CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

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2019

          Now that it was settled that Savannah, Ingrid, and I would be moving in together before the start of our sophomore year of college, they decided it would be wise to start moving stuff into the apartment in our free time so we wouldn't be caught by surprise later on. The lease had already been signed, courtesy of Ingrid's parents, and they had even supplied a considerable amount of the extra furniture we'd need to make the place look accommodating, not just basic appliances.

          To a normal person, this would be okay and completely reasonable behavior. 

          However, I didn't feel like a normal person, and enjoyed my routines far too much to be pleased by how fast things were moving along. I was perfectly content with staying stagnant and going with the flow, letting people make decisions in my place (see: delegating the most important choices regarding my relationship with Chase to him, as he was the one who had the most to lose in case it went sour or was discovered), so I wasn't thrilled to be rushed and shoved from building to building.

          I'd started by moving clothes and personal items I was less likely to need and miss, but the way Savannah wrinkled her nose as she watched me push heavy boxes into my designated bedroom made me rethink every decision I'd made up until that point. Part of me didn't want to care—surely she had better things to worry about than what I was bringing to an apartment I wouldn't immediately be moving into—but I couldn't quite ignore the gnawing sensation that I was doing something wrong.

          I was too big of a coward to confront her about it, anyway. It was more comfortable, safer, even, to avoid confrontation with someone who would soon be my housemate, and I didn't want to be the spark to fuel another conflict between her and Ingrid. Somehow, they'd been getting along considerably well, and I'd welcomed the change as long as it wasn't at my expense.

          "Have you changed your mind?" she eventually questioned, standing in the doorway as I finished unboxing a small container of candles. They were vanilla candles, my least favorite candle scent and my mother's favorite, so I'd figured they'd be better off in this apartment than wasting away in my precious loft, but I wasn't much of a fan of the way they looked against the dark mahogany wood of my dresser.

          I straightened my back, trying to massage the muscle between my shoulder and neck, aching from being so unused to this much physical effort. Like my parents enjoyed reminding me, you could pay people to do these things for you, but Ingrid refused the help with smaller furniture one wouldn't need to assemble. My parents would appreciate the hustle—after all, they had always wanted me to be more ambitious than I actually was—but they also saw her for what she was: someone who was fueled by stubbornness and spite. Ingrid did things just to prove to everyone that she could do them, regardless of whether they were dangerous or not, and I was finally starting to slowly remove her from the pedestal I'd placed her on.

          "What do you mean?"

          "Do you regret having said yes to . . ." She vaguely gestured around the nearly empty bedroom. I was probably the most interesting thing in there, which spoke volumes about how much effort I'd been putting into decorating it. "You know. All of this. Moving in with us."

          "Well, to be fair, no one has moved into this apartment yet, so regretting something that has yet to happen makes no sense."

          "I know, but . . ." She stood up straight, after standing with her arms firmly crossed and a shoulder leaning against the doorframe to support her weight. Even while wearing high-heeled ankle boots, she was still so tiny, so fragile my first instinct was to wrap her in a cocoon and protect her from any world horrors that could ever threaten her, but I'd been doing such a lousy job at protecting myself from said horrors that I feared being responsible for someone else. I didn't fully trust her to be responsible enough, either; even though that disastrous frat party had faded into a distant memory, one I could watch on a screen as though it had happened to someone that wasn't me, the effects of it had yet to subside. "I've had this lingering feeling that you don't actually want to move in with us ever since you agreed to get a tour of the place. If you don't want to stay, I promise we won't be offended. I'd rather not have you here if it will make you uncomfortable. So many friendships have been ruined over people having a miserable time living together, and I'd really hate to see that happen to us."

          I sank my teeth into my tongue hard enough to draw blood just so I wouldn't spill out the words I really wanted to say. There were things far too dangerous to roam around freely and now more than ever I needed to keep my negative feelings, thoughts, and emotions in check so I wouldn't risk running my mouth.

          It was true I was perpetually annoyed by Savannah and Ingrid's feud with each other. Even though both of them had mellowed out considerably and were getting along tremendously better than I expected them to, there were still a few snide comments thrown around and feeble attempts at trying to force me to choose a side for once in my life. They failed to remember I enjoyed being a neutral party, so keen on avoiding any sort of conflict as much as I possibly could, but she held my gaze, beckoning me to try and convince her she was wrong, and I knew there was no way out of that one.

