Chapter 20 Chloe
Chloe
Paris was a drag. I woke up the next morning, and my mom left a note on the counter saying that she’d be back later.
Well, I took that as my sign to get the hell out of there.
When I sat on the plane, I realized how dumb it was to go all that way to see her, thinking something would’ve changed.
I only received the confirmation I needed that she’s done with me.
So when I landed back in the states, I decided that I’m done with her too.
I’m only concerned about how Dad is going to take it, but like my mom said, he can’t reach us now. I’m safe, at least for now.
The lecture drags on, Professor Hastings pacing in front of the whiteboard like he’s trying to beat his own steps count for the day.
Half the class is on their phones, the other half looks half-dead.
My notes blur into nothing. I keep staring at the same sentence—psychological conditioning is cyclical—and all I can think about is how true that feels.
Like I’m trapped in one big loop of bad decisions.
When the clock finally hits noon, I shove my notebook into my bag and bolt before he can assign another reading. I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear my name.
“Chloe!”
I turn. Leslie’s jogging toward me, hair flying, face flushed like she’s run the whole way. She’s one of the few girls who’s even bothered to talk to me since the house turned on me. Sweet, quiet Leslie who doesn’t seem to hate me despite the fact that I fucked a guy she actually liked.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She skids to a stop, breathless. “I was looking for you for days. Have you heard?”
My stomach drops. “Heard what?”
“Bella’s back with Miles.” The words come out in a rush, like she wants to get it over with. “And, um, Maggie and Brielle told me to tell you that the captains decided to ease up on you. You can come back to the team. If you want.”
For a second, everything around me goes muffled—just the echo of back with Miles ringing in my head.
“What?” I say, too sharp. “She’s what?”
Leslie winces. “Yeah. Everyone’s talking about it. I don’t know the details, but people are saying he’s the reason they changed their minds. That he—”
I don’t hear the rest. My pulse roars too loud.
He what? He’s fixing my life now?
All I can see is his mouth on mine, that same mouth on Bella. Why would he even care what was happening or whether I was back on the team or not? It makes absolutely no sense.
And now everyone will think he’s doing me favors.
Before I know it, I’m marching across campus, my boots slapping the pavement. I don’t care if it’s stupid. I don’t care that I don’t even have the right to be angry, not really. I just need to see him. To make him stop.
The locker room is humid, loud, and reeks of cologne and disinfectant. I push the door open and immediately regret it.
Whistling. Laughter. A few muttered, “damn”s.
A handful of guys are standing around in towels, and before I can even say anything, someone catcalls, “Hey, sweetheart, wrong locker room.”
“Shut up,” another voice says, and it is unmistakably Miles.
He’s standing by the lockers, towel slung low around his hips, hair damp, droplets sliding down his chest. He looks up, freezes when he sees me. For a second, something like surprise flickers in his eyes before it hardens into irritation.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snaps.
“Looking for you,” I shoot back.
That gets everyone’s attention. The chatter dies.
Somewhere behind him, Jamie turns. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since…
before everything. He’s in a black T-shirt, sleeves shoved up his forearms, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
Our eyes meet for half a heartbeat before he looks away.
“Can we talk?” I ask. “Both of you.”
Miles’s jaw works. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“Then tell me where.”
He exhales, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Wait outside.”
“No.” My voice cracks through the silence. “I’m not waiting.”
The room goes quiet enough that I can hear the drip of a shower in the corner. Miles looks at Jamie like he’s silently begging him to do something. Jamie just crosses his arms. Finally, Miles grabs his clothes and stalks past me, muttering something under his breath. Jamie follows.
Outside, the air feels colder. They’re both half-dressed, pissed, and entirely too tall for this narrow hallway. Miles pulls on his shirt, glaring at me.
“I can’t even get dressed, Chloe?” he demands. “You can’t just—”
“You can’t just go around deciding things for me!” I snap. “You don’t get to fix what you broke.”
Jamie’s brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”
I throw my hands up. “Oh, come on. The whole campus knows Bella and Miles are suddenly back together, and magically everyone’s decided to stop hating me. You think I can’t do the math?”
Miles’s jaw clenches. “You should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you?” My laugh comes out sharp. “You made it worse! Now they think you’re doing me favors, that I need you to save me.”
