The more I listened to the lecturer in front of the class, the more I felt like everything he said was directed at me.

"You can never keep running from your mistakes," said the chubby-kinda short-man as he held a pointer in his hand and stared back at us. After what felt like decades, he scratched his eyebrow and continued pacing as he spoke. "From Bronte's story, Wuthering heights, we see a lot of wrong decisions made by all the main characters. And like them, we all make mistakes we must learn to either overcome or live with."

Hardly anyone was paying attention to the man. At the far end of class, a few students were on their phones, only looking up from time to time to giggle and grin at one another. At the back, students were speaking in hushed voices. The few people who were paying attention probably were the ones majoring in the course.

For me, a business admin student, it was an elective. But I needed to pass.

Still, sadly, I was among the distracted ones. And my distraction was caused by none other than Kong.

"Do you think I should dye my hair blue?"

I turned my attention to him for the umpteenth time and raised a single eyebrow. My grip on my pencil loosening, so it fell slightly while I faced Kong. He pouted and slid a bit down his seat.

"Why would you want to do that?" I asked, raising my gaze to look at his blonde hair for a moment and then bringing it back down. "I like it this way."

"I don't know," sighed Kong as he raked a hand through his hair, a distraught look on his face. He stared me straight in the eye, and I stared back. "I keep thinking the reason Pat broke up with me was something else, not just you and James."

At the mention of his name, I took in a sharp breath that sent saliva down the wrong pipe and threw me into a fit of coughs. My chest burned, my eyes watered, my throat constricted, and after glancing at the rest of class, I realized the entire class was staring at me. And not with concern.

The lecturer looked ticked off with a frown on his face. Kong threw an apologetic look from his seat next to me, already knowing what would happen next.

"Miss Camden, is there a reason why you're interrupting my class?" the lecturer asked with a sarcastic twang to his tone. I just sat with my thighs pressed together.

James had taken this class last year. It was pure luck that he did, considering how things turned out between us. Take, for example, this very awkward moment. I would die if James were here.

"No, sir, I'm sorry."

Some people murmured in the background while the lecturer seemed to grow angrier. And just when I thought it was over for me, he sighed and checked his watch.

"Well then. Our time is up as it seems." The second those words left his lips, the students started getting up and packing their stuff, raising the noise in the room. I let out a sigh of relief. The lecturer raised his voice above the noise. "Your assignment is to evaluate the mistakes of each of the main characters in Wuthering Heights and state how those mistakes could have been averted." Every student in the room groaned.

"In nothing less than four hundred words," added the lecturer, causing the students to groan again. "Per character. The assignment is due in three weeks. See you on Wednesday."

We were out of milk.

Again.

You know, sometimes, with the amount of food Kong consumed, I believed he was a growing boy in the body of a twenty-two-year-old man.

I entered the grocery store, the bell above the door ringing as it swung open and shut. From the counter, I was greeted with the same bored "welcome to county's mart" greeting that had been going on for a week since I'd been shopping here. Without returning the greeting, I headed straight for the fridge and collected two large milk bottles. Then I shut the fridge with my foot and headed to the counter to pay.

The blonde cashier took the milk, threw me the fakest smile in the universe, and ran the barcodes over the scanner before parting her lipstick-coated lips to speak. "That'll be eight thirty-four."

Under her gaze, I pulled out the money from my back pocket and handed it to her, then waited for her to package it. Next to me, someone came up and dropped two shopping baskets on the counter in front of the cashier, who, in turn, looked at the girl over the top of her glasses.

My fingers tapped the top of the counter, waiting for the cashier. Eventually, she packed the milk up and handed it over to me. Now cradling the two bottles in my arms, I turned to walk away but paused in my tracks, dumbfounded, when I saw who it was standing beside me.

Pat had her straight hair held up in a tight ponytail. She tucked her hands into her pockets and frowned. Even though she had no makeup on, she still looked flawless. Typical.

"You should probably take a picture," she commented after a moment of silence, changing the atmosphere from uncomfortable to uncomfortably awkward. I swallowed and adjusted the gallons of milk in my arms. And then, I said the stupidest thing in my existence.

"Hey. Happy new year."

If there were a wall close to me, I'd have slammed my head into it repeatedly, not necessarily because of my embarrassment but because of her reaction. Pat let out a small snort of humourless laughter.

"That's it? That's what you say after everything you did?" For a second, I thought Pat would lose her calm-something that didn't normally happen. But then she stepped back and looked to the cashier, who was now watching the both of us while holding two cans of baked beans in one hand. She grinned nervously and then returned to her work. And Pat returned her icy stare to me.

For the love of everything good, she was a year younger than me. Yet, here I was, unable to maintain eye contact.

"You know, I used to think we misunderstood you, and there was probably a reason why you did it. And maybe if we listened to your side of the story, we'd find out why." Her eyes spat fire at me. All I could do was stand there and burn. Pat shook her head. "I was wrong. You don't have a side of the story because you're the one who wrote the entire fucking script!"

Only when she stopped talking did I notice that she was raising her voice. My entire focus was on the weight of her words. If only she knew what really happened.

"Your bill is ready, ma'am," said the cashier in a small voice. I didn't blame her. Hearing any of the Grants raise their voice would do that to you.

Pat turned to attend to the bill just as I decided I'd had enough guilt for one day. With my head held high and my dignity on the floor, I walked to the door.

"One more thing, Avery," I heard Pat call out. I halted but didn't turn around to face her for the fear that if I did, I'd burst into tears. "I hope you get what you deserve after breaking James."

I didn't wait after that. I couldn't. The air was too thick to breathe, and I couldn't see through the stored-up tears about to fall from my eyes. I needed to leave. So that was exactly what I did.

I ran to my car, dumped the milk in the backseat, got in, and zoomed off with a million thoughts attacking my brain at once. The guilt was almost too much to take. This constant feeling of always running. It felt like I was drowning, and someone was pulling me under. Like I couldn't escape it. Like I'd run forever.

Once I was on the road, I sniffled and wiped my nose with the back of my sleeve, holding on tightly to the steering wheel. As much as I hated it, his name kept ringing in my head, mocking me, asking if what I did was worth this pain.

The beeping of my cell phone from the passenger seat caught my attention for a moment, pausing my thoughts that had gone haywire. For just a second, I felt at peace again. I could breathe.

That was until I read Kong's message:

One unread message.
Received, 6:14 pm

From: Kong

Where are you, Avery? Shit just struck the fan! I don't know how else to put this, but please don't freak out.

James is moving into our apartment building.