Expectations (wlw)

Chapter 17

I hadn’t heard from Aunt and Uncle in the days since, legally or otherwise. It was definitely the fact that I had Isobel Gracián in my corner that made them hesitate, because while they were quiet, the Attorney was not. Last I heard, they were facing a lawsuit from the Graciáns. At any rate, it left me at relative peace. To live my own life as I see fit. Which is all I’ve ever wanted.

Wasn’t it?

Presently, I was standing in class pretending not to hear the other students whispering about me. Even though I was braving this alone--Emil wasn’t here--I was doing a good job. As long as I don’t look at Fairul.

“While not all of you will be dancing at the Founder’s Ball, I’m sure, I will not allow those who will to make a fool of themselves. Find a partner, we’ll get you dancing an adroit waltz,” declared the instructor, who was a man with a harsh voice and an even harsher face.

All right. Well, I’d be hard-pressed to find a partner in this crowd. But we were an even number, and through bodies in motion I saw Christina clasp Nathan by the shoulders. He protested only briefly, and she gave me a solemn nod when I caught her gaze.

Fairul was already looking at me by the time I’d mustered up enough nerve to turn in her direction, her pretty mouth set in a hard line. As she stepped closer I could see the tension in her jaw. Wordless, she took me by the waist and grasped my hand.

The room fell into uncomfortable silence as everyone else eagerly watched to see which one of us would snap first. But we held strong, and the instructor clapped his hands together once.

The dance began. I knew the waltz, we’d done this before. It was slow and simple and I should have no issues with it, but Fairul led roughly and I had to chase my breaths.

Nevertheless, I haven’t been this close to her since that time, so I found breath enough to speak.

“I want to talk to you.” More gasp than whisper.

I had been introduced--on multiple, happier occasions--to the extent of Fairul’s strength, so I wasn’t really surprised when she manhandled me into a sequence where I certainly wasn’t doing the correct footwork.

“Keep up, will you?” Her voice was gruff.

“No, you keep up,” I hissed, clutching a handful of her shirt--we had changed out of our uniforms for this--from where my hand lay somewhere behind her shoulder. “I know you’re hurting and I’m sorry I let it happen to you. But you need to heal cleanly. Please let me help.”

We had been swaying by rote at this point, one pair keeping time with a sea of others, but now Fairul came to a halt, arms and eyes holding me still. She inhaled and opened her mouth to speak.

Another couple danced straight into us. One of them collided into Fairul’s back. I stumbled from the force and braced for the fall.

It never came. When I opened my eyes, I was nearly horizontal and my partner was leaning forward, having clutched me by the waist. The way she looked at me was familiar.

Before I could forget where we were, a sharp snapping noise, like an angry clap, cut through the room.

“Do not,” breathed the instructor, hands still clasped together, “pause in the middle of the floor.”

Fairul damn near dropped me in her rush to get away.

I dragged my feet heading to the locker room, wanting to not make things awkward in case she was still there. I try to straddle the line between persistent and annoying with her right now. No idea how that’s going for me.

I didn’t see anyone else there when I arrived, which is fine. I don’t like changing in front of an audience, anyway.

Something clattered by the showers. I leaned past the corner to catch a glimpse of whoever it was.

“Did it have to be here?” said Emil, to my surprise.

“No. But you came and we’re already here, so.” To my greater surprise, the replying voice belonged to Christina.

“Get to the point. I gave up a nap for this.”

“Right. I am once again imploring you to stop dreaming about something that’ll never happen--“ Christina looked over my friend’s shoulder, and I dived back against the wall, only halfway dressed. “--and consider other, better options.”

I pulled my shirt down properly, thoroughly lost. Emil’s voice showed a note of irritation when she next spoke.

“This again? I don’t enjoy taking time out of my day to be insulted.”

“Do you feel insulted?” Christina had her needling voice on.