Jamie steps between us, his tone flat but dangerous. “You both need to calm down before someone hears—”
“No!” I cut him off. “You don’t get to play mediator, Jamie.
You don’t get to stand there pretending you’re the sane one when you both—” I stop myself before the rest spills out, before the words when you both touched me make it real again.
My throat tightens. “Whatever game this is, I’m done. Leave me out of it.”
Miles’s expression shifts, something wounded flashing before he shutters it. “Game? You think this is a game?”
“What else would you call it?” I demand. “One minute, you’re ignoring me, the next, you’re sleeping with me. Was this some kind of bet? Which one of you I’d fuck? Because that’s fucked up. You’re fucked up. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Jamie’s voice cuts through. “You were a consenting adult, Chloe.” His tone is low, almost apologetic, but it stings worse than if he’d yelled. “We all were. There was no bet. You don’t get to rewrite what happened.”
I glare at him. “I’m not rewriting anything. I’m saying it meant something—to me. And maybe that was stupid, but—”
Miles interrupts, voice sharp. “But what?”
“But I’m done feeling like a pawn in whatever sick thing you two have going on.”
Neither of them moves. Jamie looks away first, muttering something I can’t catch. Miles takes a step toward me, the air between us tightening. “You really think I wanted this?” he says quietly. “You think I planned any of it?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, glaring at him. “And I don’t care anymore.”
He stares.
Jamie exhales, long and slow, and then grabs my arm—not hard, but firm enough that I stop. “Chloe. Just… don’t make this worse.”
I yank my arm back. “Too late.”
For a second, none of us moves. Then I shoulder past them and walk away, heart pounding, eyes burning. Behind me, I hear Miles curse under his breath and Jamie say something low and angry, but I don’t look back.
By the time I reach the exit, my chest aches like I’ve run a marathon. The sunlight outside feels too bright, too real. I keep walking until the noise of campus swallows me up—students laughing, the hum of conversation, the scrape of skateboard wheels on pavement. All of it moving on without me.
They can have their secrets. Their lies. Their half-truths whispered in locker rooms. I’m done being part of their damage.
Except… I’m not sure I believe that.
Because no matter how hard I try, I can still feel the ghost of Miles’s hand on my skin, Jamie’s voice in my ear, both of them tangled in something I’ll never understand.
And for the first time, I wonder if maybe walking away won’t save me at all.
I’m tired.
That’s the first thing that hits me when I wake up. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes, but the kind that seeps into your bones and tells you it doesn’t matter how long you rest—you’re still not coming back from this.
It’s been three days since the locker room. Three days since I said I was done. And for once, I actually mean it. I moved back in the sorority house, thinking things would be different. And that maybe I wouldn’t be so alone if I came back here.
The world keeps spinning—lectures, cheer practices, gossip, late-night laughter floating through dorm windows—but mine stopped somewhere between Miles’s glare and Jamie’s voice saying you were a consenting adult.
I keep thinking about that sentence. How small it made me feel. How it stripped everything down to biology, to skin and mistakes, like there wasn’t any ache or confusion or care underneath it. Maybe there wasn’t. Maybe I was just fooling myself.
Either way, I’m done.
I should’ve never come back to the sorority house. I should have stayed at my lonely stupid apartment instead of coming back here. So, I start packing. And this time I can pack everything I own and never come back.
My bed is unmade and the lipstick word slut still faintly bleeds through the paint on the wall. The maintenance crew said they’d fix it “when they could.” They never did.
I fold clothes into an old duffel, shove notebooks and textbooks into a box.
My fingers shake when I pick up the frame from my desk—me and Dad on the lake, the summer before everything fell apart.
He’s smiling in that way that fooled everyone but me.
I wrap it in a sweater and toss it into the box before I can think too hard about it.
Leslie knocks once, then peeks her head in. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah.” I force a smile. “Just… need space.”
She bites her lip, glancing around the room like she’s looking for the right words. “You don’t have to quit, you know. The team, the house—things will blow over.”
“I don’t want them to blow over,” I say softly. “I want them gone.”
She nods, maybe understanding, maybe not. “You’ll still text me, right?”
I offer a smile. “Yes.”
When she’s gone, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the mess. All of this—the friends I tried to make, the reputation I ruined, the people I trusted—has been rotting for a while. I just didn’t notice until now.
