Page 64 of Petite Fleur

I hope I can find somewhere else to live before the fall semester starts, hopefully somewhere within my budget.

It doesn't even matter if I get along with my roommates; it'll be my senior year anyway. I just need a bed.

Anything else I can put up with, but I can't drop out. I'd have to start over somewhere else, and I'd likely never finish; I'd never be able to afford to.

This can't be as far as I go.

I can't just almost be successful, so finals have to go well, and I have to find a place to live.

Luckily, I don't have too many distractions during my day.

The workers periodically bring me fresh coffee and snacks. They check in on how my studying is going and tell me I'm going to do great.

They encourage me more than my own friends and family.

I hate that it's true, but it is.

The entire time I'm studying, my mind keeps thinking back to how nice Leon was being last night.

He made sure I got home and into bed, he made sure I got water and took something to lessen the hangover, and he even wiped my tears when I cried like an idiot in the front seat of his fancy car.

I'm embarrassed, and now he knows where I live.

Fantastic.

I feel like a fool, but I am thankful he was driving by as I was walking home.

Seven miles is a little too far to walk when you factor in that I was too drunk to even shower before passing out.

I'm not so sure I even would have made it home if it weren't for Leon.

I would thank him, but I still don't know anything about him. I still don't even know what department he teaches in.

Maybe next year.

By the time I've studied enough, I feel confident that I won't immediately fail every final; it's late in the evening, and the sun is starting to set.

The workers send me home with a goodie bag filled with dinner and a few snacks and send me on my way.

I'm so thankful for them after seeing how Carlie purposely contaminated my cookware and the entire kitchen just to spite me.

That still hurts to think about.

As I walk through campus, I make a pit stop at the bulletin board to check if anyone is hunting for a roommate next year, preferably someone with multiple roommates to lessenthe financial burden, but all I find is a flier seeking immediate residency.

In my apartment.

It hasn't even been an entire day and Carlie already has fliers hung up for my room.

I feel sick.

I don't understand how she turned on me so fast, but I intend to find out.

I make it home in record time, speed walking the whole way.

I don't even know what I'm going to say, but when I bust through the door, Sean and Carlie are sitting calmly on the couch. "Sit." Carlie says in a cold, clinical voice.

She doesn't sound like the friend I've had most of my life; she sounds like a school principal about to yell at a student for fighting.

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