Distracted as fuck, I don’t even see the little shit get in her vehicle until it starts, and now she’s tearing ass out of here.
“Dammit, Savannah!” I yell like she’s even going to hear me, but I yell anyway.
I kick some dirt over the hot embers before hurrying to my Jeep.
Having no idea if the buzz wore off in her sleep, I’m irate that she’s being so fucking careless.
I start it up and hit the gas, determined to at the very least follow her, hoping that she doesn’t get in a fucking accident.
For twenty fucking minutes, I follow her until I recognize where I am—just a mile from the academy.
“Good fucking idea, Savvy, good fucking idea,” I hiss, knowing she’s heading back.
Chapter 8
“I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the lapels. Life's a bitch.
You've got to go out and kick ass.”
~Maya Angelou
Savvy
I toss myself down on my twin-sized bed in my dorm and hope to fall asleep before Judas returns from wherever the fuck she is, with whoever it is she’s fucking.
Ho.
I roll to my side and try to get comfortable, but I can’t, and it’s not because of her; it’s because of him.
What a way to wake up from a killer buzz.
So, he wasn’t wrong. Somehow, I texted the wrong person. I’ve yet to send him an apology for the misunderstanding, and he may not get one since he followed my ass all the way back to campus, making me a nervous wreck. I’d like to say it’s because I was scared of this total stranger showing up at my favorite spot, or that him hovering above me didn’t make me puke a little in my mouth, but that’s not it at all.
He confuses me. I don’t like it at all, because I do, actually, like it.
I mean, no judgment against those who are bisexual or, in Chloe’s case, try-sexual, meaning she’ll try anything with anyone, but I’m not.
I hate men, especially ones who wear power and control like a badge. Men who think, just because they have a stick swinging between their legs, that means they are bored with a sword; therefore, they can cut everyone around them apart. “The alpha male.” Pfft.
The door to the room opens, and I pretend to be asleep.
She quietly shuts the door then tiptoes around the room. After she puts whatever she has with her away, I feel her hovering over me. Oddly, it disgusts me more than Patrick Steel did when he was hovering.
“I know you’re awake, Savvy. You’re the only person I know who moves nonstop when they’re sleeping. I just want to apologize and explain.”
“And I want you to eat rotten cock and die.”
She gasps.
“Now leave me the fuck alone so I can sleep.”
“Savvy,” she says, her tone indicating that Chloe’s waterworks are beginning.
I sit up and turn to face her. “I don’t care if you cry. I don’t care if you need to explain yourself with some pathetic lie. I am done talking to you. And you don’t get to talk to me or at me. So, Chloe, shut the hell up and leave me alone.”
She sniffs. “I’m not living the rest of my junior year like this here, too.”
I pull my pillow out from under my head and cover it.
“I didn’t accept you as a roommate; I asked for you. I found out about the discount by accident. He thought that’s why I was asking. He knew about my family’s financial issues. And yes, Savvy, my family is fucked up. I wasn’t lying about it. I don’t want to go home.”
Having had enough, I push myself up and hop off the bed. “Cry me a fucking river, Chloe. Poor you. At least you still have a mom.”
I attempt to walk past her, but she blocks me.
“You do not want to get in my way,” I sneer.
“We need each other,” she pleads.
“Move!”
“We do, Savvy, and you know it!” she scream-cries.
“Get. The. F—”
She throws up her hands and steps back. “Fine. But just don’t leave. I promise I’ll make this right, okay?”
“I don’t care what you do, just don’t talk to me.” I walk around her and toward the bathroom.
“For how long?” she calls to me.
You have got to be kidding me, I groan to myself as I head in to take a shower.
* * *
Lying in bed, horizontally, with my legs straight up, resting on the wall, reading from my History of World Religions textbook and listening to a playlist Chloe has streaming, all music I happen to love, and she hates my music. It’s been on repeat since I decided to let it be known I was away. Clearly, she’s kissing up. Obviously, she’s worried about the discount and whatever extra she makes for basically babysitting.
I only have an hour before I get to go to work. Yes, get to. I only work on weekends, during breaks, and one day a week, but it’s an excuse to get the hell out of here. Walls, money, backstabbing bitches stifle my spirit.
When the next song starts, I feel my throat tighten, a natural reaction to the song that reminds me of Mom, “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac. This time, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop whatever happens next, so I set my book down and hurry to the bathroom.
I shut the door, lean against it, slide down until my ass is on the cold tile, and then just breathe.
The first tear falls. At the same time, there’s a knock on the door.
“Savvy, are you okay?”
“I said, don’t talk to me.”
“Well, I need to know a timeframe.”
Is she fucking serious right now?
“Two days? Two weeks?”
Two lifetimes, I think as I hug my knees.
* * *
I actually enjoy closing much more than opening. The one to nine p.m. weekend shifts are the best. I’m alone during
