— Chapter 11 —

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The tearing calendar on my bedroom wall marked the date as when I woke up the next morning.

Crossing out the previous day with a faded, black marker, I stared at the date signposted on the thin paper.

The twelfth, I repeated to myself.

Trailing my eyes along the columns, I came to realize why the date felt so urgent. My eyes slowly came to rest on a marked box only ten days away. My grip on the marker loosened as I read the words that had been haunting me since I'd first turned the page over two weeks ago.

was the singular world written in the box. I'd marked it on with a tight hand at the beginning of the year, harsh enough that I'd slightly scratched through the paper with the ballpoint pen I'd used.

Ten more days, I thought. A shaky exhale left my lips as the realization settled into me.

Gently resting the black marker on the small desk beside me, I picked my phone up off its charger and checked the digits that marked the screen.

it blared, helping to settle it into me. Why did it make me feel so uneasy?

Shaking out my hair and sucking in a breath, I turned away from the calendar and tossed my phone somewhere on the bed.

Ten more days.

The thought repeated in my head several times as I'd showered, gotten dressed, and cleaned myself up that morning. The freezing air and blanket of snow outside gave me enough of an incentive to wear thicker layers—a cotton shirt, paired with a heavy jacket and the thickest coat I could find hidden away in my closet. That, as well as black jeans and boots that were beginning to look somewhat worn.

I had a shift at Joe's tonight, and I didn't feel so terrible for once. My wrist still ached, of course, but not so noticeably.

I'd managed to whip up some basic eggs for breakfast—sunny side up. Considering my terrible history of cooking, it was probably one of the only things I couldn't drastically fuck up.

Finding the box of tea I'd hidden at the back of the cupboard, I rested my gaze on it for a moment as I remembered the trouble Noah went through to get it for me. I'd prepared it with extra care that morning.

It tasted sweeter than usual.

Maybe it was the batch. Perhaps it was the quiet of the house, slowly calming my nerves. Or, maybe, it was the thought that Noah had put into the tea itself.

The memory of last night still burned fresh in my mind. The rosiness of his cheeks against the Boston cold, the misty air he exhaled, the marks on his palms, the care with which he held my hands open... it was almost too much.

Did that all really happen? I thought shyly to myself. My fingers curled around the porcelain teacup in my hands. And he gave me his number, too...

It was just shy of midday, though I'd surprisingly woken up earlier for once—if ten in the morning counted as 'early', that is. My father was off who-knows-where, probably suffering a hangover in the house of one of his female acquaintances.

The thought made me shudder. But I had the place to myself, at least, which gave me some comfort.

I checked the mailbox this morning, too.

There was one envelope. Small and thin, which was never good. That, and it was addressed from one of the colleges I was more hopeful about.

I still hadn't opened it. Instead, it was sitting in front of me on the marble countertop. I'd read over the words on the face of the envelope so many times that I'd come to engrain them in my memory.

Just rip off the bandaid, I thought, gently picking up the paper.

Tearing open one end, I pulled out the letter inside, with my heart sinking in my chest. There was only one paper... nothing else. Acceptances were usually thicker.

I didn't read any more than that, crumpling the paper in my hands with a frustrated exhale.

Despite how cheesy it sounded, my mom was the only person who believed I would do great things with my life. All she ever wanted was to see me happy—to make friends, experiment, and have fun because she never got the chance to do it herself. All her spare change went to my college savings. It was just enough to get me there, too, but the fact that she cared enough to do it at all was the only thing that mattered to me.

She got sick before she could see it all unfold.

With hospital bills up to our noses, my father and I didn't have anywhere near enough to keep up with them all. I chose to spend everything we'd saved for college on keeping her alive—on the hope that I wouldn't lose the only person who ever really cared.

But my hopes had a frustrating habit of imploding on themselves. Mom passed quietly in the hospital on a cold March night, and no matter how hard I tried to rebuild the pieces of my life after I lost her, it just felt like none of the shards fit right anymore.

I had to start all over again. I built up my college fund from scratch, and while most other people went off to have the time of their lives, I was left behind... working to make my mom's hopes for me a reality, despite all the setbacks.

I was grateful for all I had, but... I couldn't help but dream for more.

Two other colleges had already turned me down. Though, there I was, believing that the third time would be the charm. Just as I had made a step forward, then, something like the letter in my hands would force me to take two steps back again.

Every rejection meant that my chance at a better life was slipping through my fingers. Perhaps I'd jinxed myself by hoping for it so much.

Damn it.

Defeated, my gaze dropped to the steaming tea before me. I usually hated warm drinks—especially hot coffee—but Redwin's felt particularly nice on cold days.

My heart was heavy in my chest. There were still three other colleges that I had yet to hear back from... three more threads of rope to hang on with. I just hoped they wouldn't snap too.

The applications I'd made were my last resort before community college. I'd heard it was possible to transfer to another later, but regrettably, I hadn't thought into it too much. For now, I just hoped that one of the last three colleges I was waiting on would offer an acceptance. The anticipation felt like it could kill me.

Tossing the paper into the bin, I sipped up the last of the drink in the porcelain cup.

The sweetness of the tea didn't feel so nice anymore.

Today at 2:34 pm

Elliot:

Elliot:

The texts had been sent several hours ago, and in the space of time since then, I must have read them about a hundred times over. Part of me was nervous that I'd been too upfront about it—hell, I still couldn't believe he'd even given me his number at all.