          I avoided conflicts like one ran away from rainstorms, but the deep-rooted, obsessive need to please everyone often overpowered everything else. I'd give in easily, letting people sway me according to whatever they needed me to be or agree with, and I'd only really fought for one thing in my life. Going after Chase, convincing him to try and see in me what I saw in him—a partner, first and foremost, an equal—had been the bravest thing I'd ever done, the one time I'd felt in control of something in my life, even when he'd been so reticent to bridge the gap between us. How could I ever give that up?

          "I'm used to spending time by myself," I began, "so it will take me a while to get used to not having the same privacy I've always had. My parents have always been pretty hands-off."

          "Lucky you," she sighs. "Mine are the most overbearing people I know, and you've met Ingrid's parents."

          I wouldn't necessarily call myself lucky for having been left to my own devices for most of my childhood and teenage years, especially when there had been times my parents' guidance and support would have helped me find some direction. Instead, I'd been walking around aimlessly for twenty years, chasing dangerous things for the thrill of it, for the thrill of experiencing something I would've never allowed myself to seek out, and it was only now that my parents had started making attempts to reach out. The distance between us hurt, like I was missing a special type of connection, but it had also granted me the freedom to do what I wanted without two extra pairs of prying eyes.

          "Yeah," I agreed, halfheartedly. "I guess part of me is scared the fighting will return now that we'll be stuck with each other so often. There are only so many places we can run to and hide in."

          She chewed down on her bottom lip, musing over my words, and I was secretly glad this was Savannah instead of Ingrid. At least I could count on Sav to hear me out, whereas Ingrid would tunnel vision on what she wanted to hear specifically. My stomach clenched in agony, pained by the possibility of being the same way, always searching for some confirmation that everything good I had in my life would be gone in the blink of an eye.

          The way Chase had repeatedly pointed out how I'd twist his words when we argued—I loathed seeing things that way, poisoning and corroding our relationship when it had the potential of being something so beautiful and rare—to hear what I wanted came back to me with such brute force I got whiplash. He'd never been wrong about me and, though I truly wanted to give myself the benefit of the doubt and believe I wasn't as abhorrent as my brain found myself to be, I trusted him more. Perhaps I'd ought to start believing him about that, too.

           "I understand," Sav muttered. "It's been tough for everyone, but you were caught in the crossfire. I've already apologized countless times, but I hope you do know I really am sorry about getting you involved in all of this. Whatever personal issues I have with Ingrid are none of your business."

           "Sav, both of you are my friends. I love you both equally. I shouldn't have to choose between the two of you when you're arguing for no reason."

           "I know and that's valid, of course, but I don't think that's all there is. I still think you're mad at me over the frat party."

          My heart flatlined.

          Was I still mad at her? Had I ever been truly mad at her, or had that just been something I'd said, something I'd felt in the heat of the moment? Had I just said that because she and Ingrid had interrupted a moment of calmness with Chase and ruined everything by making it about themselves?

          At that point, I couldn't tell whether I even had the right to hold a grudge against her. Realistically, she had done nothing wrong that night; she hadn't told her friends they should be terrible people and harass women—and do much worse than that—at frat parties, and it wasn't her responsibility to keep their behavior in check. If she had any idea, which I doubted, that would be entirely different, but she had happily stepped away from them as soon as we got out of there; but what if it hadn't been me getting in trouble with her friends? Hadn't she let them corner Ingrid previously?

          Even if she hadn't encouraged them, had she been complicit in what those guys had done by not actively opposing that behavior the second she found out about it through Ingrid's tale? Was she complicit due to her inaction and decision to associate herself with them?

           "I'm not mad at you," I admitted, finally stepping away from the dresser. I'd been pretending to care about the candles for one second too long, and I knew she could see right through my bravado. "I was, but not anymore. What happened that night wasn't your fault, but you knew about what had happened to Ingrid, and you did nothing to try and stop—"

           "How do you know that?"

           I blinked. "What?"

          She glared at me, in a way I hadn't ever thought possible in someone like her. "How do you know I didn't try to stop them? Because of what Ingrid said outside the hospital? Well, just so you know, the second I found out there was this rumor running around about what they did at parties, after they did it to Ingrid, I had been keeping an eye out. I talked to them, but what did you want me to do? When I spoke to campus security, they said they couldn't act without tangible proof, and everyone would be intoxicated anyway, so they brushed it off. I tried, Penny." I winced—not just because of the nickname, but because of how her words echoed what Chase and I had talked about. Campus security only did something after he got involved, like we couldn't be trusted. Like we couldn't ever be believed. "I think the guys suspected I knew, suspected I'd been trying to do something, because they completely changed around me. They began blowing me off, not inviting me to events, shutting up as soon as I walked up to them. To be honest, I got scared, okay? I got scared to not be a part of the group because then that would mean they'd see me as prey and turn on me instead because I'd been ratting them out to security. It's terrifying to be in that position."

