CHAPTER EIGHT

▬ ▬ ▬ ▬ ▬

2018

          The thing about Ingrid Vogel was that she did whatever the hell she wanted. Thus, when she decided I was worthy of her attention and started hanging out with me, I didn't question it. Truth be told, I was secretly glad she had acknowledged I existed, albeit a little bit shocked. I wasn't the type of person to be the first to be chosen for anything based on strength of character or someone's genuine fondness for me, instead of my last name, and Ingrid wasn't exactly the warmest person around, but it still was surprisingly nice.

          Savannah wasn't nearly as impressed as I was, not at first, at least. She was territorial—her words, not mine—and there were times I felt a bit suffocated with the two of them juggling me around like a rag doll. I didn't understand why they competed with each other for my attention and affection; worse, I couldn't understand why they even felt the need to do so—over me, out of all people. I'd expect them to do it over one another and against me, if anything.

          "I honestly don't know why she wants to hang out with us so bad," Savannah told me, side-eyeing Ingrid in the campus café, while I attempted to juggle both parts of my lunch on my trembling hands. She sat with her arms firmly crossed in front of her chest, never making a move to help me, but I managed to sit down as well. "Doesn't she have her own friends?"

          "I actually think she's pretty cool," I said, carefully wrapping my cream cheese bagel on a paper napkin. She scoffed, but never looked away from Ingrid, who seemed oblivious to the whole thing as she stood on the opposite side of the building. "Maybe you should give her a chance. She's been nothing but kind to me—"

          "Everyone is kind to you if your last name is Romero, Penny." I pursed my lips, but didn't push the subject. I didn't know if Savannah had the self-awareness to realize she had just contradicted herself with the tone and the words she had used, but I wasn't going to be the one to point it out, especially when she was already annoyed enough. "Like, no offense, but I just don't get it. She's Ingrid Vogel"—she lowered her voice just enough to ensure no one else would hear her—"and she can hang out with whoever she wants, so I'm kind of suspicious that she's just . . . hanging out with us out of the goodness of her heart."

          To stop myself from feeling hurt over her lack of support, I let my mind wander elsewhere while she complained about Ingrid. I felt momentarily bad for it—she was my friend and there I was, not bothering to listen to her vent—but there were times when I couldn't take it anymore. While she worried about Ingrid, I thought about Chase.

          It was thrilling to have a secret of my own. After watching every single detail of my parents' lives be scrutinized by the public and the media, I felt strangely proud of myself for having something I could keep hidden. With everything else being so chaotic, I'd found a safe haven in this man, even with all the secrecy and the sneaking around.

          We'd been out of town for the weekend for the first time. It had been a simple drive up north, in separate cars at separate times, but we'd still stayed together in his grandparents' bungalow. It had snowed during the entire week, which made the roadtrip a lot longer and lonelier than it should be, but I powered through, even when faced with the lack of visibility on the road and the heavy darkness. There would be light.

          He'd gotten there first, leaving strictly clear instructions about where I should park my car and how often I should move it, but I was simply glad we'd get to have private time away from prying eyes. We weren't supposed to go out, past the limits of the secluded, enormous garden, but the weather wouldn't let us go anywhere even if we were any other people, in any other situation.

          We almost looked like a normal couple.

          However, we were far from normal, not to mention we hadn't ever had the talk. We hadn't ever sat down and talked about what we were, about what we expected from whatever was happening between the two of us and from each other. I needed an explanation. I needed Chase to tell me what he wanted. Was I just a side chick? Something he could use to have fun whenever he needed the gratification? Was I more? Would I ever be what he wanted?

          I could see the stars in the night sky, a clear difference from the city life. I'd watch the stars from the balcony, then go back inside to warm up near the fire—both the fireplace and Chase's arms. It felt like coming home.

          Present time: we were still keeping things strictly professional. I'd come back, flushed from the cold, and Savannah had commented on it, while I prayed Chase looked slightly more presentable. Unfortunately, he had come sick with a cold, voice clogged during his lectures, but Savannah never picked up on it. Instead, she went on and on about how he should take care of himself and, if he wouldn't, then she would (giggle).

