Gaslighter

08

CHAPTER EIGHT

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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.