I am a moon caught in his orbit, and I don’t think I’ll ever be strong enough to pull away.
I walk across campus, passing kids hidden beneath puffer jackets with their hands above their eyes to keep the snow at bay.
I walk and walk, snowflakes falling around me, the snow crunching beneath my feet. Before I realize it, I am on the other side of campus, at the stadium, rounding laps on the wintry-white track that circles the football field.
I’m not wearing proper shoes for this.
I’m not dressed warmly enough.
I don’t turn around though. I just keep walking. Maybe if I walk far enough, I’ll leave all the bad thoughts behind.
A shadow flickers off to my right, but I can’t make out who it is. I’m in no mood for company, so I walk faster. They ignore my obvious attempt at distance.
I pick up the pace, practically jogging, but it’s like I’m not even moving. They are taller, their strides longer, and I am weighed down by the snow clinging to the soles of my sneakers. By the time they arrive beside me, I’m a little out of breath and cold.
“Hey, Harlow,” a voice says, and I turn to see Everett beside me. It’s maybe half a dozen words he has said to me all semester.
“Hey,” I say.
“Can’t get away from your thoughts?”
I freeze at his question, and it gives me away.
“Me neither,” he remarks.
Then he just walks beside me as though he has always walked beside me, like it doesn’t bother him that we don’t really know each other and aren’t exactly friends. If anything, we are friends-by-association with my not-on-but-not-entirely-off boyfriend. I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count for anything.
As we round the field, Everett says, “He was better, you know? He was better with you.”
“What does that mean?” I snap, stopping dead in my tracks and spinning to face him, my arms crossed over my chest.
Everett turns to face me and frowns, but it’s not an angry expression. If anything, it is purely and potently sorrowful.
“You’re out here because you can’t get him off your mind,” he says. I don’t deny it. “And I’m out here because I can’t stand watching my best friend collapse like a dying star.”
“And I’m supposed to fix it?” My voice cracks. The snow falls so thick between us now I can barely see him.
“No.” Everett shakes his head and pulls the hood of his jacket down further over his unruly auburn curls. “I’m just saying I get it. Only Ian can fix Ian. But I did see him flush the pills when he got back on campus, and I haven’t seen him touch a drop of alcohol, if it means anything.”
“It doesn’t.” I immediately regret the words. I don’t know why I’m being so mean to him…probably because he’s a target that literally planted himself in front of me.
Everett shrugs. “I’m not saying you should forgive him or give him a second chance. I’m just saying I get it.”
My anger dissipates like steam in the air.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
But I’m sorry for more than just snapping at Everett.
I’m sorry for missing the signs with William and then doing the same thing with Ian even when I should have known better.
I’m sorry for needing time, taking it, and then still not knowing what to do.
More than anything though, I’m sorry for trying to protect myself and not knowing how to protect him at the same time.
— Ian —
I stand in the library, one shoulder resting against the stacks as I watch her. I’ll admit it’s a total stalker move, but in my defense, it’s been two weeks and I am at starvation levels of thirst at this point.
Stormy’s back is to me as she sits at a desk and thumbs through a book in front of her. She’s got another pile teetering off to her right, and she’s wearing her hair up in one of those weird, bun-like things girls like to put on top of their heads. She rubs the back of her neck with her hand, finds a sore spot and tilts her head to the left as she massages it.
I want to massage every inch of her. I want to kiss the pain away. I want to grovel at her feet and beg for mercy.
“Hot damn,” someone says off to my right, followed by a low whistle. My attention snaps toward the interruption. Vic Rothschild is at my side, staring at Harlow, his tongue nearly making out with his canine.
I grab the asshole by his starched lapels and drag him in close.
“I will end you,” I snarl.
“Whoa, man!” Vic raises his hands in the air like he’s all innocent and shit, like he didn’t just intentionally provoke me, like it’s all fun and games to him.
Mother-fucker.
“I didn’t mean anything by it.” He sure as hell did. “Everybody knows you two are over. I figured you wouldn’t mind helping a brother out.”
I unclench the collar of his shirt, but I want to slam my fingers into his face. Maybe if I do it long enough, I’ll find the much needed release I’ve been missing.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I hiss.
Vic says something which sounds like “crazy asshole” as he scurries away.
The fucker better run.
I am crazy.
Crazy for her.
My gaze catches a rustle over to my left, and I look to see Aurora and Arabella standing side-by-side near the checkout counter, staring at me. Shit. They probably saw the entire exchange. As if to confirm it, Aurora wiggles her fingers at me in some version of a bitchy hello.
I want to throttle her plastic throat, but instead, I snap on my heels and head for the exit. I barrel out the double doors and run straight into Archie.
“Ow! What the fuck, man?” Archie says, stumbling backward and holding his nose.
Damn it. I