          "It was terrifying to be in my position, too."

          "I know that. I do. But don't say I didn't try, because I sure as hell did, and it could have backfired a lot worse than it did." She paused, eyes glimmering, and set a hand on the doorframe as she prepared to leave. "You did see them around campus, though. They stopped coming after I went back and followed up on that initial complaint. I'm sorry if I made you think you were going crazy, or something; I saw the look on your face when we were talking about it a while back." My stomach churned, causing an entire domino effect across my body—my legs gave out, pushing me to the edge of the mattress so I wouldn't collapse on the floor. Cold sweat trickled down the nape of my neck. "I knew Ingrid would get mad at me for wanting to be the center of attention, or something, and I didn't want to make things worse, but I should have said something to you."

          I shook my head, glad my hair was long enough to create a curtain between us. I didn't have it in me to look her in the eye, not when she'd just admitted to allowing me to think I'd been imagining things all along. I'd expected to feel better over having my fears validated, but all I felt was the harsh sting of betrayal.

          "It's fine," I murmured, feeling anything but. "Thanks for letting me know."

          "Yeah." She lingered where she was for a while longer, then bid me farewell, believing I could use some time for myself.

           She never set foot inside my bedroom, I noticed. Ingrid would have.

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          I walked into Chase's apartment with boxes of Chinese take-out as a peace offering, though I wasn't sure what exactly I was apologizing for. It felt like I was always doing something intrinsically wrong, even if it wasn't immediately obvious, and I wanted to prove to him that I could be on my best behavior and still be somewhat of an interesting person simultaneously.

          It wasn't the take-out that would make me interesting—in reality, I still felt impossibly bland and boring—but there was something about sneaking into someone else's apartment with food that felt strangely exhilarating to me. At this point in the relationship (my brain went into overdrive just by referring to it as such), I was no stranger to the adrenaline of it all, and part of me feared the moment it would wear off, when it ceased to be a novelty and I'd be trapped in an everlasting state of falling. If my anxiety was overwhelming now, I couldn't begin to fathom how it would be as soon as my panic and paranoia settled in, devoting more and more time to rethinking every single one of my words, actions, and decisions. Chow mein wouldn't fix that; it wouldn't heal any broken bones after I crashed down.

          So, in my head, I would waltz into his apartment, find him slumped over his laptop, grading papers and planning lessons, and his wine glass would be empty, dangling dangerously close to the edge of his desk. I'd refill it, pour myself a drink of my own as well, and somehow convince him to take a break, it was too late, he was too tired, and he needed a break and a distraction. I would happily be a distraction. That was something I could do, and something I could do right when the circumstances demanded it, but I was at my peak whenever that was the wrong thing to do. Now, with Chase staggering towards deep set burnout, I had to put my skills to the test for his sake.

          I ended up being somewhat right, with him sitting with his laptop on his lap, but there was no wine. He appeared to be focused enough on what he was doing to make guilt settle in my stomach, even though nothing had happened and he hadn't even looked at me the wrong way, but it also made me quickly realize interrupting him would be a bad idea. Though he let me know I was welcome to open any bottle I wanted, my appetite for alcohol and/or chow mein, along with the rest of the take-out I'd brought, had since vanished.

          "I'm not sure what pairs well with what I brought," I confessed, a wave of scorching hot embarrassment washing over me. Chase hadn't even looked at me yet, even though I'd dressed up and dolled myself up just to be there tonight, which made it so much more unbelievably humiliating. "There's some variety; I wasn't sure what you liked—"

          "Penn, to be honest, I'm not really feeling Chinese take-out tonight," he retorted, eyes still glued to his laptop screen, so bright I was scared it would worsen his vision. It took me a moment to realize he was wearing his blue-light glasses, which eased the strain on his eyes, and, if it hadn't been for the complete destruction of my confidence from before, I would have closed it so he would finally look at me. "I'm planning my lectures for the rest of the semester, and I don't think I'd be able to do that with a stomach full of fried food."

          Swallowing the miserably pathetic sob that had almost erupted out of my throat, I spun on my heel and crossed the living room towards the kitchen, pulling a random bottle out of the winery.

