake my head in confirmation, avoiding his gaze. I don’t want to admit it out loud.
“I get it,” he says.
My eyes snap to his. “You do?”
“He’s not like us, right? He’s not an artist?
” I nod. “Then he’d just try to convince you to leave.
For your own good, sure, but also because it gives him the perfect opportunity to be selfish, an opportunity he’d be stupid not to jump on.
And right now, you’re the one being selfish.
You aren’t ready to give that up yet, despite what Remi’s done to try and break you. Are you?”
My mouth opens as I process his words. They’re all true. “No.”
“You’re not a bad person for that decision, Maeve.
You deserve to live the life you want to live, just like Nathan does, and if your chosen paths end up meshing well together, then great.
But if not, don’t feel bad for refusing to compromise, for choosing yourself.
” He pauses. “I can tell that’s not an inclination that comes easily to you. ”
“His name is Noah,” I say as hot tears I didn’t feel arise begin to fall.
“Yeah, whatever,” Zayne mutters as he closes the distance between us and wraps me in his arms.
“Thanks,” I whisper into the cotton of his shirt.
“I know it’s easier said than done, but try not to worry about it,” he continues. “With talent like yours, I know the reason you’re choosing to stay here, enduring this, is a damn good one, even if you’re still trying to figure it out yourself.”
Emmy calls from the living room, “Are you guys making out in there or what?”
“Shut your mouth,” Zayne yells over his shoulder before he asks me, “You good?”
I wipe my face with the back of my hand and nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Even though we both know that’s a lie right now, it won’t always be.
And thanks to the advice of the most unlikely of friends, I carefully pick the pieces of myself back up, and resolve to move forward and find it. The reason I’m choosing to endure.