Chapter 3
I put my car in park and sucked in a lungful of briny ocean air.
This was it. My chance at a fresh start.
The whole of my future, laid out before me: Saint Peter’s Art Institute.
Three stories tall and drenched in old-world charm, this was the building that would lend me the tools to secure my freedom.
I took in the trees above, fighting with the cathedral tower for dominion over the sky, their shapes silhouetted against a starry sea unrivaled by light pollution.
Such gorgeous, black nothingness, much like I felt: barren.
Empty. Like a void too vast for anyone to risk exploring in fear they might lose themselves.
But regardless of the part of me that secretly hoped to be understood, darkness was no stranger.
I hardly knew where it ended and I began anymore.
To believe myself able to shake it would only set me up for failure.
Chest clenching, my fingers tangled in my necklace chain and brushed against the rough-cut fluorite for protection and stabilization. Not that it’d done the best job at providing either, but still, I never took it off. Ever. It’d become a comfort, if only as an outlet for my anxious tics.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I reached into my bag on the passenger seat, rummaging until I found my tarot deck. “Alright, Universe. Show me what you got.”
I cut the deck in half, knocked on the cards three times, and began to shuffle. Almost instantly, the first card shot out, the second right behind, launching onto the passenger floorboard. Hand squeaking against the leather, I leaned down to retrieve them.
The Lovers and The Star.
Love, balance, and hope … A laugh rattled through me. The last thing in the world waiting for me on the other side of the institute’s giant mahogany doors was love, and I certainly wasn’t holding my breath that renewal was inbound as The Star card hinted.
Okay, so the Universe is on crack this morning. Got it.
After a quick conversation with the institute groundskeeper and a redirection to the main office, I finally found my room on the second story, with a duffle bag of essentials slung over my shoulder.
I’d haul the remainder of my heavy-ass boxes after morning classes, deciding instead that a few minutes of quiet grounding in my new space was far more important.
A yawn rose through me, white noise tangling in my ears.
The room was larger than I’d expected, though a tall bed boasting carved, oak posts took up most of it.
Directly across, a hearth practically begged me to curl up in front of it with a good book.
But what really drew the eye were the French doors leading onto a private balcony.
I drifted over the shiny hardwood floors, greeting the blooming sunrise on the far mountain’s tip.
The cool morning air nipped at my cheeks as I stood to take in the lush garden below, lit with solar lanterns and skirted by a thick, dark forest. Redwoods: California’s own living giants.
The forest’s regality remained condensed as far as the eye could see, save for a river cutting through at the institute ground’s edge.
My heart fluttered. Stunning. Absolutely stunning.
The kind of beauty one could get lost in. Where one might find peace. Serenity.
For a brief moment, I let myself hope. Imagine what such a life might look like. Maybe this place would be different. Maybe I’d start to heal. Fit in. Maybe someone would finally want me for me.
Snarled teeth and a putrid stench swept through my memory—the nightmare beast was unavoidable even when awake—causing the bruises around my eyes to throb. A mere week old, yet the marks on my marred skin had already begun to yellow, but that did little to curb sensitivity.
Yeah. Serenity was a sentiment I’d likely never know. I’d accepted it.
Three hard raps against my bedroom door sent my heart fluttering again, my feet in motion before I could tell them to stay put and ignore. A knot formed in my throat as my hand wrapped around the doorknob. Who the hell—
An electric smile greeted me on the other side, a blush peeking through rich, tan cheeks.
“Good morning, Fey,” the stranger said. She shook my hand, seemingly unfazed by my black eyes. “Roxanne Saadatmand, at your service. But please, call me Roxie.”
“Uh … hi …” My jaw clenched, my tongue swollen with words that wouldn’t come out. Why were introductions so damn hard? If first impressions were as important as Glenda said, I’d botched this one. “What—what can I do for you?”