Emil ignored the jab. “I’m a very realistic person--“

“Self-destructive way of showing it, if you ask me--“

“--I didn’t! And we’re friends, she and I. You need to stop making things about her--“

“This isn’t about her,” Christina hissed, “it’s about you. And me.”

I think I knew what was going to happen.

“What?” said Emil, managing to sound oblivious. Or maybe she really was.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” And Christina grabbed her shirt and pulled her into a furious kiss.

I stopped watching just as they stumbled into a shower stall.

Well. I’m happy for Emil and I’ll suppert her through anything. Even if it was Christina.

The walk to Emil’s room--where I have temporarily set up shop--was quick, as no one stopped me to chat. No one did, before, and they have less motivation to do so now. I’ve become a bit of a pariah. Though I did insist on sleeping on the floor. I’ve got a little nest in the corner of her room. It was more comfortable than it looked.

I’ve been skipping track, which isn’t advisable, but it frees up my afternoons to do whatever I want. Which is to mope, mostly. And sleep.

I don’t know how long I sat there on the floor before Emil finally came back. Looking like nothing happened, she gave me a little hi and then collapsed face-down into her bed.

“Rough day?”

“You could say that.” Her voice was muffled by a pillow.

She lifted her head and turned to me. “What about you? You seem down.”

Until this point I had arranged my expression into what I thought was a neutral one, but I guess Emil saw right through it.

“Fairul almost talked to me today.” I couldn’t stop the disappointment and frustration from creeping into my words.

A look of rage flashed over her face when I glanced up at her.

“She doesn’t deserve you.”

I gave her a concerned look of my own. Emil had always been the voice of reason during the times I would lament and curse Fairul’s name to the skies. She just held my metaphorical (and sometimes literal) hand as I cried about it, never joining, let alone starting it.

She raised a hand. “Sorry. That was weird.”

Before I could agree or comment further, the doorknob rattled. She walked over to look through the little peephole.

Her shoulders tensed and she mouthed: “It’s Fairul.”

“Hide me.” I wanted to talk to her earlier, but emotions fluctuate and now I was embarrassed at the thought of Fairul finding me in Emil’s room.

“In the closet. Go. Close it behind you.” Haha.

I could still see through the seam in the middle. Thoroughly feeling like I was the next to die in a horror movie, I watched as Emil opened the door and Fairul walked in.

“She’s not here.”

“I’m not here for her.” Emil crossed her arms and hummed in reply.

“You have the other glass? I need it.”

“What happened to the one you kept? You have someone over?” The fact that I recognized the flare in my chest at the mention of Fairul possibly having a one-on-one drink with someone else who was not me as jealousy was bad news. I was at her mercy now, whether we liked it or not.

“No.” Fairul’s head turned to the direction of the pile of blankets I inhabited at night. I wished I could see her face. “It broke.”

Oh. Well. That’s a different story.

Emil picked up the glass from her nightstand. It was one of the pair we drank out of, the ones she said she took from Fairul, all those days ago. She turned it in her hands.

“You could do with being more gentle,” began Emil in a low voice.

“I won’t break this one.” Fairul reached to take the glass, but Emil snatched it away.

“Be more constructive, you know?” The taller girl stood there, confused and annoyed.

Emil stepped closer and pressed the glass square to her chest. “You have a problem with communication.”

Fairul opened her mouth to rebut, but Emil wasn’t done.

“You like Sam, don’t you?” She let go, but Fairul’s deft hand caught the glass before it fell and shattered. “You’re in love with her.”

“I know the incident hurt you. Hell, everyone knows, most of all Sam. She’s doing so much to set things right, and she looks out for your fragile feelings. You ever thought about how she feels about this whole mess, about you stonewalling her every attempt to patch things up with you?”

Where was all of this coming from? I didn’t realize Emil felt so strongly about it.

The look on Fairul’s face transformed from mild irritation, to a confused sort of disagreement, to real anger, She took a breath before speaking.

