Page 103 of Because I Killed Him
History is a sacred inheritance, passed down to remind us of the duty we owe to the nation we love so dearly.
—PROFESSOR RUDOLPH YATES,
GRANDMASTER UNIVERSITY FACULTY
CHAPTER 23
Guilt weighs on me like a heavy, damp towel until Friday. It’s the day before Edmund’s birthday, and Vivian is still ignoring my calls and leaving my texts unanswered. I feel bad for shutting her down, especially since she was willing to part with one of her Vanguard badges. To some people, the Hellion is worth at least three times what Coquette is.
Still… I can’t do it.
I can’t give up the dress.
At the first-year Lecture Hall, Charlotte, Jack, Dickie, and I head to Civilized World History on our own. Walking through the parking lot without Edmund feels strange. I’m surprised to realize I’m uncomfortable, even a little anxious, the way Charlotte must’ve felt the one time she tried to quit smoking. According to Dickie, Edmund is missing our first lecture because Irene’s lawyer arranged a visit. They usually meet twice a month in Edmund’s suite, with Coppers closely supervising their conversations.
Wind tugs at the fur collar of my coat as we climb the steps to the first-year Lecture Hall. The building looms ahead, its portico cleared of ice and snow. Students move through the corridors in waves, some lounging by columns and doorways, their laughter echoing off the marble. Someone calls my name, and a few students toss me practiced, shiny smiles that I return out of habit.
“You’ve almost got as many admirers as I do,” Dickie muses, nudging his Pinkie chaperone to keep up with us.
The robot stumbles forward, arms overloaded with Dickie’s daily excess: a steaming hot chocolate, three snack boxes, and a backpack embroidered with his family crest.
“Perhaps,” I say. “I think I would rather have friends.”
Dickie shrugs. “Too many friends can cost you, broad. If not money, then time.” He rubs his Aegis like it’s a nervous habit or a victory lap. At this point, he lives to show it off. “Even as a man with many admirers, I don’t have many friends. Just Ed and Jack.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You do not consider me your friend?”
Dickie thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nah. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because friendship takes trust. And trust takes time, broad. No such thing as instant love.”
His tone is casual, but there’s an honesty to it that makes me pause. He’s not wrong. It took more than a year for Charlotte to become my best friend. True love—true friendship—develops slowly over time, like sediment. And when it breaks, it shatters unevenly, in a jagged, splintered mess.
Charlotte and Jack are proof of that.
They walk a few paces ahead, their shoulders stiff with the awkward civility that settles in after a war. They’re talking about birthday gifts for Edmund, at least on the surface. Jack keeps his hands in his pockets, head down, barely looking at Charlotte. When he does, his glances are quick and involuntary, as if he’s trying to convince himself he’s over her and not quite succeeding.
Charlotte’s hair, thanks to regrowth cream, has grown into a soft pixie cut with curly layers framing her face. A silk scarf wraps around her head, and pearls drape from her ears and down her neck. Her lips are painted as brightly as an alarm. The look is new, bolder and more glamorous, but I’m getting used to it.
Even her new face doesn’t surprise me anymore. The sharp cheekbones, reshaped nose, and eerie symmetry all begin to fade into the version of her I once knew. It’s as if this polished, reconstructed version of her has been the real one all along.
“No. I still have not purchased Mr. Prew a gift,” Charlotte says to Jack,her words carefully formal as they weave through the corridor. “The issue is that I already spent my monthly student allowance from my father.”
Jack glances at her sidelong. “How’d you manage that?”
“Being a woman is expensive. Being a beautiful woman is priceless.” Charlotte twirls a ringlet around her finger. “Might you consider… assisting me?”
“How much?”
“Five.”
“Hundred?”
“Thousand.”
Jack whistles. “Steep ask, darling.”
