CHAPTER NINE

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2021

          If humiliation and embarrassment could kill, I was pretty certain I should not be alive.

          Sitting at the dining table with my parents and Stephen Delaroux was absolutely mortifying. None of them knew why I was upset and it was easy to blame it on the stress and pressure college was pressing on my shoulders; after all, I was a senior. They knew I needed to come up with some project to turn in before the end of the school year and solidify my diploma, but they didn't know I was struggling in every course that wasn't a derivative of Film Theory. Even the Hitchcock course that shouldn't be that demanding had become too much.

          Everything in my life was becoming too much. I felt suffocated, crumbling under the massive expectations everyone, myself included, projected onto me.

          If Chase couldn't show up to a simple dinner with his mentor, how was I supposed to trust him with my senior project?

          It wasn't even about him not showing up.

          I believed him when he said he had plenty of papers to grade and essays to read; after all, I'd seen him spend hours slumped over his laptop, struggling to keep his eyes open in the middle of the night. Not only that, he had lectures to prepare, whereas the only thing I had to worry about was waking up in time for them. He had a life outside of sneaking around with me and worrying about my, quote, unquote "petty drama", whereas I seemed to have nothing better to do than wait for him.

          It hurt because he hadn't even bothered to let me know he wasn't coming. Had he talked to me, I wouldn't have borrowed a dress from Ingrid and put up with the snide, spiteful comments about me seeing Stephen Delaroux in secret. Savannah's resentment for me wouldn't have grown even larger. I wouldn't have made a fool out of myself by dressing up to what one would have thought was a movie premiere in Hollywood just because I wanted to impress a man. Had he talked to me, I would have understood.

          I felt defeated, wondering if his trust in me had dimmed to the point of him feeling the need to hide the truth from me. We were supposed to keep secrets from everyone else while living in our own perfect bubble, sharing those secrets with one another. What had happened to those two people?

          "So, Penny," Stephen started, refilling my wine glass. I'd already had one too many glasses of wine and my vision was blurring, helped by the low levels of sugar in my blood and the lack of proper nutrients everywhere else. "Have you started working on your senior project? It's only October, but time flies by faster than you can blink, and, before you realize it, you're about to graduate."

          "No, not yet," I replied. I didn't tell him I'd need Chase's help, even to just get started. Even though I knew he knew, as he'd done the same thing with Chase and so many other students back when he was a professor, I didn't need the extra negativity. I didn't want to admit out loud how dependent I was. "Hopefully we'll start soon, but I still haven't decided what I want to do. I haven't thought much about it, to be honest."

          "Good thing you have people to inspire and help you," my mother said, with a wink. I supposed she was right. Everyone sitting at the dining table could be another mentor to me, having more years of experience in the business that I had on this planet, and yet. Yet, the one I gravitated towards like a magnet was the one person who hadn't made it. As much as I loved these people, they would never compare, and they would never be him, regardless of how much Chase looked up to Stephen or how often he choked on his drink at the mere sight of my father. "Let us know if there's anything we can do." She gently smiled at me, her lipstick cracking slightly right in the center of her lips. "I still can't believe you're graduating in just a few months. Seems like it was just yesterday that you got your acceptance letter."

          I attempted to return the smile, but even that proved to be too demanding of a task for someone who was in as much emotional distress as I currently was. Instead, I reached out for the wine so I had an excuse to hide my mouth. "Let's hope I don't decide to get a master's degree. I can only imagine you want me to get out of school as soon as possible."

          She laughed, a bubbly, warm sound that tethered me. "Shush. We want you to do whatever makes you happy. Though . . ." She and my father exchanged a knowing look. He was the proud owner of a PhD, although he didn't advertise it nearly as often as people would expect. "It certainly wouldn't hurt to pursue higher education. You'd get even more opportunities that way and the world will make room to let you through. Romero or not, you're still a boss ass bitch with a PhD."

          I choked on my wine, while the men chuckled. I almost forgot I was upset, all thanks to an uncharacteristic comment from my mother, who had probably sensed the change in my mood.

          As soon as I remembered, as soon as I allowed myself to drift away from the conversation, those feelings came rushing back like a tidal wave. These people would never know I was drowning in plain sight, but I wasn't asking them for help, either.

          Drowning victims didn't always look like they were drowning. I wasn't thrashing around, waving my arms, and screaming for help. I was struggling to breathe altogether, fearing each breath I took would be my last, but, otherwise, I was as quiet as a whisper. There was a reason why drowning was referred to as a silent killer; swift and mute and undetected. They would never know.

          Taking advantage of their distraction, I pulled out my phone and sent Chase a text from underneath the table. I couldn't look down for a long time, as they would notice what I was doing and chastise me for breaking the strict no phone at the dining table policy, and, if it weren't for my autocorrect, the message would be covered in spelling errors.

