Gaslighter

38

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

▬ ▬ ▬ ▬ ▬

2022

          I got the phone call around three weeks later, mid-March rolling around slowly like a caress, and warmer temperatures crept in at an even slower pace, but I still didn't feel like I was defrosting in the slightest. With spring approaching, I was still curled under all my heavy blankets and duvets, heating turned almost all the way up, but at least I'd gone back to attending all my lectures to get back on track.

          Mostly, I wanted—needed—to get Savannah, Ingrid, and my parents off my back, but I also knew I couldn't avoid Chase forever. Even though it would be the smarter thing to do, considering I'd never been able to keep secrets from him, and I was entirely convinced he'd know I had opened my big, cowardly mouth after swearing on everything sacred I never would, I still went back when the months changed.

          My anxiety would kick up instantly, especially with Savannah's wary eyes watching me like a hawk, but no one had said anything. I had them all fooled once again, making them think I was fine, I would be okay, but all that hinged on them keeping their mouths shut for my sake. I couldn't deal with a scandal that big, not now, and graduation marked yet another ending.

          So, when my phone rang in the middle of the night, my heart nearly exploded out of my chest. There was no reason for him to call that late, not unless something serious—something terrible—had happened.

          "Hello?"

          "Penn," Chase croaked out. The hand wrapped around my heart squeezed it so tightly I could taste the blood on my tongue. He'd called me Penn—not even Penelope—and, though even I knew it was the literal bare minimum, my dumb, pathetic, hopeful heart still hung on to the possibility of it meaning something. "I need you."

          He didn't need to talk to me.

          He didn't need to hear me.

          He didn't need to see me.

          He needed me—to what extent and for what purpose, I didn't know, but he knew exactly what to say to pull me back in, exactly where I wanted to be, and tugged at my heartstrings. He knew me better than anyone else in my life, so that was to be expected, but every comment and concern raised by my parents throughout the past few weeks were preventing me from fully launching myself back into his arms.

          Betraying him when he was being honest about needing me left a bitter taste in my mouth, but every bit of interaction between us—direct and indirect—didn't feel the same as it used to, as my parents had crawled right into my brain and contaminated my thoughts. They'd attempted their hardest to convince me he had a hidden agenda to manipulate me and not the other way around, that he'd been taking advantage of my insecurities, naivety, and pathological need to be wanted, needed, and loved, and I didn't know how to live with myself in a world where that was the true version of reality. Just considering the veracity of that theory disgusted me to my core, and the fact that I was hesitating to believe someone who had done so much, sacrificed so much for me, and had loved me so fiercely made my blood simmer.

          Had I hesitated before? Yes, but only briefly, for such a microscopic moment that they seemed insignificant. However, I had still hesitated—more than once—and those doubts had increased both in frequency and in intensity ever since the breakup. I couldn't quite understand why, but there was a part of my brain that pointed out there had to be an important reason behind it.