Chapter 30
thirty
Even if drawn and quartered, I’d never admit that Aiden’s influence on my study habits has made finals week easy. The exam questions are so simple, I fear I’ve answered them wrong, only because I know the material so well. But I end up with mostly As.
Algebra is the only thing that makes me pause. The test is on Friday. Aiden forced me to practice enough problems so that I should do well. Every stroke of my pencil makes my back molars grind with both irritation and lust at the memories of sitting on Aiden’s lap.
Beta throws a party on Thursday because those fucks cheat on their exams. Most students are finished for the semester already. Only a few of us are punished with lingering tests on the last day before winter vacation.
The end of my pencil snaps off as I bear down on the page after an incorrect answer. Why does it matter what a is in the equation? And what does it have to do with mid-century minimalism in design? Not a damn thing.
“Your groans are overtaking my study music. Could you please remain quiet?”
I startle in my desk chair and flip around. “Oh. I forgot you were in here,” I tell Athena honestly. She’s a mouse, I swear. Little nose. Tiny, scurried movements. Like she learned to be quiet to avoid any attention on her whatsoever.
I kind of admire that, but could never do it.
She pulls her headphones back over her head and taps the volume button on her laptop repeatedly.
Stretching, I decide to give up. If I don’t know how to do this by now, what’s the use? May as well enjoy the ride while I’m here. If I fail out, I can always be a dealer at the casino or something. Maybe gamble at the top circuits.
I hurriedly, but silently, put on some high-waisted, wide-legged jeans, a cropped Omega sweatshirt, and fluff my hair. After a dab of pink lip gloss and a swoop of eyeliner, I grab my coat and think about telling her she has the room to herself, but decide against it. I’m sure she’ll figure it out.
My pussy is sore from last night. Aching in a way that reminds me of what happened.
Worse than that is the pain in my chest—the one settled behind my ribs that won’t move.
For a moment, in the fogged glass and tangled breaths, I let myself believe we could slip backward.
That we could return to something softer. Something real.
But the second the windows cleared, reality did too.
I’m not his.
He’s not mine.
Aiden dropped me off with another promise of fixing things for our future. But I’ve heard enough.
I need more.
Though I did let him kiss me goodnight. Only to indulge in his familiar gin-and-lemon flavor. Proof that I’ll choose poison if I like the way it burns going down.
Beta House is all the way across campus along fraternity row. Blistery chills seep under my coat as I stroll along the sidewalk. Snow drifts in tiny gusts of wind between buildings. The only white in a pitch-black night sky.
I don’t truly care about a Beta party. But I’m hoping to get answers about Julien. I want to see where he lived. What life was like for him there. Maybe replay that sense of freedom I had to be me when he was around.
A golden glow of lights gleams onto the speckled path outside the Quad Cafe, open late for finals week. A chime echoes through the still air, louder than normal, given how peacefully quiet the evening is.
“Yes! He got it designed for me from the plans I had, he said. I was so surprised.”
“He’s so romantic!”
“He’s a dream. I can’t wait to be Mrs. Hailey Cardell!”
My boot snares on a wayward crevice of concrete, and I stumble forward. Almost landing on Hailey’s outstretched hand. The one showing off her engagement ring.
Fire ignites across my face as I raise and try to regain my balance.
“Watch it!” Hailey says, diving back a step to avoid our collision.
I smack her hand down, the glint of the diamond fading into the darkness. Then press my full-coated chest to hers. Fear widens her eyes as she holds up her coffee and backs away from me like a veiled threat.
“How about you stay out of my way?”
“You’re crazy. You know that, right?” Hailey snaps, but her voice shakes as she studies my fierce expression.
Another junior tugs on her arm. “Let’s go. Back up, Ashlyn…”
With a sinister smile, I do. One step. Then I reach up and hit the bottom of her cardboard cup until the lid flies off, hot drink spewing from the top like molten lava. The blonde bitch screams as she’s covered in brown frothy sludge.
I stuff my hands into my pockets and turn toward fraternity row. “Bye. Have a nice night!”
She’s lucky I didn’t have a flame available.
Beta Kappa Eta’s house is an old-world Tudor that spans several random directions.
Like they kept expanding over the years to accommodate more students and used whatever land they owned at the time.
Unlike spring or fall parties, everyone’s tucked completely inside.
Only a few smokers linger at the front door.
One of them opens it for me as I approach, weaving through a cloud of sweet tobacco.
It’s warm inside. Much more mellow than a Delta rager. But not distinguished like a Theta event. It’s more normal.
