Chapter Twenty Scarlett
As much as Wren and Kennedy might not want to hear it, there is no amount of chocolate or horror movies that can cure the way I feel right now.
It’s been three days since I stormed out of my parents’ house on Christmas Day, and I’ve only just been able to start breathing again.
Every time I think about the way they looked at me, another wave of sadness hits me.
It’s not just that they don’t trust me; they don’t respect me either.
They don’t see me as an equal, someone they should take seriously and pay attention to.
I’m just this . . . thing to them. This problem they’re trying to tame and get rid of.
And because apparently it hasn’t worked well in the past, they’re finding new ways to hurt me even more.
I get why they don’t trust me. I don’t trust myself, or my feelings, these days.
Usually, I’d be jumping at the chance to have a secret hookup with someone in a library, but with Evan I’m .
. . scared. I was scared of how much he saw already that day.
I showed him my designs, for Christ’s sake.
Willingly. That’s not something I give up for any old Joe.
I could see that he saw them for what they are.
That he saw how much effort I put into them and how much I care.
He encouraged me to do something frightening and to go to Boston with him.
And then he kissed me. He kissed me like he meant it.
Like he was trying to prove something to me.
And all that vulnerability all in one go was so much.
I couldn’t tell if I wanted more of it, wanted to bury myself within his skin and stay there forever, or if I wanted to be far away from it.
I eventually chose the latter, and since he went to visit his family in Vermont over the holidays, I’ve hardly spoken to him.
I know it’s unfair, but I just don’t want to hurt him by getting too close to him.
I’m trying to be different with him. Careful.
Safe. And that clearly isn’t something I’m very good at.
When I came back on Christmas Day, Kennedy and Wren still weren’t home from Wren’s parents’ house, so I locked myself in my room. I cried until I fell asleep in a puddle of my own tears, wrapped in a blanket made of the hoodies that were scattered around my bed.
I felt pathetic. I still feel pathetic.
I’ve only managed to leave my room to use the bathroom and occasionally collect the meals the girls leave outside my door.
With my chance of getting the SEI low and the list blowing up in my face, it feels like I’ve reached another rock bottom. I was so close to getting what I’ve always wanted, I could practically taste it. And now it’s been ripped away from me, the vision I had for my future is gone.
I know I should talk to Wren and Kennedy.
I know I should tell them what really happened and apologize for becoming this version of myself again, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
I can’t face them and tell them something I always knew deep down, and come face to face with the reality that I’m never going to be good enough for my parents.
I thought I had finally worked my way out of that hole, but I’m right back at square one, staring disappointment in the face once again.
A knock at the door startles me, but I don’t have the energy to turn or get up to answer it.
Kennedy’s voice rings through over the sound of the music playing from my laptop. “Scarlett? How’re you doing?”
“Not great,” I shout back.
“I thought so.” I make a noncommittal sound, burying my cheek deeper into my pillow. “I made you some soup and grilled cheese. It’s out here if you want it.”
My chest pinches, and I hate myself for being like this. For being unable to truly accept help from them and let them hug me and tell me that everything is okay when we all know it’s not.
I shout back a “thank you” and wait for Kennedy’s footsteps to retreat before I open my door to collect the food.
I eat on the floor by my bed, my laptop open to an old YouTube video that usually gives me comfort.
But I don’t find myself smiling like I used to.
Everything inside me feels lost. All I can think about is how much time I wasted.
How many hours I’ve put into working for people that don’t actually care about me.
After I finish my food, I lie in my bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, nothing but the sound of my own thoughts eating me alive as tears slowly fall down into my ears, waiting for sleep to pull me under.
I wake up a few hours later and it’s dark outside.
From the sound of the TV running in the next room over, I can tell Wren must be home from practice by now and I can imagine she’s watching a movie with Kennedy.
Wednesday nights always used to be my favorite for that reason.
We’d all be busy during the day, having our own classes and practice until we got back to the apartment in the early evening and debriefed about our day over pizza and a movie.
I have just enough energy to start putting my room back together, so I press play on the playlist I’ve been listening to on a loop for the last few days and start picking up clothes.
It’s a lot more difficult than I thought it would be, and when I feel like I’ve done enough, I collapse back onto my bed, leaning against the headboard and pulling my knees to my chest.
Another knock sounds at the door, and before one of the girls can offer me more food I say, “If this is about dessert, I don’t want any.”
Instead of one of them scurrying away or telling me that they’re here for me, the door creaks open and the last person I expect to see walks in.
Evan’s here. In my apartment. In my bedroom. Which is still an absolute and total mess, by the way.
He’s wearing a thick navy jumper and black pants, a coat zipped up halfway and gloves covering both of his hands.
His nose looks red from the cold, wisps of blond hair peeking out under a woolly hat.
For a second I think I’m imagining him. That I’m in some sort of dream reality where Evan comes to check in on me.
But he speaks and I know this is real.
“Hey, angel.”
He smiles softly, and I pull my knees in tighter to my chest when he steps over a pile of my clothes, making his way toward my bed. “What are you doing here?” I manage, my voice shaking. He needs to leave. He shouldn’t see me like this. No one should see me like this, it’s embarrassing.
“Wren and Kennedy called,” he says, taking a seat at the edge of my bed. He’s too close. But also too far. “They didn’t say what happened. Just that you hadn’t left your room since Christmas.”
I blink at him. “Shouldn’t you be in Vermont or something?”
“I came back this morning.” He reaches for my hand, placing his gloved palm over the knuckles that grip my legs. His thumb swipes against my skin and I shiver. Green eyes meet mine, and I don’t know how I even have the strength to look at him. “What can I do, Scarlett? What do you need?”
I’m not sure what it is about those words, but they make me crumble, and I break entirely.
Tears stream down my face, too fast for Evan to catch them, but he tries, cupping my face and swiping his thumbs against my cheeks.
I can hardly look at him, my eyes too blurry and unfocused to make out his expression.
It doesn’t matter much anyway because, before I know it, he’s pulling me into his chest, holding me close.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers into my hair, repeating the three words over and over until my crying reduces to short, desperate gasps for air. His hand smooths down my back in a soft practiced rhythm, the same soothing phrase leaving his lips.
I shake my head fiercely against his chest. “Evan. I’m such an idiot. I-I’m a failure.”
“A failure?” he echoes, biting the word out as if it’s personally offended him in some way. He grips my face, tilting my head up toward his. He strokes his thumb under my eye, collecting the last of my tears. “Scarlett, you are the smartest person I know. You are wonderful.”
“I’m a mess,” I choke out.
“So am I, so is everyone at our age.” He smiles, and he presses the softest kiss to my forehead.
He soothes me like he’s done it a million times, kissing that spot on my forehead again like he knows exactly what I need.
Even his next words are whispered into the same place.
“Listen, my dad is still in Vermont and our house outside the city is free. We can go there. Away from all of this. Away from NU. For as long as you want.”
I swallow back another cry. “I’ve been an ass to you. You don’t have to do this.”
“Of course I do.” That only makes me cry harder, squeezing my eyes tight. “Come on, angel. Let me help you pack a bag, and we can go.”
I don’t bother arguing with him. I let him help me pack, not caring that all my clothes probably haven’t been washed or about the fact that I look like I haven’t slept in three days.
He helps me without judgment, even going into the bathroom and packing my toiletries too.
When I think I’ve got all my stuff, I hug both of the girls at the same time, telling them I just need a minute, and they don’t ask me any questions.
And then I hold Evan’s hand the whole way to his house.