PENN

(nervous laughter)

I'm sure he can take care of himself, Sav. He's a grown man.

          Savannah laughed, louder than necessary, and attracted the attention of a group of guys sitting nearby.

SAVANNAH

Let a girl dream, Penny, will you? Don't be such a buzzkill.

PENN

Go on ahead. Don't let me stop you.

(the curtain closes. Chase ends the lecture, never waiting for me to follow him)

(queue a slightly heartbroken Penelope)

          "Oh, there she comes," Savannah complained, interrupting my inner monologue and recollection of the past week's events. My bagel remained untouched, but I hadn't had much of an appetite lately. With Chase being sick and only being present for as long as absolutely necessary, strictly to attend his lectures and nothing else, I was confined to my loft and the university library to catch up on all my essays and studying. Ingrid was, indeed, making her way towards us, turning several heads in the process. "Quick, pretend we weren't just talking about her."

          Savannah was talking about her. I merely pretended to listen, but, in her opinion, that made me as guilty as her, which meant I had to play along. Ingrid terrified me a little bit—not that I would ever admit it out loud; neither of them would ever let me live it down—and I wasn't thrilled to haze her, but it wasn't like Savannah would hear me out.

          No one ever did. I supposed I'd grown more than used to that by now.

          "Hey, ladies," Ingrid greeted, pulling a chair. "Mind if I sit with you? Thanks."

          I would never, in a million years, have the boldness to do that. I'd embarrass myself long before my brain could order my arms to reach out for the chair and my legs to bend, but Ingrid made things look so easy.

          "I think your cappuccino has gone cold, Penny," Savannah stated, rising from her chair as soon as Ingrid sat down, as though she had a spring beneath her. Ingrid failed to hold back a smirk, and the whole situation could almost be comical if I wasn't absolutely mortified to be caught in the middle of their feud. I couldn't understand why they didn't like each other, as they felt so alike to me, but their fondness for me seemed to be the only thing they admitted they had in common. "Why don't I go get you another one?"

          "Could you get me one as well, please?" Ingrid asked, with an elbow resting on the back of my chair. She was amused by Savannah's temper tantrum, knowing she'd been the one to trigger it. Did I really need another weird relationship dynamic in my life? "I'll pay you later."

          Savannah huffed, walking away with my cold drink, and left us, her heels echoing against the wooden floors. She was so small she easily got lost in the middle of the crowd, something Ingrid and I, both tall and lanky, would never be able to do. Granted, Ingrid looked a lot more like a supermodel than I did, and I'd never known how to be invisible, not quite. People stared at me, recognizing me and my last name, but then they'd leave me alone once they found out just how boring and so unlike my family I was.

          Once Savannah was far enough, Ingrid did a one-eighty.

          She deflated. She no longer sat up straight and leaned forward, setting both arms over the table, which made her look so much younger, in spite of the heavy eye makeup she wore. I wanted to tell her she didn't need to try to impress me—if anything, I was the one so in awe she was sitting at my table I continuously acted like an idiot whenever she was around—but no words ever came out of my mouth.

          "She doesn't like me much," she stated. I debated coming up with a white lie or even flat out deny it, but she'd see right through me. I seemed to be awfully transparent to everyone but Chase, who repeatedly told me he was still trying to figure me out.

          You're the most enthralling person I have ever met, he'd said, breaking the silence in the bungalow. Everything was so quiet, so calm I could hear a hairpin drop, and we almost looked domestic. I was sitting at the kitchen table, hair still damp from the shower, and he sat across from me, flipping through The Odyssey. I'm, as you kids would say, whipped.

          You're reading Homer. I'm pretty sure that's what's fogging up your mind, I'd pointed out. Surely, someone who read The Odyssey for fun couldn't find me that hard to read.

          Maybe so. Maybe I won't rest until I can read you. I won't let go.

          However, I, too, had read The Odyssey. Empty words were, indeed, evil.