The music is pop. Boring. Walls are beige. Bland. Couples make out solo. People wait patiently in a line for the keg, but most carry bottles of basic beer. No one screams or throws things. There’s no cocaine orgy on the ping-pong table in the dining room.
In fact, most of the guys are surrounding a large TV, playing Mario Kart. A second room in the back, darkened to almost pitch black, has people watching Star Wars on a cinema screen. Someone made popcorn.
It’s dying for something to happen.
I wander toward the kitchen to find a drink and someone I might recognize. But I feel more alone surrounded by all these people than when I was in my room.
“You looking for one of these?” A disheveled and stressed-out-looking blond man reaches into the fridge and hands me a bottle of beer. Round, wire-rimmed glasses teeter on the tip of his nose, half steamed up with the heat blazing in the place.
“Sure.” I take the frosty glass from him and swivel off the top, taking a long swig to cool down. Ripping off my coat, I tuck it under an arm as he grabs a package of peanuts from a high cabinet nearby.
“These, too?”
I shrug. “I’ll take some.”
He pours out a handful for me, then pops some from the bag into his mouth. “I haven’t seen you here.”
“First time. I’m a freshman…”
“Ah.” Swiping his salty palm on his jeans, he nods casually, then sticks out his hand. “I’m Logan. The secretary of Beta.”
“Ashlyn.” I shake his hand, and he blushes crimson. As if he’s never been touched. He yanks his hand back. “Did you know Julien?”
His eyes widen as he shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Of course, I knew Julien. Was he your friend?”
Taking my time, I swallow back sadness. Maybe a tear forms before I reply, “Yes.”
“Sorry for your loss,” Logan says quietly. Probably because he doesn’t know what else to say.
“Can you show me his room?”
“Sure, I can. His parents haven’t come by to get his things yet. We told them to take their time. I think his dad was too overwhelmed to visit…” He aims toward the staircase in the front entry, and I follow.
We reach the second story and proceed down a few disjointed halls. At the entrance to a room labeled with a ‘233’, he pauses and gives me a sympathetic look. He taps a knuckle on the door, and a voice calls for us to enter.
“His roommate’s still there,” Logan whispers, showcasing the little dorm room.
Rowan sits up on a bed he’d been lying down in, his face clearly flushed with emotion.
Logan stammers, “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were… Um, Ashlyn here was Julien’s friend—”
“I know who she is.” Rowan’s usual glare has dropped, replaced with icy indifference. He waves a hand nonchalantly around the room. “I said you can come the fuck in.”
Logan nods and steps aside as I enter. “You two have fun,” he says, then disappears back down the hall.
The room is small. Too tiny for both Rowan and me in here.
One side of the room is clean, the bed made and covered in a plaid comforter that looks like something someone’s mom bought.
The other has balled-up tissues scattered across the floor.
Books on the Formica desk overflow with scribbled notes and a few electronics.
Knees to his chest, face buried in his arms, Rowan rots on the side that’s sharp and neat.
A poster of Fallingwater and an engraved plaque signed by Frank Lloyd Wright line the far wall. Gray slate paint covers up the faux wood-grain laminate. The chair is a knock-off Eames style in black leather with a walnut back. Everything on top is tidy. In perfect alignment. I appreciate it.
“Are you in Julien’s bed?” I ask.
Rowan sniffs back some tears. “What’s it to you?”
I lick my bottom lip, place my hands on my hips, and scan the room. “Was he your boyfriend?”
He scoffs, but the sound quickly transforms into a deep sob until the man breaks in front of me. His head folds into his hands, elbows on his knees. The weeping from his lungs makes my eyes heat with both empathy and embarrassment for witnessing it.
“He wanted to come out… I wanted to… But we didn’t. I didn’t.”
“Oh,” I whisper, because I can barely speak.
What am I supposed to do? Offer him a pat on the back and a there, there? I’m not built for tenderness. But his cries crack open a vault of feeling in me anyway. So I sit next to him. A silent companion to his ruin.
It’s all I know to do. I refrain from actual words, but I simply…linger on the hard mattress edge. Hovering a hand over his shoulder. Thigh inches away from his.
“So, um. You know I didn’t kill him, right?”
Rowan stands and shrugs off my concern, reaching for his tissue box. After he collects himself and cleans his face, he nods at me slowly. “Yeah, I know. But I don’t know who did it. And I’m so angry that I lost him that I wanted to blame someone. Anyone nearby.”