Her perfect smile widened. “Actually, it’s what I can do for you. Miss Celine told me about your late enrollment yesterday and asked if I could show you around, give you a little inside tour of the institute. And voilà, here I am.”
Great, a personal tour per the art director’s request: literal anxiety fuel. I bit my lip, the chapped skin splitting, and savored the iron spill on my tongue. “That’s nice and all, but I can find my way around.”
She fiddled with her chestnut bangs, a crinkle in her brow. “Really, I insist. Everybody needs a little help now and again, right?”
Oh honey, that ship has sailed. My word vomit crept up, perched on the tip of my tongue: Some people can’t be helped.
But she didn’t need to know that. I swallowed my cynical retort, heat radiating in my ears as her turquoise nails drummed against her thighs, the silence growing.
She truly did seem nice. Genuine, even. Come on, Fey.
One tour won’t end in a sudden forever friendship.
Right. I reminded myself to breathe. In, out.
Fine then. I’d appease her, but only to get a lay of the land, and then I’d return to my safe shell. “Okay then, thanks.”
“I’ll give you some time to get ready for the day. Meet on the grand staircase in half an hour?”
Persistent little thing. I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Sure.”
“Perfect!” She clapped her hands in anticipation.
After a nod to Roxie, I spun about—contemplating hiding out in my dark room for the day instead—only to catch my pinky toe on the doorframe. I gasped as the pain shot up my calf, and I crumpled to the floor.
She dropped to my side. “Shit, are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I shrugged, scooted into my room, and closed the door behind me without so much as a glance behind. How mortifying! God, could I be any more awkward?
“Uh, okay then,” she called through the mahogany between us. “See you in a bit.”
I held my breath until her footsteps disappeared down the hall and leaned against the cool wood floor.
Why couldn’t I handle things like a normal person?
Smile, shake hands, be friendly. But no.
I was this—this disaster who couldn’t even walk right, let alone hold a conversation.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered to the air.
As I clenched my pendent in my fist, as if it was gravity itself holding me in place, Jack’s words pricked my memory: You screw this up and it’s over.
No more help. Despite his narcissistic tendencies and questionable morals, he was my only chance at the reclusive future I craved, where I could hide in my pencil strokes and escape the world’s cruelty.
I could pretend a little longer if it meant I’d find my peace in the end. A groan slipped through me.
Survive—that’s all I had to do. Just. Survive.
After donning my oversize black sweatshirt and holey jeans, I slipped into the bathroom and dumped my makeup bag on the counter.
I dabbed concealer over the bags beneath my eyes, but no matter how much I smudged out my eyeliner, the bruises glared through.
My teal hair didn’t help, aside from maybe bringing out the blue tones in the bruising more.
Fantastic. My gaze trickled down to my scuffed arms—wounds dried and scabbed now, thanks to my super healing ability, as one nurse had coined it—and I stretched my sweater sleeves down around my palms to conceal my wrapped wrist. Hide the evidence.
The doctors had called it stupid luck. No broken bones, no internal bleeding, only lingering marks on my face that seemed to scream Hi, I’m Fey, and I’m a disaster.
They likened the fall I’d taken to a drunk passenger in a car crash.
Because I’d technically been asleep when it happened, my body was limp, making me more rag doll than human.
My hands had taken the brunt of the fall, though even that was mild compared to what could have happened.
I suppose I should have considered myself lucky.
But if life had taught me anything so far, luck was never my … well, luck.
Curls wound up in a messy bun, I took to my duffle and rummaged until I found my beaten tin.
The lid came off with a pop to reveal my most prized possessions.
My crystal hoard. With a smile, I pulled two from the mix.
Angelite: a soft blue hue, smooth to the touch, for protection.
And amethyst: rich purple and pointed, to alleviate anxiety and promote peace.
I slid one in each side of my bra, cinched up my boots, and threw my messenger bag over my shoulder—tablet and pen tucked in the front pouch.
“Welp, here goes nothing,” I said with a less-than-convincing nod in the mirror.
