Page 1 of The Consequence of Loving Me

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Veronica

You don’t drown by falling in the water; you drown by staying there.

– Edwin Louis Cole

Unless you actually drown.

The college campus bustles around me as I stare at the quote in front of me. I have no idea who this Edwin guy is, but I decide in this moment that I hate him. He probably has no true experience with drowning. And using it as some sort of inspirational metaphor, when it actually takes lives, is just shitty.

No one willingly drowns. They aren’t like, “Hey, I fell in this water. I think I’ll just stay a moment.” No. They get lost in the vicious movement. They get pulled under, sucked in, until they see nothing else—ever again.

I continue to glare at the sorry mistake of a self-help poster that’s stapled smack dab in the middle of the bulletin board. My eyes narrow on it one last time before I notice someone standing next to me.

“You’re looking at that bulletin board like it just told you Zac Efron is gay,” he says.

I slowly pull my gaze from the offensive quote and instead focus it on the guy behind the voice. First, I glimpse at his shoes—a pair of white Adidas. One point for him; every other male on the campus wears boat shoes that their stay-at-home mother probably bought them last time she came to visit. I continue my trek up his body. Black joggers. White T-shirt. Chambray shirt casually strung over his shoulders, slightly wrinkled.

Finally, I make it to his face. He stares back at me, a lazy grin pulling at the corners of his mouth—a taunt.

He raises his eyebrows, nodding toward the paper. “It must say he’s gay. Oh god, let me see.” He steps closer to the board, consequently stepping closer to me, and reads the words in front of us.

I accuse him with my eyes as his sweep over the poster, patiently waiting for him to become uncomfortable, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. “Every ex-Disney star or current Marvel heart-throb could come out as gay and I still wouldn’t care. Hollywood is overrated.”

He smiles as his hand runs over his mouth. “Said no girl ever.”

My lips part in frustration. “Says this girl now,” I counter.

He takes a small step out of my space. A disruption catches his attention across the quad, causing his gaze to flick in that direction for a small moment before he looks back at me. “So, since we came to the conclusion it actually wasn’t because Zac Efron came out as gay, what did that poster ever do to you?”

Then, he reaches up and plucks the paper from the board. A small ripping sound mixes with the noise of a college campus at three p.m. on a Wednesday.

He reads the quote out loud, his thick eyebrows bunching together. “What’s wrong with it? Cheesy, maybe, but inspiring.”

I roll my eyes, letting out a sigh that’s half-growl. “It’s beyond cheesy. He’s using something tragic like drowning to motivate college students. I don’t know why he thought anyone would eat that shit up.” The strap of my oversized purse starts to slide off my shoulder, so I shift my weight and pull it back into place.

He laughs, managing to annoy me more than he already has. “You are on a campus filled with a bunch of sappy young adults. Everyone eats this shit up. Everyone but you, apparently.” He neatly folds the piece of paper and tucks it into the back pocket of his joggers.

I glare at him before I turn back to the board, my lips pursing as I think about my plan of action. Finally, I swing my bag to the front of me and begin to rifle through it. My purse bumps against his arm, but to my dismay, he doesn’t move. I finally find what I need—a flyer of my own, and the stapler I brought. I use one hand to hold the flyer up while my other staples it to the board.

Part of me was hoping Efron boy would have left me alone by now, but instead he uses this moment to step behind me and peer over my shoulder. My body tenses with his nearness.

“Looking for apartment or house available for rent. Not opposed to roommates. Call the number below if interested. Serious inquiries only. Veronica,” he observes, his breath hitting my neck as he reads my words aloud.

He lingers on the last part—my name—dragging it out.

The heel of my combat boot makes a scratching noise against the floor as I hastily move back from the board and admire my handiwork. When I look down, I notice the paint splatters on my sleeve. If I cared what he thought of me, I’d be embarrassed.

He reaches in front of me and I watch in horror as he plucks the flyer from the board I just stapled it to. My mouth drops. “What the hell? I need that on there.”

The guy chuckles, as he holds the flyer in his other hand. “Chill, Veronica,” he says, dragging my name out again—and I hate it. “I’m just taking this off before a bunch of weirdos call you offering to be a bedmate, not a roommate.”

I stifle the urge to hit him. There’s just something about his smugness that infuriates me. And I consider if kicking his ass would be worth getting kicked out of school.

“Plus,” he adds, “my roommates and I are looking for a new addition. It’s your lucky day, Veronica! You can move in with us.” His infuriatingly crystal blue eyes gaze at something behind my head before they once again focus on me.

“How do I know you aren’t the weirdo trying to make me a bedmate and not a roommate?” I ask him. Disgust is clear in my tone and I don’t try to hide it. My phone vibrates in the back pocket of my jeans, but instead of pulling it out to check it, I keep my stare aimed on him.

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