“Thanks.” She hefted the glass, and then let her arm fall back down. “But I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me, and I definitely don’t need you speaking for Samantha. You should stop being so invested while you still can.”

She turned to leave, but Emil grabbed her arm and spun her back around.
“You only ever think about yourself, don’t you?” Emil gave her a restrained shove. “It’s because she loves you.”

Emil had been near-screaming up until this point, but now her voice dropped to a whisper.

“And she could learn to love me too. Will you be able to forgive yourself, when that day comes?”

The confusion on Fairul’s face mirrored mine when I threw open the closet doors. I knew her well enough to understand the miniscule changes in her expression when she turned to me--walking out of that closet, tripping over a random shoe on the ground--then turned to Emil, who was starting to cry at this point, and walked out of the room, gently shutting the door.

It was just Emil and I now. She was stock-still, tears rolling down her face. I stepped closer and put a hand on her arm.

She swallowed down before she spoke. “You had to find out eventually. I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, numb.

Emil held on to both of my arms. “Sam, I love you. I need to know if I have a chance.”

I looked her in the eyes--they were liquid with tears--and said, “I’m sorry.”

She smiled, bittersweet. Suddenly I was hyperaware of how close we were and I could feel her breaths. A small part of my brain began to panic that she might kiss me.

But Emil pulled away, and a pang of guilt spread in my chest at how much relief I felt.

“No. I’ll only hurt myself.” She cupped the side of my face. “You’re so honest, Sam. I always liked that about you.”

She let go. “I know you don’t feel for me in the same way, but I hope we can still be friends. Just give me a little time.”

Emil swiped at her eyes. “And I’m sorry about Fairul. I might have made things worse.”

Not worse than Fairul and I have made things between us. After that fiasco, I had left Emil to--to grieve? I don’t know--in her room (she did ask me to leave, said she wanted to move on as healthily as possible. I never realized how efficient she was). I spent hours wandering the grove, feeling like the ghost of that one dead lady Fairul told me about.

But not a soul met me in the woods, dead or alive, even as the sky turned golden, then blue, and then finally black, which let my mind achieve something like peace.

However, the quiet of the night made it so you could hear yourself think, and belatedly I wondered where I was going to sleep.

Christina didn’t look happy when she wrenched her door open and saw me standing on the other side. Granted, she never did.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” I had dragged myself out of the forest with what little moonlight the thick foliage let through, and the only place I could think of was here.

She had her arms crossed, an incredulous look on her face. She was wearing loose clothes and had her hair in a bun. “This is a joke, yes?”

“Please.”

Christina put on this incredibly pained look on her face for several seconds, and then sighed.

“I’ll have to ask my roommate if we take in strays.” She ducked behind the door. After a short exchange where Christina begged the other girl to say no, she stepped aside to let me pass.

“Hello, Sam,” said her roommate, who was already in bed. “Jen says you don’t have to worry about missing track as long as you start going again next week.”

“Oh. Thank you.” That was nice of him.

Meanwhile, Christina was rummaging in the closet. “Where would you have slept, if not for my infinite kindness?”

“Storage closet downstairs.” I was glad that, for once, Christina wasn’t prying. Maybe she could tell I was hanging on by a fraying thread.

“And I should have let it happen.” She pushed a bundle of fabrics into my arms. “Go clean up, you smell like desperation.”

When I emerged from the bathroom, clad in Christina’s clothes, I was surprised to find a little makeshift cot on the floor next to her bed, supplied with blankets and even a pillow.

“Hey, thanks,” I said to Christina, who was pretending to be asleep.

“You are not sleeping in my bed.” I rolled my eyes, even if she couldn’t see it.

“I meant for this. For letting me stay here.” I hoped I sounded as sincere as I felt.

She didn’t even open her eyes. “Shut your mouth, Samantha.”

I bunked down, whispered a good night--to which Christina muttered a garbled response, and her roommate (who I thought was asleep) said a cheery ‘good night’ back--and let the dreams take me.