          The only thing I hated about Chase's kitchen was the abundance of reflecting surfaces; though I was obsessed with myself enough to enjoy staring at my reflection whenever I could, closely examining my best angles, they still made me feel unnecessarily exposed when I was upset. Tonight, they just made it even clearer how ridiculous I was.

          My hollow-eyed reflection stared right back at me as I expertly opened the bottle, the dry pop of the cork echoing in the silent kitchen, and I pressed my palms against the immaculate surface of the counters. They were freezing compared to my body temperature, though I could feel the floor wobble beneath my feet, and the edge of the counter pressed against my abdomen to keep me in place and upright as I attempted to catch my breath.

          It was like my birthday all over again, with me getting all dressed up for nothing, except there was someone else in this apartment with me. If anything, all of it just enhanced the differences between us and our priorities; while he was out there building a life for himself, I couldn't stand up to my so-called friends whenever they hurt my feelings and the only thing that mattered to me was looking good. Being beautiful would take me places, sure, and it would get me the validation I so desperately craved, but what about everything else? What about a nurturing relationship? What about every other part of myself? When would I matter as a whole to other people?

          Inhaling, straightening my shoulders to project confidence I certainly didn't possess, I reached out for a second wine glass and brought them and the bottle back to the living room. Before I sat down, however, I dumped all the take-out in the trash, where it wouldn't bother him—not the taste, not the smell, not the appearance.

          Like the take-out, I stayed quiet and still, scrolling through my phone to pretend I had a semi-active social life and was much more interesting than I really was. Like the take-out, I felt like utter garbage.

          However, unlike the take-out, I was still deserving of some attention. When Chase finally closed his laptop and I returned from my second trip to the winery, he finally took note of what I was wearing—a bodysuit, black, with a lace sleeveless top, which I knew looked good on me as opposed to the dresses that hung down my body like a curtain. It was tight enough to attract his attention, hidden under a heavy coat I'd wear outside to shield me from potential threats, but I was safe here.

          So, when I sat perched up on his leg, an arm swung around his shoulders, and his hand settled on my hip, I almost breathed with relief over all my efforts having led me to the results I wanted. I crossed my legs for extra comfort, one of my boots brushing against his calf.

          "You look beautiful," he told me, his thumb drawing small lines over my elbow. Goosebumps rose all over my skin. "You dressed up like this just to come here?"

          "Yeah," I admitted, praying the red flush on my cheeks would be seen as endearing instead of childish. There was a similar scarlet mark on the side of my neck, exactly where I could cover it with ease using my hair or a turtleneck sweater; I'd never liked those, whenever inexperienced boys would suck on my neck like a vacuum cleaner, but it was different with Chase. It had always been different.

          "You didn't need to."

          "I wanted to." He inched closer to me, almost imperceptibly, and his breath fanned the uncovered skin between my shoulder and my neck. A shiver ran through my entire body. "I've been having some stressful days lately. Dressing up makes me feel better, so . . ."

          I dumped the events of the past couple of days on him, emphasizing how shitty Savannah had made me feel when she admitted she'd been lying to me for Ingrid's sake. He listened, eyebrows furrowed, and I felt so ridiculous as I confessed to hating the way I'd completely felt like my emotions and my version of reality had never been valid—and how all of it had been a lie. I'd been right all along.

          "So she's been gaslighting you," Chase concluded.

          I shrugged. "I wouldn't call it that. She lied and it made me feel bad, but . . ."

          "There's a difference between lying to someone and gaslighting them. If she's been making you rethink your reality, if she's been manipulating you, that's not a friendship you should want to be a part of. That's toxic."

          "I wouldn't fall for that. I don't think so, at least." He shifted under me, my ribs pressing against his. "I would know. I would, right? I'd get away in no time, but it was just a lie just so she and Ingrid wouldn't get into another fight. Everything's falling into place."

          Chase sighed. "I suppose. You're stronger than that, anyway."

          Hearing those words come out of his mouth filled me with such warmth and pride that it singlehandedly made me want to be stronger than that, just to prove to him that I was worthy of such praise. Even if I was far from it, I was determined to be that way.

          I cupped his cheek with my free hand, then pressed my lips so hard I wanted to melt into him. It was him and I, ride or die.

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title drop but i bet that's not how you thought it would be lmao we love (hate) a hypocritical king (piece of trash)

every chapter that mentions adrenaline will be dedicated to my wife since she invented both adrenaline AND f1 books. so cool of her she's so cool