The truth is, I never should’ve joined the cheer team. I never should’ve thought I could outrun my own shadow. The one that follows me from school to school, whispering that I’m too much like my father and too broken like my mother.
I came here to fix myself. Instead, I got tangled in two men who tore each other apart and took me down with them.
Enough is enough.
I drag my bags down the hallway. The few girls I pass don’t look at me. Brielle whispers something to Maggie, and they both snicker. I keep walking.
Outside, the air smells like rain. I pull my hoodie tighter and head toward the street. The Uber driver doesn’t ask questions, which I’m grateful for. The silence feels like a favor.
When we pull up to my old apartment, it’s like stepping into another version of myself. There’s the same old man sitting on the stoop smoking his cigarette.
“Back again?” he asks when he recognizes me.
“Guess so.”
Inside, the air is stale, but I exhale like I can finally breathe. No whispering girls, no posters of smiling faces, no reminders of two stupid boys. Just chipped tile, a crooked window, and quiet.
I set my bags down and sigh.
For the first time in months, I don’t feel watched.
I make coffee in the dented pot I left behind. It tastes burnt, but it’s better than nothing. I stand by the window, cup in hand, watching the rain drizzle down the street. Somewhere out there, Jamie’s probably pouring whiskey for strangers, pretending he’s fine. Miles is probably pretending too.
And me? I’m done pretending.
Maybe the best place for me to be at is with my mother, away from all this mess.
I pull out my laptop. The cursor blinks on an empty screen. I open the email app and start typing…
Dear Professor Hastings,
I regret to inform you that I’ll be withdrawing from the program effective immediately. Personal reasons. Thank you for your understanding,
Chloe Ashford
I send it before I can change my mind.
Next is the cheerleaders group chat.
Hey. I’m out. Good luck.
Then, I block them all.
The quiet afterward feels strange like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, but there’s no buzz, no vibration. Just stillness.
I clean. Because that’s what I do when I can’t think. I sweep the floor, wipe the counters, fix the little crooked painting above the couch. Every small movement feels like reclaiming something.
When I finally sit down, the apartment is clean, but my chest isn’t. My mind drifts back to the way Miles looked at me that night—half-regret, half-hunger. And Jamie’s disappointment, heavy as stone.
Maybe I was na?ve to think any of this could’ve worked.
Maybe people like them and people like me are meant to circle each other until something burns.
I close my eyes and think about the girl I was when I got here.
The one who thought she could rebuild. Who believed in new beginnings and clean slates.
I want to tell her I’m sorry. That healing doesn’t look like sunlight and lavender candles.
Sometimes it looks like running away again, just so you can survive.
My phone buzzes once. Unknown number.
For a second, I consider ignoring it. Then curiosity wins.
Unknown: so you’re really leaving huh
No name, but I don’t need one. Miles. The lowercase so, the lazy punctuation—it’s him. Bella must have told him.
I stare at the screen. He doesn’t deserve an answer. Not after everything.
But my thumb still hovers over the keyboard.
Me: Yes. I’m done.
The typing bubble appears, disappears, appears again.
Miles: You think leaving fixes it?
Me: It fixes me.
There’s a long pause before his reply.
Miles: I never meant to hurt you, Chloe.
My throat tightens. I almost laugh. Never meant to hurt me? He hurt me before he even knew what I was to him.
I put the phone down and let it ring once when he tries to call. Then I silence it.
He can keep his guilt. I’ve got enough of my own.
The sun sets slow, painting the room in gold and gray. I light a candle, eat ramen straight from the pot, and sit on the floor because I don’t have a dining chair. It’s pathetic.
I don’t know what comes next. Maybe I’ll re-enroll somewhere else in a year. Or maybe I’ll just exist for a while, quietly, without needing anyone to see me.
It’s strange, how freedom feels both heavy and light.
Before bed, I pull out my journal. The one I swore I wouldn’t touch again. I flip past the pages filled with notes about Jamie’s smile, Miles’s voice, little sketches of cheer routines, and land on a blank page.
I write.
I’m not running this time. I’m choosing myself.
The letters are uneven, shaky.
I close the book, curl up under my blanket, and listen to the rain against the window. And then I fall asleep without knowing what the hell comes next.