Gaslighter

13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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2021

          November was, as always, an explosion of gray.

          It was colder now, forcing me to return to my parents' manor and pick up my warmer clothes, along with Ingrid's dress, clean of any wine stains. I found myself missing the European summer and the warmth of the sun on my skin, the bright, blinding lights during the day, the architecture, and my grandparents, but, most of all, I missed the life I'd had there. My summer in Madrid had made me feel rejuvenated, helping with the illusion that all of my problems had stayed on the other side of the Atlantic, where I'd deal with them as soon as I regained my strength, and I'd had a more relaxed Chase by my side. Then, then, the skies were so blue they even rivaled his eyes.

          He was still my favorite shade of blue.

          Then, well into November, I sat outside as the first fall of snow of the month descended. I barely noticed it at first, bundled up in one of my father's heavy coats, a scarf wrapped around my neck, and a knit beanie pushed down my head, holding Chase's extremely annotated copy of François Truffaut's Hitchcock. When I did, most people around me already had retreated to safety, not dumb enough to sit outside in the cold when it was snowing, but it took me a while to process what was going on.

          Glistening snowflakes clung to my hair, speckled across my frozen fingers like light freckles, and, when I gasped and exhaled in surprise, a cloud of warm air fogged the area around me. With the temperatures dropping this low, I shouldn't be staying outside without gloves, knowing how easily I developed frostbite and fell victim to seasonal ailments, yet there I was.

          Being in my apartment wasn't a good idea, now that Ingrid and Savannah were spending more time inside thanks to the cold, and I couldn't ignore Ingrid's resentment any longer. I knew she was still reeling that I hadn't invited her to dinner with my parents and Stephen Delaroux, even though I had never done so in the past, but I supposed she thought our friendship had earned her an unspoken invitation. To make things worse, I had to tell her I'd spilled wine all over her dress, something I'd promised her wouldn't happen, but I'd never been great at keeping any promises I made to someone who wasn't Chase, and even then.

          Savannah was a completely different story. I still felt awful about getting to have Chase as an advisor while she didn't, even though she deserved it, and it was even worse to know I was the reason why. If I hadn't asked Chase to not choose her, if I hadn't gotten involved, things would have been different; if he hadn't felt the need to defend me, three years after the frat party, after I'd forgiven her, none of this would have happened. I'd decided to blame the men for what had happened—Paul, the nameless guy that had spiked my drink—instead of Savannah, Ingrid, or even myself, after an intense therapeutic process I'd abandoned the second I realized I couldn't be fully honest with my therapist and when I felt like I wouldn't benefit from it anymore. I was no longer scared of parties or men, even though I'd always have to be careful with my drinks and my body, and we'd parted ways in mutual agreement. I was better, and I needed Chase to see that instead of punishing Savannah over it.

          Thus, it was way easier for everyone involved if I simply stopped imposing my presence and minded my own business elsewhere, somewhere quiet where I could focus on my assigned reading and force my brain to come up with a decent senior project. I needed it to be good enough just so I could graduate, but my crippling fear of failure prevented me from ever settling for something mediocre or minimally acceptable, even though I knew it would be borderline impossible for my starved brain to produce something that far exceeded every expectation, including my own.