Page 139 of Keep Me Never
The bottom corner is blurred, the image distorted from where it got wet, but it does nothing to dim the light, the love in their eyes, the connection between them. It’s like I’m holding the only piece of her left that hasn’t been shattered by the world.
You deserve so much more than the world has given you, baby. And I’m going to make sure you get it.
My jaw trembles, my vision swimming as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop the rush of guilt and panic from overwhelming me.
This is going to be?—
“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”
I whip around, startled, my pulse pounding as I take in the woman there, her hands on her hips and a frown on her face.
“I’m going to call the owner and the police,” she threatens, backing away from her spot just outside the door.
Those words knock me out of the fog, and my pulse stutters for a second as I scramble to regain my composure. I look from her to the frame in my hands, trying to push down my emotions.
“No, please don’t.” My voice comes out more desperate than I mean for it to, and I take a step toward her, trying to steady myself. “I’m just here getting a quote for…the owner. I had a key to let myself in.” The lie comes easy, and I motion to the boarded-up windows and hope she didn’t hear or see me nailing it back up. “It’s going to cost a lot to get this place up and running,” I add, trying to play the part as much as possible but also telling the truth as I gently hang the picture back where it belongs.
I turn back to the woman, hoping I don’t look as anxious and torn apart from the inside out as I feel. “Do you think you could maybe not mention you saw me?” Her face pinches instantly, and I quickly add, “It’s just that I want to work out some details beforeI send her that final quote, see if I can get the cost down at all. And if she knows that I came by already, she’ll be expecting it, and I just don’t want to add to the worries.” I swipe my hand across my mouth to hide the swallow.
The woman sighs and looks around the space, a bit of sadness in her expression. “Yeah, I can do that. Lord knows the poor thing doesn’t need any more of that. She comes down here at least once a month and tries, but she can’t do much on her own, you know?”
I smile but it feels empty. “Thanks. I’ll lock up and head out soon. Have a good afternoon.”
The woman nods and walks off, and I wait a moment to follow.
I don’t remember driving back. It’s like my body is on autopilot, moving without me. I barely feel the weight of my hands on the wheel, the engine humming beneath me. My thoughts are on fire and running a mile a minute.
The SUV rolls slowly to a stop, just a few feet from the big cement sign welcoming me back to campus. I used to smile when I saw it, but now it feels cold and impersonal, like everything else in my life right now.
No that’s not right.
I don’t feel cold. There is a fire in my veins and it’s only burning hotter with every step I take.
There’s something suffocating in my chest, but I don’t even care. I don’t care that my hands are shaking or that my heart feels like it’s raging inside my chest.
I enter the building, and the older woman behind the desk waves me over with a smile.
“I can help you here,” she calls.
I step forward and push the envelope toward her.
The woman frowns slightly, her gaze flicking between me and it, but she doesn’t question me. She just picks it up, tearing open the top that’s still sealed, and pulls out a small rectangular paper from inside. She reads it for a second before glancing back at me.
“Registration and room and board?” she asks, still smiling.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay.” She starts typing something into her computer, her fingers moving quickly. “Student ID, please.”
I hand it over.
I don’t know how long I wait after that—seconds, minutes, or longer—but eventually, she slides a piece of paper toward me. “You can register in forty-eight hours,” she tells me. “But don’t delay beyond that. Classes are already filling up.”
I nod again, turn, and walk out, knowing exactly what follows.
Forty-eight hours and the check will clear.
Forty-eight hours and she’ll be leaving with her grandfather for a three-and-a-half-week trip around Europe, coming home just two days before the start of the semester.