What exactly did Noah want from me? It wasn't like he was the type of person interested in making friends for the fun of it. He certainly didn't have any romantic interests in me, either, considering his still-standing relationship with Angela. Not that I would be remotely intrigued if he did, of course.

Of course, I promised myself, though I didn't entirely trust my own words.

I was a struggling bartender making minimum wage at a run-down bar outside Boston city. I had no money, little to no connections, no assets, and barely a safe roof over my head. I had nothing useful to offer—especially not to someone with his kind of track record.

But my bruises. He seemed to pay a lot of attention to those.

I rested my head against the cool window of the near-empty bus I was sitting in. It was just starting to snow. Thin flakes sprinkled themselves over the roofs of parked cars, stuck to trees bare of leaves, and coated icy driveways to be shoveled in the morning. The sun had set in the distance a few short hours ago.

Of all the things Noah could notice about me, why did he have to pick that?

Perhaps the saddest part of all was that I was beginning to grow comfortable in his presence. He was kind, decent... and he had a boxy smile that just felt intoxicating to watch. It was the little things he did, too... like walking me home that one night, or giving me his jacket to keep me warm, or sticking up for me when those drunk bikers were being pricks in the bar yesterday.

Hell, he made the effort to start a conversation. To talk to me, even though I was stupidly shy and had the overwhelming phobia of saying the wrong thing. Of embarrassing myself. Of sounding like a total idiot.

Was Noah really putting in that kind of effort just to get to know me better?

Jeez, I thought to myself rather pathetically, when was the last time I had to worry about things like this? When was the last time I'd been 'friends' with someone in general?

Sinking back into the bus seat, I tugged on the strings of my hoodie and felt the heat rising to my cheeks out of embarrassment. God. I was fantastically stupid.

The brakes let out a squeal as the bus arrived at a stop not far from Joe's. Mumbling a weak 'thank you' to the driver, I stepped off onto the side of the road and flinched when the engine roared beside me. With the bus slowly disappearing in the distance, I kept my head down and followed the trail of the sidewalk in the direction of the bar.

Maybe I'll try and start a conversation with Noah tonight, I thought to myself, keeping my gaze focused down at my feet. Surely I can't embarrass myself that badly, right?

If the only thing Noah wanted was to get to know me better, then I wouldn't reject his efforts outright. Maybe something good could come out of it. After all, he hadn't done anything to mistreat me yet.

"Hey, isn't that the twink?"

Huh?

Darting my attention up, I spotted a group of people standing not far ahead of me. They felt familiar, but I hadn't been able to recognize them until I noticed the leather jackets they were donning.

They were the same guys who'd chased after me and Noah at the intersection a few days prior. Granted, there were only three of them now—but one of them was new. Familiar, even. I just couldn't place him.

Oh, fuck me.

I kept walking, hoping that they would leave me alone, or at least avoid a confrontation. But with them stopping completely in my path, I didn't have much of a choice other than to face them head-on.

That, and the muscular one that Noah had insulted several nights ago had taken a grip on the back of my hoodie. He was the same one who'd called me out to the group.

"Don't ignore us, you little shit," he said, tilting his head so that I could get a good look at the mean smirk on his face.

I sighed, feeling a trembling in my fingers. "Look, I don't want any trouble, so can you just—"

"Is that you, Elliot?" the one in the middle asked me with a devilish grin, running his hand through brightly dyed red hair.

He seemed to be the one in charge, standing tall over the other two with a fake smile on his lips. Just as I was about to ask how he knew my name, it dawned on me why he was so familiar.

"Marcus?" I made out, squinting my focus.

His hair wasn't the blonde he had back in high school, and his lip and eyebrow piercings were new, but I could make out his nimble figure and tall height anywhere. I hadn't seen the asshole in half a decade.

This was the same Marcus that Noah was talking about? I grumbled to myself. Freaking great.

"Christ. Small world, isn't it?" There was a somewhat wicked look in his eyes as he spoke. "Long time no see, you little shit."

It was strange that the guy aiming for a fight with Noah was the same guy who used to pick on me in sophomore year.

"So it was you causing so much trouble with Edge the other day? Shit, man." Passing a look to the one beside him, he said, "how the hell did you manage to lose this idiot, Smash?"

The muscular one, Smash, let out an annoyed grunt.

"I'm sorry, trouble?" I frowned, growing more and more frustrated with the grip on my hood. "They were chasing us."

Marcus just chuckled in response, with the short one beside him passing me an icy-cold scowl.

I don't mean to be rude, but... I'm really not interested in dealing with this right now, I wanted to say. I'm late for a shift and my boss is already up my ass as it is—so please just let me go.

Instead, I wrestled myself out of the grip that Smash had on my hoodie and gave Marcus a plain look. "Look, I'm sorry for whatever went down with your friends a few nights ago, but I really don't know Noah–Edge–that well. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late for work."

Just as I tried to escape their hounding, the shorter one stood in my way. I bit the side of my cheek nervously, my hands slowly clenching into fists.

"You know, funnily enough, we were just heading to your little bar ourselves," Marcus said, clearly not intending to let me go so easily. "Important business to attend to, you see. Hey, and you know what? Since we're all going to the same place anyway, let's go together. You can be our guide."

I dug my nails into my palms as Smash took a harsh grip on my wrist—the same one that was still sore and painful. A striking pain soared up my forearm from the contact.

Speaking through gritted teeth, I muttered to myself as we began walking, "it's not like I have much of a choice, anyway."