I dragged my feet down the hall to meet Roxie, cutting through the great room I’d seen before dawn, wrapped in firelight.
It proved more impressive in the early morning sun, what with its stark white pillars and marble benches, but paled in comparison to the staircase at its entrance.
Ivy vines dotted in flecks of gold leaf swept down the railings, each step polished to a brilliant shine.
My fingers held firm as I descended. Try: that’s all I had to do.
The second Roxie came into view, my gut wavered.
I’d been too distracted earlier to realize how picture-perfect she was.
She stood with her head held high, her tweed overcoat enforcing an air of confidence about her I could never muster on my best day.
My throat dried. Compared to her, I looked like a raccoon in a garbage bag.
My chest warmed. Nope. I couldn’t do it.
Dead set on returning to my room to hide under my covers for all eternity, I spun about but was met with a hard crack to the forehead. Shit, can’t a girl go a day without self-induced injury? I rubbed the knot already solidified above my brow.
“Damn it, what the hell?” a smoky voice laced with a subtle Irish lilt asked.
The stranger toggled his jaw between his fingers, working out the tension.
Our eyes locked, and the world damn near shifted.
My pulse clapped in my throat. Those eyes …
forest green and pulsing with irritation—they were familiar, like I’d somehow seen them countless times before.
Impossible. You know, considering I’d moved hundreds of miles to attend Saint Peter’s.
A ridiculous notion, but the feeling lingered.
“Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. ”
“No shit,” he chuckled, his expression softening. “Wait, are you okay—”
“I’m fine.” I shooed away his hand reaching toward my bruised eyes.
“Well, you don’t look fine—”
“Really. Fine.”
He pursed his lips, but relinquished. “Right … so, you must be the late enrollment then.”
He’d already heard about me? Wonderful. I sighed, shoving my hands in my pockets. So much for keeping a low profile. “Yup. What gave it away?”
“Lucky guess.” He flashed a grin that produced its own gravity, pinning me in place.
Oh shit, not good. I nodded and slipped my gaze from his. His face and those pouty lips … had me feeling some sort of way. A way I couldn’t entertain without getting myself into serious trouble.
Abort mission. Run. Escape.
Why wouldn’t my feet move? He lowered himself into my sight line, a rough black stone tied around his neck by hemp swinging about. Tourmaline: to ward off negative energy. One of my go-tos.
“You need somebody to show you around?” he asked.
“Nope, all good.” I turned to walk away, but his hand caught my wrist.
“Because I’d be happy to. You know, considering you’re supposed to stay awake after a concussion.” He rubbed his forehead. “Thanks for that, by the way. I was looking for an excuse to cut class.”
A snicker slipped past my lips, goose bumps crawling up my arm at his touch. Hot, sarcastic, and persistent? Oh yeah, this guy was trouble all right. I needed an exit strategy, stat. Making friends was a no. Him? He was a hell no.
A blur of brown hair and irritation slid between us, breaking his hold on me.
“God, leave the poor girl alone, will you?” Roxie growled as she slipped an arm through mine and pulled me gently away. “I know you’re desperate for friends, but shit, dude. Can’t a girl enjoy her first day without you trying to get in her pants?”
The stranger rolled his eyes and ran a tattooed hand through his slicked-back fade. “Just trying to be hospitable. Chill out, Roxie.”
“Roxanne,” she bit. “And sure, because you’re one for kindness.”
He shot her a pointed stare and turned on his heel, calling over his shoulder. “Pleasure to meet you, Fey. See you around.”
I did my best not to gawk as he swept down the grand staircase, tossing me one final smirk over his shoulder before he turned the corner.
My head swam with déjà vu so intense my knees buckled; like warm honey pouring over my brain.
But I knew—without a doubt in heaven or hell or whatever came after this life—I’d never met him.
You don’t forget a guy like that easily.
Then it hit me … how the hell did he know my name?