Chapter 3
“Every prison has a door. Every door has a keeper. Every keeper has a weakness.” –The Count of Monte Cristo
LILAH
Imake it halfway down the hall before I lose it.
I slam my hands against the gray bathroom stall door, push it open so hard it slams back against me in protest, and after three sweat-filled turns, I get the lock twisted so it stays tight.
It smells like sweet perfume and bleach, and my stomach is already recoiling from it.
I don’t drop to my knees but I want to, I’m so weak that I have to hold myself up between the stall doors.
This is bad, really bad. I knew my day was coming.
I just didn’t know it would be on oyster day.
On this day.
This day of all days.
Of course.
I cough and then everything Charlie gave me for breakfast makes its way into the toilet until I’m dry heaving.
Eyes burning, I reach for some toilet paper to dab at them, it comes back wet with my tears and the staring along with black from my mascara, please don’t streak. I wipe at my mouth and wait.
Jude.
At least my fight or flight response is working right.
I wondered what I would act like if he never died and I saw him again, would I turn into a puddle at his feet again out of fear or out of sheer shock at how gorgeous he was, would I run?
Good to know that my body instinctually knows to play calm, sprint, and then puke.
I press my forehead to the cool metal divider and think. I breathe in, breathe out, and then the sound of the bathroom door swinging open has me holding my breath altogether.
Voices get louder as I make myself smaller.
“God, did you see Lilah in class, salivating over that hot new guy? I didn’t even know she was in our class, you’d think there would be certain rules against that.” A girl says.
“It can’t be proved she’s fucking Evans,” someone points out. “Besides, she’s kind of nice.”
My entire body goes still.
I don’t move.
Don’t breathe.
Sweat trickles down my spine, at this rate I’m going to combust from stress.
“Who cares? We all know she’s probably doing the professor. You’ve seen the way he looks at her, the way all idiots look at her, big tits are her only currency, heard she’s dumb as shit though so she climbs her way to the top.”
Laughter follows.
I’m not. Dumb that is. I’m really smart, which is why I only use my tits when I need to, something I don’t say while I try to stay hidden.
And Evans uses his dick. We all have tools, student whose name I don’t care to know.
You’d be smart to learn yours before the world swallows you whole and decides for you.
I’ve been more certain of that in the last five minutes than I have in my entire life.
Proof, right in front of me, that the dead don’t stay buried just like secrets.
“Well,” another girl cackles, “he does all of us, so what’s your point?”
Wait, what? My stomach drops past my feet to the dirty bathroom floor next to the random hair and piece of toilet paper.
That was unexpected. Say what? So, she does know how to use her body.
Great. Awesome. Perfect. It’s just with the wrong person.
As if getting an A in his class is actually that hard?
What a disappointing waste, I was using him for distraction and to keep my mind off of every failed relationship.
Wow, I almost believed that lie, because wasn’t I just an hour ago thinking about more? About finally putting myself out there?
I tell myself to shield up, that it’s not a big deal.
We were using each other. It hurts anyway, how could it not?
I thought he was mine; I didn’t know I was sharing, and for a small second I felt semi-special, so yeah it doesn’t feel awesome.
I won’t waste tears on him though. Not worth it.
There are worse things like being responsible for putting your best friend in prison, thinking he’s dead, then seeing him years later looking ready to do the same to you but finish the job.
“What?” A shrug I can practically hear. “I like getting A’s.”
More laughter follows. Are they done yet?
It’s so casual, like this is a normal public conversation to have, aren’t they afraid of the Dean’s List?
I thought it made people more careful at this University, it was one of the things that attracted me, honestly.
It was hard to lie, it was easy for people to dig up your dirt, and I knew that any place like that provided safety.
It was a weird way to think about it obviously but I didn’t ever want to be manipulated again the way I was so long ago.
My hand grips the stall door so hard my fingers ache. He’s an idiot. He’s cheating. Not even hiding it apparently. Not even careful, shit I have to get tested now that I’m apparently part of a collection of skanks he likes to screw.
