Page 43 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

I stumble back, desperate to escape his touch, fully aware that all eyes are on me.

He sighs. “Whatever the reason, I wouldn’t worry. I’m sureeverything will work out for you. Even a rockstar wouldn’t give up that bangin’ body of yours too fast.”

I want to scream. I want to slap him across his smug face. I want to beat my fists so hard into his chest it caves in. But I can’t. All I can do is stand here and cry like a little girl whose favorite toy was just taken away by a bully. With a guttural sound squeaking past my lips, I whip toward the dark room. Furiously, I rip the hanging photos off the line then storm toward my desk. When I reach it, I start shoving whatever I can find inside of my bag. Notebooks, pens, my stuffed googly eyed pepper.

A concerned Henry peers over the wall of my cubicle. “Isabella, what’s wrong?”

“I’m leaving.”

“For the day? Or—you weren’t fired, were you?” he asks, glancing over toward where Simon is still chatting with some of the other guys.

“No, I— I just can’t stay here any more,” I say, my voice breaking again. “I won’t continue to work for people who will sit back and let my work be stolen.”

Henry blinks. “Who stole your work?” His eyes flick over to Simon. “Wait, did Simon—”

With the last of my few personal things stuffed haphazardly into my bag, I head for the door. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”

“Wait! Isabella!” Henry says, jogging around to step in front of me. “What the hell happened?”

I’m seething. All I see is red. Red and a deep, dark despair. “Move, Henry.”

“You’re just leaving? What about your classes?”

I press my lips together and wipe my eyes. “Next week is finals. I’ll finish the term then decide what to do.”

“But the paper—”

“I’m only required to be on the school paper for two terms. Atthis point I’ve been on it for three. The prerequisites have been filled, I just stayed because . . .”

Because I thought it would help me be a better writer. Because I thought the experience could actually help me get an internship. Because I love it.

“I don’t need to stay anymore. Hopefully Randall will write me a good letter of recommendation.”

I try to walk around, but Henry stops me in my path again. “Wait, just . . .”

“Just what, Henry? Sit back while someone else decides to steal my work to help their own career? Wait for Randall to ask me to start getting everyone’s lunches and coffee again? No one respects me here, and I’m not going to wait around for the next time someone decides to fuck me over.”

He opens his mouth, but I don’t care what he has to say. Nothing will make this right, and while I know—I know deep down running away isn’t the right choice, I also know I can’t stay here. So I turn, the weight of the overstuffed bag on my shoulder cutting into my skin, and head for the exit.

The fall air chills the tears on my face as I head back toward my apartment. It’s not until I pass the dining hall for the second time, though, that I realize I’ve been wandering around campus for the last hour and a half. This is where I’ll always end up, isn’t it? Alone and lost.

Maybe one day I’ll finally disappear. Maybe one day someone will notice.

It’s quitepossible I’ve turned into a vampire.

I hiss at the sight of sunlight when it peeks its way into myroom. I’ve avoided my shower like it’s holy water. And rather than blood, I’ve lived off a diet of cold pizza and cereal.

Not really a vampire then, I guess—just your everyday depressed girl.

I thought I felt better today, until I decided to unpack my bag from the office and found a copy of theEast Bay Chroniclearticle that Simon had kindly decided to leave on my desk with a note that read, “Thanks for the tips, hot tamale.”

At least cereal isn’t too unpleasant on its way back up.

As my body shrinks away from the morning light creeping across the bed, I push myself up to sitting. I need to get out of here. I can’t hide away forever, and besides, I’m starting to really smell.

After a long, hot shower, I start to feel a bit better. Taking the time to pick out a nice outfit and do my hair and makeup makes me at leastlooklike I have my shit together. TheChroniclearticle has been out for two days now, so there’s officially nothing I can do anymore, not that there was before either. But now everyone will read it.

The band will be thrilled. They tolerated me, sure, but I’m still just a journalism student for a college paper. This, even if it was stolen, is a real news source. It’s not theNew York TimesorRolling Stonemagazine but it’ll still be read by thousands of people. With their EP album out now, the more exposure the better. I just—part of me really wishes it had been me. That I had been the one to finally break them out, that I would be known as the girl who helped a band get discovered. And the kicker? I haven’t even gotten an internship out of all of this.

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