Page 44 of From Square One

“And you should be resting,” he mumbles.

I huff with annoyance. I’m starting to think people enjoy me more when I’m unconscious. “I have to prep dinner.”

Logan shuffles between his feet, his jaw squared like he’s clenching his teeth.

“Why would he hit you?” I ask.

Logan’s pale green eyes sharpen. “What?”

“You were best friends, so…” I clear my throat, knowing I’m approaching touchy territory. Maybe he’ll be more receptive now, though. “You guys were together more often than you were apart. What happened that it got to this point? What am I missing?”

Apparently, I’m off base in my assumption, because Logan’s expression hardens. “I did something he didn’t like,” he says coolly. “He did something worse in retaliation. It showed me how shitty he is, so we stopped being friends.”

“What something are you talking about?” I ask tentatively.

Logan gnaws on his nubbed thumbnail. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Just know that he’s a waste of your time.”

Days ago, I would’ve believed him without question. I did believe him. “He showed up for me, though,” I whisper, partially hoping he won’t hear me. “He’s been kind. And considerate.”

“Because he wants something from you,” Logan snaps. “Which—judging by the state you were both in when I came home—is something you’re willing to give him.”

My cheeks turn flaming hot. “We didn’t do anything.”

“Right.” Finally, Logan tromps out of my room, then blows past me down the stairs, his lips set in a thin, unfriendly line. “You deserve better, but if you want to keep making all the same mistakes you did last year, I can’t stop you.”

I swallow with difficulty, watching his retreating back. Aaron obviously doesn’t just want sex—it’s clear we had some kind of emotional connection, since our relationship lasted over a year. And after everything he’s done…I can’t imagine he’d go through all this effort just to sleep with me. Contacting the history club, buying me gluten-free snacks, rushing here from work to take care of me, trying to help me jog my memories.

But he also just hit my brother in his anger. He used to get into the occasional fight around school—he has a smart mouth and runs it frequently. It seems like he’s matured, but has he really, if he’s still willing to throw his fists when he’s emotional?

Logan is about to turn the corner when he pauses and sighs. “He’s a master manipulator who knows how to get what he wants, Riley. Keep that in mind.”

He walks away, one palm still framing his swelling eye.

That night, when I should be having a peaceful slumber after an exhausting day, I find myself tossing, turning, and waiting for a familiar tapping noise on the window that doesn’t come. When I’m not annoyed, I’m flustered. Why did I let him kiss me for so long in nothing but a towel? It’s ridiculous, immature behavior.

But then I hear his voice. Soft, earnest, low.

Familiarize yourself with me. My face and touch and weight. My voice. My lips. Over time, maybe your mind will feel just as safe and comfortable here as your body does.

Then I think about his hands. How one of them was big enough to hold both of my wrists. How carefully, deliberately, his long fingers grazed my skin. I don’t fantasize often about intimacy, because I figured any potential partner would be deterred by my appearance. My skin is sallow and pasty more frequently than not, and the scoops beneath my eyes are plagued by constant violet crescents. I look brittle, like one gust of wind could make me lose my balance. Touching me can’t possibly be a pleasant experience, considering how ice-cold I am and how my skeleton likes to jut through my body.

But Aaron makes me feel desirable.

I don’t feel well the next day, either. Shocker. I wake with a familiar throbbing in my temple and stiffness in my neck and chronic ache in my rib cage and legs and whatever. I have errands to run, so I decide to get those out of the way.

I pick up a pair of earrings so Dad has something to give Mom for their anniversary, then a leather wallet so she has something to give him (they forget every year unless I remind them by physically entering it into their phone calendars). I drop by the post office to mail a couple of graduation checks to the children of extended family who live too far to visit. I make clothing returns for Mom, since I know she’ll probably forget the return deadline despite telling me she’ll handle it, and as I’m heading out the door, my phone chimes. I stop in the parking lot to open it, my heart sneaking up into my throat.

It’s just an email from the local university I’m enrolled at. Ugh.

I read the orientation letter, eyeing the logo and wondering what swayed me to apply to a random no-name college instead of the one I’ve been planning on attending for years. Having enough money to support myself during a health crisis has always been important. After research, I determined computer science was a good profession to pursue. Aaron mentioned that I apparently wanted to “explore my options,” but why? For what reason did I allow my long-term plans to be disrupted?

I want to understand what changed my mind.

The campus is twenty minutes from here, so I decide to check it out. I find public parking on the edge of the campus, set a timer for thirty minutes so I don’t get too offtrack, and wander.

It’s small but scenic, with meandering walkways framed in forestry, expanses of lawn, and gardens where people can linger on benches or at grated tables. There aren’t many students around, probably because it’s summer, but those that are look perfectly content. Some swing in hammocks between trees, enjoying the early warmth of the day, or sit propped against trunks with laptops on their knees.

The library is an enormous glass-paneled building with towering ceilings, and the sight makes me want to twirl around with glittery eyes like a Disney princess. There’s a farmers market on the edge of campus. The atmosphere is intimate. Cozy. I can see why I was drawn to it, though I’m not sure it’s mind-blowing enough to change my career path.