          ME, 7:55 PM: Is everything okay? Wish you would have told me you weren't coming, but let me know if there's anything I can do to help you (I'll grade my own stuff, if you'd like). Love you

          Once I sent it, made sure he'd gotten it, and promptly deleted it, I switched the device to airplane mode and yanked the bottle of wine right out of Stephen's hands. It was an easy, foolproof way of keeping myself busy, one that would be cheered on, even. They were glad to see me relax and not be so stiff, but none of them ever bothered to think about why I was doing it in the first place.

          It didn't matter, anyway. The less explaining I had to do, the better.

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          Hours later, my stomach gurgled when I walked.

          After all the wine, I'd had to drink water to help me sober up quicker, refusing every attempt coming from my parents to convince me to stay with them for the weekend. I was well aware I was a flight risk, a danger to myself and others, and I should not be trusted behind a wheel in my current state, inebriated or not, but I couldn't stay at the manor one minute longer. It was an unbearable reminder of everything I had turned my back on, every consequence of all my decisions from the past three years, and I didn't want to live a life plagued by regrets and thoughts of what could have been different.

          This was my life now. Things could be a lot worse, but I had two best friends to come home to, in spite of all the bumps on the road and all of our flaws. I wasn't spending a dime on college, studying for my dream degree at a prestigious school. My parents would walk through a wildfire, cross an ocean, fight through a tornado for me. I had Chase, even with all the 'ifs' and 'buts' and my crippling fear of abandonment.

          I couldn't figure out why I was so unhappy or why I had all of those people and felt so unbearably, desperately lonely. It was horrifying to even consider living a completely different life, surrounded by entirely different people, knowing damn well I was the problem. My unhappiness was internal, something that slowly built up inside of me, a growing black hole that sucked in all the light it came in contact with, and I could not escape it.

          I only dared to switch off airplane mode when I sat in the comforting silence of my car. I had almost forgotten about the half-drunken text message I had sent Chase, as there was no physical reminder of it on my phone, but the rude awakening came in the shape of two notifications.

          First, he had tried calling me. When I didn't pick up, he'd left a voice message.

          Luckily for us and for the sake of secrecy and privacy, I was all alone. His voice filled the car, as clearly as though he was sitting right next to me, but I knew that wouldn't happen for, at least, a few more months. All I had to do was wait until after graduation, knowing we couldn't immediately do anything, but I'd done plenty of waiting. I felt like I had aged considerably from all the waiting.

          "Penn," he started, with a slight note of irritation twisting his voice, and I instantly cowered back against my seat. He wasn't violent—he was the calmest person I'd ever met and the only times I'd heard him raise his voice was to be heard over the mindless chatter during a lecture—and I wasn't afraid of him, but I feared the moment when I'd disappoint him for good. "I'm sorry for not showing up. I'm swamped with work and got behind on a lot of things I needed to have finished earlier this week, so this one is on me. I'm not expecting Stephen to make space for another dinner in his schedule anytime soon, but I'll talk to him later. Maybe he'll understand. Maybe not. I don't think he was living so many lives back when he still taught." He paused. I could hear the pouring rain threaten to break the windows of whichever room he was in, muffled enough to tell me it wasn't on my end. "I forgot, okay? I forgot. I could have sworn I'd sent you a text to let you know I wasn't coming over to your parents' house, but apparently I only ever sent it to your mother, and forgot to double check if I'd talked to you. In retrospect, I should have just talked to you instead. It's a bit weird to be talking to your parents behind your back like this is just a parent-teacher conference. That was the most mortifying sentence I've said today. Good God." I allowed myself to smile a little bit at that comment. "Anyway, I, uh, dropped the ball. Definitely should have reached out to you as soon as I realized I wasn't going to be able to leave my apartment. Hopefully your parents aren't too mad at me. You're probably going home by the time you listen to this—I'm hoping you're not listening to this message in public—so . . . good night, Penn. See you on Monday."

          My parents weren't upset. Stephen Delaroux would certainly drop whatever he was doing as soon as he called and come out of hiding just to see him. I would do the same if I wasn't bound by strict schedules and our secrecy policy, not to mention I couldn't just give up on my degree. However, I had spent three whole years dedicating my life, my time, and my efforts to him and this relationship; surely I deserved more than an apologetic voicemail.

          The lack of an 'I love you' at the end didn't go by unnoticed.

          He never said it on the phone, via text, or in emails. Those things could be tracked and be our downfall, so it was undoubtedly safer to save it for occasions when we met in person. Though I understood that, just like I understood what it was all for, I couldn't help but wonder if we were battling in a winless fight. By the time I graduated, I feared he might be too exhausted from the small glimpse he'd gotten of a relationship with me and just walk away. I wanted all of this, all of the pain, every struggle to mean something, something that would only strengthen our armor until we could go out in public, but every setback felt like a dagger through my heart.

