Page 28 of Unloved

It looks the same as it did before.

I wait what feels like a lifetime for her to settle into her desk chair, playing almost tauntingly with her short vibrant hair, painted lips pursed as she furrows her brow and looks at me.

God, I hate the way she looks at me. Like I’m a child, some pathetic little kid she’s been charged with watching over.

“You want out of my class?” she asks.

I nod. My throat feels thick. It’s too hot in here.

“I’m divorced now, Freddy.”

“Good for you.”

She pauses, a flash of pain and sympathy stretching across her pale face before she leans forward and speaks more softly, her voice a caressing whisper.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful with your feelings—”

“Stop it,” I snap, jerking back in the chair when I realize I’d been subconsciously leaning toward her. “I’m not a child. Just let me drop the course.”

Carmen huffs and taps her manicured nails across the desk, the clicking sound grating on my ears enough that my shoulders hike up. My knee continues to bounce restlessly, even as I press a hand down on it to try and stop it.

“Unfortunately, Freddy, I’m teaching the only sections this semester,” she says, her voice back to the polished certainty it usually has. “But my TAs will be mostly in charge of the class, considering how low the classification is, so it’ll be fine. And you’ll have Ro here, and tutoring you. You won’t have to see me much—unless you want to…”

“Great.” I jolt to stand, pulling my backpack strap up on my shoulder. If I stay in here a minute longer, I think I’ll spontaneously combust. Or say something impulsive that I’ll desperately regret later.

I need a fucking drink. And a girl, someone else to bury my head in until I feel normal again.

My mouth opens like I’m going to say something—probably some awful, taunting, cruel thing—but I only let out a shaky, shame-filled breath and turn on my heel toward the door.

I have to unlock it to get out, a fact that makes it hard for me to sleep that night.

CHAPTER 11Ro

The first half-week of school had been perfectly uneventful. I went as far as celebrating with Sadie by scream-singing MisterWives’ “Reflections” while dancing around the apartment and cleaning up.

After Ms. B, Sadie’s elderly neighbor who has been a huge help with Oliver and Liam, agreed to watch them over the weekend, we spent Saturday night playing drinking games with each other on the floor of our apartment and watching all our favorite romantic movies.

I’d woken up at four in the morning passed out on the ground, holding hands with my snarky roommate. Then snuck a pillow under her head, fixed the blanket over her, and returned to my room to sleep in, only waking when I hear the front door slam and a trail of little voices announcing that Sadie had brought her brothers over.

Pulling myself from bed, brushing my teeth and trying to look at leastslightlylike I didn’t get hit by a train last night, I’m greeted by a happy sight in our little kitchenette—Sadie and Liam making pancakes and Oliver setting the table.

“You’re starting to impress me with your”—she makes a drinking motion with her hands behind Liam’s back—“abilities.”

“God, my head hurts.” I laugh and start to shake my head, but the pain makes me freeze and I lay it in the cradle of my arms on the tabletop instead. “I think the sugar content is doing me dirty.”

Sadie smiles and squeezes my shoulder as she steps by. “Well, Idon’t know where this new side is coming from, but I for one am loving it.”

Because I usually don’t drink or party with her. I’m as straitlaced and well-behaved as I can be. Sadie knows I don’t drink around Tyler, and she doesn’t ask. Besides the party, the one I don’t remember and don’twishto remember, considering how much I must’ve embarrassed myself in front of Matt Fredderic and Rhys Koteskiy, I haven’t really gone out with her much since sophomore year.

Not since meeting Tyler.

We eat our pancakes mostly in peace, Liam talking nearly constantly with his mouth full. Oliver stays quiet, eating slowly and watching over Sadie and Liam carefully. He might not be the oldest, but he acts like he’s the man of the house already, and it makes my heart squeeze painfully in my chest.

The boys eventually excuse themselves to the couch and our TV.

There’s a loud knock at the door and both Sadie and I groan, hands clapping over our ears.

“You get it,” I say. “I never want to see the light of day again.”

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