Fall Into Forever (10 page)

I grab a notebook and pen from my backpack and toss them on the table in front of me, not bothering to open up a blank page. The professor welcomes everyone and says some shit about how this class can change the way we look at the world around us.

I don’t give a flying fuck. Crossing my ankle over my knee, I pick at a frayed hole in my jeans.

I had Ivy pegged as a hot mess anyway. I’ve had plenty of those girls in my life without adding another.

chapter seven

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

~ William Shakespeare

Ivy

My fingers curl over the keyboard like claws. I’m trying to keep them from shaking. After taking my last pill, I don’t really have a choice. I have to do this.

I open and close my fists as if I’m doing some preparatory exercises before using the computer. I need to log into my old email account and get the name of the doctor here at PSU that my therapist recommended.

I take a deep breath and pull it up. I can’t believe I even remember the password.

Sure enough, pages and pages of messages from people and businesses I don’t know fill the screen, many of them porn-related. And there are dozens of invites for pages and private online groups with hurtful names.

You’ve been invited to like the page
Ivy McAllister is a Psycho Whore
.

You’ve been invited to the group
Ivy M. Suks Big Cock N Wants To Suk Yours.

@MagicVaj_McAllister is now following you.

I experience a little satisfaction that Aaron needs to take a few basic English classes and learn how to spell—but then that’s me, the secret nerd, for you.

It was easier to abandon this email address and delete my social media accounts than to keep wading through this garbage.

I do a search for Dr. Kramer and find the message I’m looking for. His colleague and former student is named Tess Mehta. He thinks I’ll like her.

I pull up the PSU Student Counseling services website and scroll down to see if they have her listed. They do. Dr. Mehta looks to be about thirty years old, with straight, dark hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and a closed-mouth smile. I can’t tell whether she seems kind and caring or judgmental.

Hands shaking, heart pounding, I dial the office number listed on the website.

“PSU Student Counseling Center. This is Addison. Can I help you?”

Addison? It sounds like the name of a student. Is the receptionist’s position a work-study job? How can I explain to a
student
that I need to make an appointment with a shrink? What if she asks what the nature of my call is? It’s not like I can say I have a sore throat and need to see the doctor.

In order to make an appointment, I’ll have to state my full name. Probably give her my student number. I don’t want people to know who I am, and that I have “issues.”

And what if we have a class together? This Addison chick will know me, but I won’t know her. What if she’s a grad student and she types up Dr. Mehta’s notes? Don’t tell me that’s highly unlikely—it’s probably not even possible given medical ethics and everything—but my brain keeps going there. Who says fears are rational? Addison could sit in the back of my Comparative Lit class and point me out to her friends. “That’s the girl I was telling you about. She’s a fucking psycho. She thinks she may have killed her boyfriend, but get this—she’s got amnesia and can’t remember if she did or not.”

And then the rumors would start all over again. And the harassment. But this time from someone other than Aaron and his friends.

“Hello?” Addison says. “Are you there?”

I can’t do this.

I stab the End button, toss the phone on the bed, and wipe my clammy hands on my jeans. I’ve got a good thing going here at PSU where no one knows the real me, and I’d like to keep it that way.

chapter eight

I once had a thousand desires, but in my one desire to know you,

all else melted away.

~ Rumi

Jon

There’s a big crowd of students at the Hardware Store tonight, so I’m lucky to get a booth. I don’t bother to look around for Kelly, Reese, and James, because they texted me a few minutes ago saying they were just leaving Kelly’s house.

As I slide in, two girls stop abruptly at the head of the table. A dark-haired girl with her hands on her hips gives me an angry scowl. “We saw it first.”

Before I can tell her that I’ve been waiting at the door to see if anyone was going to take it, her friend comes to my rescue. Great, it’s one of the students I’m tutoring.

“Oh my God. Jon.”

“Hey, Sara.”

Her face lights up even more that I remembered her name. “Are you here by yourself?” I start to answer, but she keeps going. “Can we share the table with you?”

Her boldness is borderline rude. “I’ve actually got friends coming. Sorry.”

Her face falls and her friend looks even more pissed off.

I look around. It is one of the big corner booths, though, and the place is packed. Chances are slim that another table will open up soon, especially since the band is getting ready to play. “Is it just the two of you?”

“We’ve got other friends here.” She points over her shoulder. “But they don’t want to sit. I was going to order something to eat, so I wanted a table.”

Is she talking about Ivy? Here at the Hardware? I jerk my head in the direction she’s pointing, but don’t see her.

I wish I could put my finger on what it is about Ivy that I can’t seem to shake.

“There’s probably room, then,” I tell Sara.

I assume that the two of them will sit on the opposite side of the booth, so I don’t move over. Her friend does, but Sara doesn’t. She slides in right next to me. I have to shift away to keep my arm from touching her.

“So, is Ivy here with you?”

With a big huff, Sara crosses her arms over her chest and dramatically rolls her eyes. “She’s supposed to be, but I haven’t seen her. It’s her birthday and one of the girls brought cupcakes.”

It’s Ivy’s birthday today? Now I’ll have an excuse to talk to her. I frown. Since when do I ever need an excuse to talk to a girl?

If anyone doesn’t look twenty-one, it’s Sara. She probably has a fake ID. “So I see you didn’t wear your Material Girl garb again.” She looks at me, a blank expression on her face. “Your Madonna look,” I add for clarification. Still nothing. I try again. “Your eighties costume from the party?”

“Oh.” She laughs. I’m still not sure whether she gets it. “No, but I do have this.” She unzips her hoodie and pushes out her chest at me. The word
Parishioner
is emblazoned on the neon pink T-shirt that’s clearly one or two sizes too small. “I’m your biggest fan,” she says proudly.