          I took in a sharp, shaky breath as I pressed the call button, ensuring the bluetooth settings were working fine. The world spun in slow motion, like I was watching myself on a film reel, and I was so frustrated for wanting to scream at myself to move faster, do better, be better, and knowing that would never happen.

          I reminded myself of who he was; not only was he the man I was so painfully in love with, he was also the person who had taught me everything I knew about film, even more than my own parents. He had saved me from public humiliation three years ago when I got stood up. He had saved my life at that frat party. He was the one making sure I'd make it into the business after college, helping me build a name for myself outside of the Romero legacy. Surely I owed him more than what I was willing to give.

          "I got your message," I told him, as soon as he picked up. He'd let the phone ring four times before doing so. "Sorry for bothering you."

          "You okay?"

          I really, really needed people to stop asking me that.

          I couldn't give a straightforward answer, aware of all the layers and the complexity of my current situation, and most people didn't bother listening. Even with Chase, who had always picked up my pieces, softened my sharpest edges, I was shying away from completely opening up. The second he truly realized the destruction I had left behind me, he'd run for the hills.

          Every man for himself, right?

          "Yeah," I eventually said. "Yeah. I just wanted to . . . to let you know I got your message. I understand. Sorry for interrupting whatever you were doing."

          "You're slurring all your words."

          I sniffled, shuddering under my jacket. I'd had the decency to change clothes inside, despite knowing I'd have to come back for Ingrid's dress, but my sweater and jeans felt a lot more comfortable than designer clothes. "It must have been the wine."

          Chase let out a deep sigh. "You can't drive like that."

          "Well, I can't stay here, either, and I'm sober. I'm almost sober." Outside, the garden lights flickered before giving in to the darkness. All the light I had came from inside my car, the small light above my head and the colorful blurs coming from the touchscreen. The numbers ticked slowly and, with each passing second, the hole in my chest grew wider, eating away at everything it found. I felt rotten. "I really, really can't stay here. I spilled wine on Ingrid's dress and I don't think I can handle having her drill me with questions, so I don't . . . I'm not going back to the apartment tonight. I'll probably just drive to the loft, or something." I exhaled through my mouth, leaning the back of my head against the seat. Though I was shivering mere moments prior, I was now feverish, with sweat running down the side of my neck, pooling in the hollow of my throat. "I needed to hear your voice, that's all. I'm really, really sorry for embarrassing you. I'm sorry for—I'm sorry for ditching you last week. I tried to get out of it, I really did, but it would only make Ingrid and Savannah ask questions, and I didn't—I didn't want to risk saying too much or too little or the wrong thing. I didn't want to screw things up. I feel like I kind of screwed things up anyway, so it might all have been for nothing, and, if that contributed to you choosing not to come, even unconsciously, I fully understand."

          "Wait a second. You thought I was punishing you?"

          The heat rising to my cheeks had nothing to do with my body temperature. "A little bit. It's stupid, I know that, but there was a part of me that . . . I suppose I thought I deserved that. I wasted a perfectly good opportunity to be with you, away from everyone and everything, over a problem I created. It was my idea to reject Savannah and I needed to deal with the consequences of that, but I didn't have to do so in a way that hurt you." I decided to keep my mouth shut about Marco. That was a can of worms I didn't need to open around Chase, not right now, but I would. "Emphasis on the unconscious part of it all. Maybe you resented me. Maybe you resent me for all the changes I forced on you. Just . . . let me make it better, okay? I will. I know I say this a lot, but—"

          "Can you drive here?"

          My heart stopped. "What?"

          "Can you drive here? We'll talk in the morning, once we're both thinking clearly. I'd drive there to pick you up, but your parents might . . . not like that."

          "They like you."

          "You know what I mean."

          I did. It didn't take a genius to figure it out, and I didn't think of myself as particularly bright.

          "I'll drive there," I said. "Thank you."

          "See you soon."

          He hung up right after and I had no choice but to start the car. Everything around me rumbled, startling me, and my headlights illuminated the path ahead of me. I had rarely driven to his apartment from the manor and, though I had lived here for most of my life, the road felt unknown to me. At heart, I saw it as a ghost town.

          My life was elsewhere.

          When I parked, hit by a sudden rush of panic and fear he wouldn't let me in or that someone would recognize me, I almost didn't get out of the car. The streets were well illuminated and there were people outside, but I'd been in danger around a bigger crowd, and no one had batted an eye then.

          I zigzagged through them, slipping into the shadows like a phantom, hood pulled over my head. I was too tall, too awkward to actually go by unnoticed, a fact that had hindered me my whole life, but that also allowed me to walk faster, making way towards Chase's apartment building in quick strides. My heart felt about to rupture by the time I got there, both from exhaustion and anticipation, and I even had to support myself on the front door before my legs gave out.

          My finger brushed against the button to ring his doorbell. I could hear the ringing in my head, or perhaps that was just the rush of blood to my brain hitting me like a goddamn tsunami.

          After the longest eternity of my life, I heard the buzz. The door opened.