Girl Lost (17 page)

Peter is sitting next to my chair when I get to Lit 101. I stare at him for a moment, and his slanted green eyes harden, ticking over my bruises. I let him look and then shift, moving to an empty chair four away from Peter.

From the front row of AGZ brothers, there’s a strangled sound of amusement, and Tank rumbles something at the offender.

So happy to provide today’s entertainment.

“Gwendy,” Peter says, his voice hesitant. I grab my notebook from my bag and open it to our last lecture’s notes. What I don’t do is acknowledge the sad-faced boy at my side.

He sighs. “Come on, Gwen. You can’t ignore me forever.”

I laugh softly. I’ve been ignoring the Boy for almost three years. The Boy who kept me alive and sane and halfway whole. If I can ignore him, I can ignore anyone. I don’t say that—I don’t say anything as Dr Vosslor enters the class and launches into a lecture about the symbolism in Ayn Rand’s later works.

I can’t understand any of it. Hell, I barely hear it—I am intensely aware of the boy who has filled the chair next to me, and the way he’s watching me.

Are we really back to this?

When class ends, I gather my books without looking at Peter. I head to the door—and stop abruptly when I see Tank leaning against it, talking to one of the freshman girls. His gaze flicks to me, and then past me to Peter.

Anger settles over me, and I jerk around to look at him.

He hasn’t moved, leaning back in his seat as he waits for me.

“This is ridiculous,” I seethe. “Even for you.”

“What?”

“Your idiot frat brothers can’t lock me in because you told them to,” I shout.

He arches an eyebrow. “Tank? He just wants us to quit fighting. You talk to me, and I’m pretty sure he’ll move.”

I glance back at Tank, who nods, once.

“Fine,” I say, cocking a hip. “Talk.”

“Sit down, Gwendy.”

“I’m good. This won’t take long.”

His eyes harden. Peter doesn’t like being disobeyed. But I’m not Belle, and I’m not his frat brothers. If I want to stand, it’s my own choice.

“She shouldn’t have touched you. I’m sorry.”

“You sorry?” I echo. “She attacked me, Peter. A completely unprovoked attack when all I did was visit my boyfriend.”

“I know,” he says, “and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“What the hell is her problem? Who
is
she?”

He heaves a sigh. “She’s my best friend. She’s been part of my life forever. And she’s not happy that I came here.”

“So that’s my fault?” I demand, my voice shrill. “I’m not responsible for your life choices, and I won’t be attacked for them, Peter.”

“Of course you aren’t,” he says. “I’m sorry, Gwendy. I’m taking care of it—she won’t come near you again.”

“But you won’t send her away. Will you?” I say.

He looks stricken. And that is answer enough.

“Fine. I’ll see you later,” I say, shifting my books.

“Gwen, please.”

I stop, taking a deep breath. He huffs a sigh. “I just need some time. Belle needs me right now. And I need you safe—which means I have to stay away from you. She’s not in a good place, and I won’t risk you because she’s feeling vulnerable.”

I jerk, looking back at him. “What are you talking about? Are you breaking up with me?”

He shakes his head. Stands and wraps his arms around me. All of the tension eases out of me in the safety of his embrace. “I need time.” His lips brush my hair. “Can you give me that?”

It's strange. A kind of waiting settles over me--things are better now between me and Micah, and James has cajoled Orchid into speaking to him, even if she refuses to allow more than that. Even the weather has shifted, an abrupt end of the soft fall weather that shifts toward an icy chill.

It's like even the weather knows things have changed and has done the same to accommodate me. Or Peter.

It’s harder than I anticipated, this time of waiting. I focus on my classes and my own sanity, my friendships with Orchid and James—and how odd is it that I have become friends with James?

We have a strange kind of relationship, the kind of friendship that the more I spend time with him, the more I have come to value. An asshole, he makes no apologies for it, with a kind of refreshing honesty that's the shockingly invaluable. And neither he nor Orchid have commented on the crazy that I sometimes show when things spiral out of my control.

But the more time I spend alone waiting on Peter to sort out his issues, the more my sanity solidifies. Micah and Grayson both notice, and even Aunt J seems pleased when I check in with her and the Board. My birthday still looms, but there's less worry now—less concern I'm going to fuck up royally.

But despite all of that: the friendships, sanity, the approval of my family, I still miss Peter. I see him around campus—sometimes alone, sometimes with his frat brothers, but very very rarely do I see him with Belle. It's a fact that is both confusing and comforting.

The tiny blonde is very much in evidence, but very little in sight.

Which is why it's so surprising when I turn around in the middle of the café and she is standing there staring at me with wide eyes.

Irrationally, I'm angry. This coffee shop is mine, and she can’t have it. Let her have everything else, Peter and the frat boys, the rest of my college, for crying out loud. She can't also have my café.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, my voice cold.

She nods at the counter behind me. “Getting a drink, same as you.”

I want to argue, but from the light in her eyes, I think she knows that. She wants me to, and I won't give her the pleasure. I also won't run away. I brush past her and take a seat in the corner booth that I favor. It's cozy and away from the noise and dappled with sunlight from the windows. We don't have much sunlight anymore, but it's warm. It's quickly become one of my favorite places on Campus.