Great. She sounds like the stalker from
Misery
. I force a smile, but it’s hard because my face feels like stone.

Some guys might enjoy having girls show them their tits like this. I don’t. It reminds me too much of the women my father is attracted to.

“Uh, thanks.” I raise my hand and get the waitress’s attention. She nods. A pitcher of beer can’t get here fast enough.

“Great show on Tuesday,” Sara says. “Friday, too. When I got home from the party, I tuned in and listened to you in bed. They should have you do that time slot every weekend. I could listen to you talk all night.”

“Thanks,” I say absently as I watch the band finish setting up. There’s a cello. Interesting. “But if they did give me the Friday night time slot, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

She laughs. Only when she moves a little closer do I realize that she thinks my remark was meant to be flirty.

After a quick sound check, the band starts playing a strange mashup of hip-hop and folk/country. At first I don’t think I like them, but the cello player, a guy, is insanely talented and the lead singer, a woman, has a cool vibe. I’m tapping my fingers on the table top, watching everyone dance and before I can say no, Sara is pulling me onto the dance floor. We dance just the one song before I notice our pitcher of beer has arrived. “I’m parched,” I say, and head back to the table.

After downing half a glass, my salvation finally arrives at the door. I wave Kelly and the guys over.

Kelly and I met at the station, where she does the books. She’s an accounting major, and the job will look good on a resume. Reese is an engineering student who just got an internship this summer at a civil engineering firm in Portland. And then there’s James, my best friend. He dropped out of school for a while after his dad died, so it’s good having him back.

“Glad you guys finally decided to show up. I’ve been feeling like a loser, so these ladies took pity on me.”

We slide over and the three of them sit down. James reaches for the pitcher and does a
waah waah
fake cry of sympathy.

“Fuck you, Brettner.” I finish my beer and hope they’ll introduce themselves. And they do. I don’t want to make it look like I’m with Sara and her friend any more than it does already.

“Blame her for being late,” Reese says, inclining his head toward Kelly. “We got to her place on time.”

Kelly scowls and pushes her red hair behind her shoulder. “What? I can’t help that Dr. Bastion scheduled a test on Monday and all the beginning accounting students are freaking out. I had to stay late at the tutoring center and go over the material with like seven different students. I texted you, Reese. You could’ve come here without me.”

He leans over and nuzzles her neck. “I’m not complaining. I don’t mind waiting for you.”

“Yeah, but I do.” James rests his arms on the vinyl seat back and surveys the crowd.

Kelly gives him the finger and kicks him under the table. Only she misses, and her shoe connects with my shin.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

“There’s a test in Bastion’s class?” Sara’s eyes go wide.

She’s just catching that now? I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

I hold up the empty pitcher to get the waitress’s attention again. Juggling an armful of plates on the other side of the busy bar, she nods at me.

“I like these guys,” James says, watching the band. “Who are they?”

“Yeah, I do, too.” I grab the flyer that’s sandwiched between the mustard and ketchup. “They’re called Shoo, Gretchen.”

James laughs. “Great name.”

I make a mental note to approach them after this set. Depending on when they leave town, maybe they’d want to record a live session at the station before they head back. PSU students appreciate indie music that doesn’t fit into a particular mode, so I know they’d love these guys.

Sara cranes her neck to see the stage, then makes a face. “I don’t get it. She’s got ugly shoes.”

Kelly snorts. Reese puts his head into the crook of his elbow. And James has a hungry glint in his eye. I give him an are-you-kidding-me look. He just shrugs and I know exactly what he’s thinking.

The guy’s a total man-whore. He’s already thinking how easy it’s going to be to convince Sara to go home with him. Or if he’s really lucky, just a blow job out in the parking lot. That way, there’s nothing to deal with in the morning.

Which is fine with me. Then she’s out of my hair.

* * *

Ivy

Cassidy grabs my arm. “Oh my God. He’s here.”

He? As in Aaron? My stomach bottoms out and my first reaction is to duck behind her. I’m sure my eyes are freakishly huge right now (like those animal pictures with the Photoshop eyes, which by the way, totally creep me out). I glance around the bar, trying to locate him. I’m pretty sure my voice just croaked out,
Who?

“Who do you think, Birthday Girl? Last weekend? The White House? Hot guy? The one from the radio?” I stare at her blankly. She’s talking at me but it’s like the words are stuck in a jar of honey. If I had to take a comprehension test right now based on what she just said, I’d get an F. “Ives, you’re pathetically pathetic.” She points and, like a robot, I look in that direction, afraid of what I might see.

In a booth in the corner, under a light made from a giant rusty sawmill blade, Jon Priestly is sitting with a bunch of other people.

And just like that, I can feel the color returning to my face. My stomach unknots and my jaw unclenches.

It takes precisely three seconds before realization dawns in Cassidy’s eyes. “God, I’m so sorry. You were thinking
him
him.” She wraps her arms around me and gives me a hug. “I can’t believe what a rotten friend I am. I wasn’t thinking.”

I feel bad that my crazy has affected Cassidy. “I forgive you. But yeah, you’re the rottenest.”

Cassidy hasn’t asked any more about Aaron. All she knows is what I told her that night after the party. I think she felt sorry for me with the migraine, so she’s not about to press me again.

The waitress is waiting for my order, but I guess I’m taking too long because one of my friends gets impatient and orders for me. It takes me a minute to realize that I’m staring across the room at Jon. He’s like one of those superconductor magnets and my eyes are made of malleable iron. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and his arms are covered in tats. Well, not entirely, not like a sleeve or anything, but he does have a few. I wonder if there’s a story behind any of them.