No, not a skank.
A student he sees as easy.
Did he even think I was intelligent? Does his opinion matter? And why am I suddenly embarrassed? Like somehow Jude is going to find out and judge me? Whatever. I have enough to deal with from the past fifteen minutes.
Apparently, my brain just has to remind me, otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting here narrating your life by puke from a past mistake that also dealt with bad relationships and ended in puke. Huh.
I feel stupid. So stupid.
“Honestly,” one of them adds, voice lowering, “Lilah thinks she’s so special anyways, like above us, she won’t even sit with us when we invite her over.”
Because they use coke and not the soda kind and they have trust funds. I have to work my ass off and too much caffeine gives me nightmares. I’ve been down dark roads; there’s no happy ending in sight. People end up in prison or dead.
“Fine, I wasn’t going to tell you guys,” I lean in to get a better angle to listen.
“But Evans told me she was just a challenge, like most guys our age got shot down every single time and he was starting to notice so after his divorce it was an easy rebound. I was with him before that when his wife was going all crazy accusing him of cheating. We should honestly just feel sorry for her. I’d rather be a whore than a conquest, you know?
He said he even forgot her name the first time so she’s sex pot in his phone. ”
They all burst out laughing. My heart clenches. Sex pot? I’m not even named?
I stand slowly. She’s not wrong—I made it too easy because I was still scarred, damaged.
I thought it easy meant shield, I thought wrong.
I tuck my hair and wait for them to stop talking, for them to finish fixing their perfect makeup and hair and leave, and then I slowly walk out of the stall and stare at myself in the mirror.
A conquest. Well, he planted his flag. I guess someone should give him a prize.
Maybe a swift kick to the dick will do?
“Cool,” I whisper to my reflection. My voice is steadier than I thought it would be. Cold. “Let’s just go get this over with then.”
It doesn’t take me long to walk to his office. His door is cracked slightly open like he’s expecting company, the conquest or the whore? What will it be? I’m on the edge of my seat.
I don’t knock.
I push it open and freeze. Evans stands behind his desk, black tie loose, shirt slightly wrinkled, and leaning against the edge of the same desk.
Her. I can tell by the black ballet flats.
I’m not surprised she’s in a gray cardigan and tight skirt like she’s already channeling all the potlucks and family photos in front of her white picket fence in Connecticut.
Perfect blonde hair. Perfect smile, though her once-fixed lipstick is smudged and currently half on Evans’s face. A perfect package wrapped in designer lies. She shoots me a fake oops and takes a step back.
“I assume…” I nod. “…that you’re the whore in this scenario if I’m the conquest?”
Her mouth drops open.
“Lilah!” Evans shoves her even further away. “It’s not what you think. It’s—”
“Sex.” I shrug. “I get it, a man of your nature has needs, but I just wanted to come in here and let you know that you gave me chlamydia.” I hold up my phone.
“I just got tested and apparently it’s super contagious, I felt like it was the only responsible thing to do.
Should I just notify the school nurse first or—”
“Lilah—” He snaps. “Don’t, and how do you know it was from me?”
“Ah there it is.” I nod. “As if I would ever sleep around when I was already so pleased by whatever you call what you do is…I mean I think it’s sex but I can hardly feel it each time, either way, I would get checked out,” I point at her. “Ashely?”
“Kingsly.”
“Same thing,” I mutter with a smirk. “Same thing, anyways, have a great day both of you. And Evans, safe to say our little tryst is over, but have fun. I’ll close the door on the way out.”
“Don’t.” His eyes are desperate as a tear slides down his cheek.
“Ah,” I nod and stare back up at Kingsly. “So, it seems we both had it wrong. I wasn’t the conquest, I was the prize, I wonder what that leaves you as?” I shrug. “Stop crying, Evans, it’s beneath you.”
And just like that I close the door and march back down the hall.
Away from him.
Good riddance.
Away from Jude—try not to puke.
And toward the only future I have right now.
Survival.