          "I'm sure you'll grow on her," I told her. She just shrugged. "She'll come around eventually. It's not you. It's—"

          "Penny, no offense, but I've spent my entire life being told exactly that. Other people's intolerance is not my fault, I know that, but, if she's going to antagonize me for no apparent reason—"

          "You haven't been the nicest person to her, either."

          "Did you know her friends cornered me at a party and tried to take me into one of the bedrooms? Just to see how I'd react?" I froze. I wasn't friends with Savannah's other friends, nor was I interested in being so after all I'd heard about them, especially this. Savannah had always made a clear distinction between me and them and was particularly adamant on not letting the two meet and complete the Venn diagram. "She kept her mouth shut. She enabled them. That's almost as bad."

          "Ingrid, I didn't—"

          "You didn't know. Whatever. It's fine. I'll start being nicer to her when she ditches those shitty friends. A girl got assaulted last month at a fraternity party and I wouldn't be surprised if her buddies were behind that. God."

          She threw her hair over her shoulder, as though she was completely unbothered by the whole thing, and I was so nauseous over what she had just said I almost threw up. The café spun around me and, even though I was sitting down, I still lost my balance with the floor wobbling beneath my feet like I was at sea.

          Savannah's friend Paul, the one she had tried to set me up with, should have been the first red flag, yet I'd conveniently ignored all the sirens blaring in my head the very second Chase swept me up my feet that day. I hadn't heard about the fraternity party and I didn't care for them much, really, as I couldn't afford to have something happen to me and ruin my parents' reputation, but should I be assuming the absolute worst about all of Savannah's male friends? Or didn't I owe it to Ingrid to believe her? Didn't I owe it to that unnamed girl, one out of many, another case that would get dropped?

          "Here's your cappuccino, Penny," Savannah said, appearing out of thin air and startling us both as she carefully set my drink in front of me. With Ingrid's, she wasn't nearly as delicate, but, this time, I couldn't quite ignore the animosity in the air. If Savannah knew about what had happened, if she had enabled it, it made her dangerous. It made me question the true reason why she had approached me on the first day of university; was I going to be used as a statement? Or would I be a pawn? "Coffee. Pay up."

          "I changed my mind," Ingrid retorted, as she pulled a five-dollar bill from her wallet and set it on Savannah's palm. "You can drink that. I'm out. The air is suddenly unbreathable here, anyway."

           She gathered her things, put her jacket back on, and bolted out of our table, disappearing as quickly as she had arrived. Swiftly, ghostly.

          "What has gotten into her?" Savannah asked, through gritted teeth. I didn't find the courage to answer her.

▬ ▬ ▬ ▬ ▬

          It wasn't like I had that many places to turn to.

          I knew it was a huge risk, bigger than any of us could afford, but I had successfully managed to dodge Savannah and Ingrid's invites to hang out with them, refusing to be the middleman for any of them, and declared I had a lot of work to do. It wasn't a lie; Savannah had just as much coursework piling up on her desk as I did, and I was sure she'd understand.

          I was also overcome with the oddest feeling of unease. Ingrid's words hadn't left my head all week and, whenever I saw Savannah with her friends, I couldn't help but be taken to a party I had never attended in the first place and watch them try to pull an intoxicated Ingrid by an arm towards a bedroom, probably under the excuse of wanting to help her. Whenever I thought about it, my mind left me so sick to my stomach I'd had to tell people I'd come down with a stomach bug because I simply could not keep any food down, which was disgusting by itself, but it beat the alternative of having to explain the truth.

          Savannah had once invited me to come to one of those parties with them, but I had refused just so I could spend time with Chase. He had probably saved me, both in life and in dignity, and didn't even know it.

           So, when I knocked on the door to his office, I knew I owed him a lot more than any of us were prepared for.

           "Come on in," he said. I took in a deep breath, a whistle rising from my chest, then stepped inside his office and locked the door behind me. He was sitting at his desk and only looked up over his laptop to see who it was after he heard the lock click. I assumed no one else would bother locking the door. "Penn. Did anyone—"

          "No," I said quickly, before he could kick me out. He looked over my shoulder. "I'm supposed to be sick."