As I pull out my textbook, I watch Belle out of the corner of my eye. She hesitates at the counter after retrieving her drink, looking around nervously before she makes a decision. I'm not terribly surprised she walks over to me.

“Peter doesn't want you talking to me,” I tell her without looking up.

She makes a snort. “Do you care what he wants so very much when it comes to me?”

That does draw my gaze, and she smiles, bitter. “You want to make me jealous.”

“I don't,” she responds. “There’s nothing to be jealous of. Peter’s mine.”

“You keep saying that,” I say, leaning back. “But he's not with you, is he?”

Anger flickers in her eyes. “He's not with you either,” she says, tone ugly.

I laugh, “He’s not with me because he doesn't want you attacking me again, not because he wants to be with you.”

She’s quiet for a long minute, and I look back at my textbook. I’m a little surprised when I hear her whisper, “I know. I’ve known for a long time that he doesn't want me like that. It doesn't make it easier for me to watch him be with you.”

“If you know he doesn't want you, why does it matter if he's with me?”

“Because what he's going through for chance to be with you. You don't deserve it, you don't even know how far he’s gone—he’s destroying himself—”

She freezes, her eyes impossibly wide.

“What the fucking hell are you talking about?” I demand, furious.

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “I'm not talking anything. Just forget it.”

“I'll ask him, and he'll know you were talking to me. So just sit your ass down and explain what the hell you're talking about.”

“You do that, he'll send me away,” she says desperately.

“Not my problem. You have two options: explain or I tell Peter.”

She hesitates for long enough that I think she'll take the option of exile, and then she picks up her drink with a trembling hand.

“It was a long time ago. I don't know if you remember. You were young, and he was young, and he never forgot you. It's that simple—he couldn't forget you. I tried to make him forget. But you changed him."

She sounds so baffled and confused. Like change is unknown to him—like it's never happened before and she's not quite sure how to handle it.

“Where?” I asked.

“Don't know. That’s all I know, so you can do anything you want. It won’t change anything.”

She says it too fast. She's not quite telling the truth, but from the stiff set of her shoulders, I know I'm not getting any more out of her about where, and it doesn't really matter.

“Why didn't he tell me?"

"He kept thinking you'd put it together. That he wouldn't have to tell you. But he found you healthy and sane, and Peter won't jeopardized that." She glares at me, tears standing in her eyes. “He cares so much for your health and wellbeing and he’s forgetting his own.”

“I didn’t ask for that,” I say softly.

She snorts, shakes her head. Stands abruptly. “You never asked for anything, Gwen. But that never changed anything, did it? You changed everything for him. For us.”

I stare at her as she hurries away and decide I’ve had enough. It’s time for some answers.

He doesn’t want to take me. I know he doesn’t—he’s only doing it because I’ve been a horrid playmate for the past three days. But I know when I realized where he was vanishing every afternoon—when I realized that the noises from the forest were actually other children, I had to be introduced.

“They’re savages, Gwendy,” He says, again.

I slide a glance at him. He’s biting his lip, a frown of concentration furrowing between his eyes. “So are you,” I point out.

Laughter sparkles in his slanted eyes for a moment, and then he sighs. “I don’t want to share you.”

“You can’t keep juggling me and them. Besides, I get lonely when you go see them. I'm bored, and you’re gone half the day every day." A thought occurs to me, belated by my child's mind, and I twist my fingers nervously. "Is it because you’re ashamed of me?"

The Boy stares at me, his expression inscrutable for a moment. At last he says, "No. It's because you break all my rules. They won't know what to do with you."

"Are your rules important?" I ask.

He shrugs carelessly, reaching for my hand. He seems to have made a decision, because he's pulling me along now, the island foliage slapping at my face. "They're the only rules, pixie girl. But they
are
rules. And rules are made to be broken, after all."

"Peter says he met me before," I say, not bothering to greet him
.

Grayson is quiet for a moment, then, “Interesting. Pembrooke?”

“I don’t know. Belle isn’t exactly rushing to spill his secrets. She only dropped this one because she was furious and it slipped.”

“So he knew you from before, and he ended up at your tiny college. Right?”

I hear what he’s hinting at. “You think he stalked me.”

“It’s a possibility. You don’t know much about him, and I want you to be careful.”

I nod. It occurs to me that even a month ago, I would have been offended and furious about Grayson’s warning. But there is some truth to it, and I’m tired of being angry every time someone expresses a concern that I don’t particularly like.

“What should I do?” I ask.

“You like him, and if you want to see where that goes, you need to talk to him. You need to find out where the truth is and what this kid wants from you.”

I snort. “Getting Peter to talk is going to be the difficult part.”

“You’ve given him the space he asked for. Now it’s time for him to answer questions. You can’t wait around for him forever, darling.”

Yes you can.

“I know.”

Except, I want to. I would, I think, for Peter.

I know I have other options. Lane has been clear he’d love to spend time together. But Lane doesn’t make me feel alive, not the way Peter does. He doesn’t quiet the memories.

Which is why I’m still waiting.

Orchid isn’t here. I didn’t ask when she got up a few hours ago, shoving her feet into moccasin slippers, tugging on a heavy coat before leaving the dorm.