𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑾𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒚

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲

┏━━━ ❀ ━━━┓
𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞
┗━━━ ❀ ━━━┛
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sunday, December 10th, 2017

I find myself deliberately steering clear of everyone. Wes, Elizabeth, Luce, Vincent, and the rest of the gang - I am avoiding them all, and damn, it's one tough challenge.

It seems like they are omnipresent. We share the same classes, and it's not like the campus is vast enough to escape them. Even worse, I can't even catch some shut-eye in my own bed because my roommate is the very person I'm trying to evade most.

With Wes, I wasn't angry. Even though I was drunk, half-naked, and alone, I honestly feel like I took advantage of him. I know he's had a bit of a crush on me, and there's absolutely no confusion that I don't share the same feelings.

I'm not even sure what I was looking for in that moment.

When it comes to Luce, I just feel terrible. She has been pining for that idiot for the longest time, and even though he can't be bothered to remember her name and has zero interest in her, it's still wrong on my part.

The situation with Vince is somewhat similar, I suppose. He hasn't explicitly told me he likes Wes, but I have a hunch.

Now, with Elizabeth, I am kinda upset. I mean, I'm there, intoxicated, having just purged the contents of my stomach, and she dismisses me as if I am nothing. So I am mad.

When she called the next morning, I just let it ring. When she called after the class I missed, I ignored it. And even after three days have passed, and I haven't replied to any of her messages, I simply watched and let it ring.

Day four rolls around, and I know Luce will be out. It's around the time she typically heads to her study group - a seemingly unproductive gathering she attends every week, despite her claims of getting nothing done.

What I don't anticipate is her.

Suddenly, a thunderous banging echoes at the door, forceful and loud. For a brief moment, I think it might be Ronan, prompting me to reach for my pocket knife. But as I approach the door, a brunette bursts in.

"Where the hell have you been?" she demands, now planted defiantly in the center of my shared room, arms crossed over her chest.

"Just around," I respond nonchalantly, moving to close the door to prevent the entire floor from eavesdropping.

"Around?" she repeats, as if she might have misheard me.

"Yeah," I confirm.

"Alright, so where's your phone? I've called you like a dozen times and texted," she continues, her tone filled with concern. "No one has seen you, and I thought you might be dead in a ditch somewhere."

"Well, as you can see, not dead -and definitely not in a ditch," I reply with a deadpan tone and a hint of sarcasm. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but no words escape, leaving her momentarily speechless.

There's a brief pause between us, the kind that typically accompanies a back-and-forth conversation. It's her turn to respond, but it seems she's at a loss for words.