Bad Things

31. Taking Back Destiny

And I've always lived like this

Keeping a comfortable, distance

And up until now I had sworn to myself

That I'm content with loneliness

Because none of it was ever worth the risk

But, you are, the only exception.

- Paramore.

____________________________________________

Shawn had seen pictures, had read all about Ohio State University online and had looked through all his brochures countless times, but none of it prepared him for how it felt to be there, to be standing on the cusp of all of his dreams and physically seeing what might be—and knowing in the back of his mind that it might not.

The imposing stone and glass administration building stretched five stories into the sky in the center, three on the outer, and surrounded Shawn on all four sides. Ornate archways provided a through-and-through to the outer academic buildings, and on the top of each, was an enclosed glass walkway that connected each wing to the next. In the middle of it all was a courtyard, where Shawn now stood, a gurgling fountain spitting water into the sky a mere five feet away from him, and book-clad students walking quickly past on the opposite side. Shawn was used to grandeur and pompous displays of wealth—hell, he lived in a mansion himself—but this was on a whole different scale.

As he followed the meandering students with his eyes, taking in their concentrated faces and confident-seeming steps, he couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever felt as overwhelmed and out-of-place as he did standing in that spot.

If they'd ever felt like as big of a hypocrite.

He knew how he would look to them: like he belonged, like he had a right to be there with them. His clothes were nice; he was good-looking. He had charisma. Or so they would think. Shawn had always been very good at playing any part thrown at him, and he knew he could play this one just as well. He could look put together and confident; he'd done that for more years than he could count. But for the first time in his life, he didn't seem to be able to make himself believe the lie as well.

He didn't feel put-together or confident. He felt lost, insecure, and unworthy.

A chilly breeze wafted through the space, and Shawn pulled his jacket tighter around him. Voices, busyness, and the promise of "future" exploded into Shawn's consciousness, and he had no idea how to feel about it all. Part of him wanted to be excited, to let himself hope and plan and want, but a bigger part of him needed to be cautious, needed to be realistic. Because this—this place, this dream—might not be a reality for him. That was something he had to keep reminding himself. And he did, over and over again.

He curled his fingers around the shoulder strap of his backpack and forced his feet to move in the direction of the athletics wing. His bag thumped against his back, and his feet crunched over dried twigs and grass. He felt various sets of eyes boring into his back and face. Their recognition washed over him. In the past, he'd always welcomed the notoriety that came along with being who he was—a high school football star and Roy Mendes's son—but the difference was, now he didn't know if the stares were because of that, or because his face was all over the papers for something else. Something he didn't want people looking at him for.