          "Ah." Unlike me, he was actually still ill. The cold had given his skin an ashy tone and the circles under his eyes were the darkest I'd ever seen them, contrasting with the red flush covering his nose. It almost made him look younger and more approachable—almost an equal. "I've been meaning to talk to you, as a matter of fact. Sit."

          I obeyed.

          His office never failed to impress me. It was like he had brought along several books from his personal collection, filling the bookcases around the room, but those seemed to be his only permanent belongings there. Everything else looked like it was placed there by the previous owner, like the furniture and the decorations, like the potted plants and the paintings, and he hadn't ever bothered making it look his. His apartment was a lot more impressive, anyway, and I was lucky I'd gotten a glimpse of his personal life most people didn't.

          He rose to close the blinds covering the windows leading to the hallway outside. With the door locked and the dim lighting, everyone would assume he didn't want to be bothered. Now that it was clear we'd have privacy, or so I was assuming, he turned to face me, looking impossibly beautiful with the way the light hit him.

          Then, he reached out a hand towards me, the olive branch I so desperately needed. I took it without hesitation, leaping to his arms like I had never left him. It was easier closing the gap between us than I expected it to be and, even though he stiffened at first, he softened just as quickly, returning the hug. I wouldn't leave him. I would never.

          "You'll get sick if you stand too close," he told me. "I have a cold."

          Then I'd be Icarus. I didn't care if I got burned; I cared about being too much for him and still not enough at the same time.

          My fingers clenched around the fabric of his shirt. If I didn't hold him tightly enough, he'd slip right through my fingers as easily as smoke. If he was smoke, I needed him woven into my hair, my clothes, my bones. I needed him in my lungs, so suffocating I couldn't fathom having it any other way.

          "You've been acting strange all week," he continued. "There was a point when I started thinking I had done something wrong. Before, you at least pretended to pay attention in class."

          That wasn't completely true. His lectures were pretty much the only ones I memorized every single word of, with all the effort I put into not staring at him, but I supposed I had been a little bit distracted following the whole Ingrid situation. I couldn't talk to Savannah about it and it wasn't something I could explain to my parents, either, as they'd pull me out of university without as much as a second thought.

         And then I'd lose Chase . . .

          "Have you heard about anything that went down during that fraternity party the other week?" I asked, looking up at him and resting my chin by his collarbones. If I couldn't talk to him, if I couldn't confide in him, then who could I trust? "I heard . . . a few things. I don't even know if you keep up with campus gossip or if you even knew about the fraternities"—his lips twitched, reminding me he, too, had been a student here once—"but I've been a bit worried. My friend told me some guys tried to drag her into one of the bedrooms and also . . ." I inhaled. "A girl got assaulted at one of those parties, too. She thinks it might have been the same group of guys, doing it just because they could and because they were bored. How are any women supposed to be safe around here? Savannah asked me if I wanted to go to one of those parties with them, but it was one of those times I refused just so I could stay with you. What if I had said yes? What if there was no you?"

          He scowled, disgusted at what I had just told him. "Is she okay? Your friend?"

          "Yeah, I guess . . . like, she's pissed, and hurt, but I think she might be a little bit too proud to admit it. I don't know why there wasn't more surveillance there or why there's no one to help those girls." He pressed his lips to my forehead, shaking slightly, and, if we were any other people, I would have asked him if he was scared. Chase Steele wasn't afraid of a thing in this world. "I'm glad I, at least, get to have this. I get to be safe here."

          "You are safe here," he confirmed. "I'll see if there's anything I can do. I'll talk to campus security."

          There were so many other things I wanted to tell him. Everything else sounded so childish, so stupid in my head I feared I'd never be able to put it into words, but the steady beat of his heart against my cheek was enough. What we had was enough, and what we had was what kept me safe—safe from all of the dangers lurking on the other side of the door.

          I would fight for this man. Even if it killed me.

          Especially then.