Page 8 of Into the Light

The apartment was small with everything in one area, but I’d furnished it with as little items as I could. I was going for comfort versus aesthetic. It was very college-kid vibe versus the warmth of my home in Dansport.

“You hear from your brother?”

I shook my head. He hadn’t come home for summer break, and Dad mentioned he was getting more paranoid as the spring bonfire approached, but I tried to not talk about him because it hurt me to know that he could be involved.

“Does it feel okay being on campus?” she asked, and I had to take a long pull at my drink before I could respond.

As I entered campus and drove beneath the towering stone arch, an overwhelming wave of emotions hit me. I had to stop the car, tears streaming down my face. Yet, even in my pain, I reminded myself that Ash wouldn’t want me to drown in sorrow. He’d want me to keep moving forward. So I wiped my tears, took a few deep breaths, and focused on the road ahead. I had to remember that life wasn’t about seeing the entire forest at once. I needed to start by tending to the individual leaves, placing them where they belonged, and eventually, I could step back and appreciate the whole tree.

“Not really, but I haven’t seen anyone either.” Marissa had told me about the rumors. She also told me I wasn’t the most loved person on campus.

People painted my brother as the culprit of Ash’s death. There were lots of people, especially those associated with the Den, who blamed me. They believed I should have never gotten involved with him.

“It will be okay.” She patted my thigh, and I grabbed her hand.

“I know this is hard for you with Pico not wanting to—”

“No, fuck that. For the record, it’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to you. He has been instructed not to.”

I offered her a sympathetic smile. “But regardless, it’s not great to feel like you’re in the middle of something, so I guess this is just my way of saying thank you so much.”

She gave my hand a little squeeze. God, you’d think it would be weirder to be friends . . . shit, my only friend is the girl who watched her boyfriend fuck me, but I loved Marissa.

“Hell no. Fuck everyone here. They’re all insane for blaming you for Ash’s death. I know for a fact if he . . . was still here,” she said the last part slowly and deliberately, “he wouldn’t have wanted to have people blame you.”

Something tugged inside my chest. Tears loomed, threatening to spill at her words, but I took a deep breath.

“I don’t understand why they are . . .”

“Because they’re all idiots who think there is something bigger here. Everything coincided at a weird time, and everyone saw Ash as this all-powerful king of the Den, but I don’t think anyone really saw him for who he was.” I looked out the window, appreciative that I picked a complex similar to the last in one aspect only: the large floor-to-ceiling window.

I wasn’t nestled amid the pines as my last apartment was, but I could see directly into the forest.

“I don’t think I even saw him for who he was.” I sighed, willing the tears not to come pouring out.

As if Marissa could sense the tension, she changed the conversation. “Tell me what classes you are taking this year?” She passed some of her homemade guacamole over, and I dipped a chip, then shoved it into my mouth.

“I took an easier semester. I finished most of my mandatory requirements last semester which meant this semester I could pick some electives. I decided creative writing and intro to film would be something different.” I popped another chip into my mouth.

“Film should be fun. Do you have a camera?” I nodded and bounded off the couch into the bedroom to grab my old film camera.

“How retro is this?” Marissa said as I handed it to her.

“I’m super pumped.” She put the camera onto the coffee table. “What are you taking?”

“Pico has been annoying me to be more like you and take more writing classes.” Marissa’s eyes narrowed on me. Another thing we discovered we had in common was our love for romance novels, but the kind you aren’t reading about in your college classes.

“But you love your art classes?” Marissa was an art major. She specialized in painting, and because she was already a junior with all her requirements out of the way, she focused primarily on classes she loved versus classes she needed for graduation.

We spent the rest of the evening chatting, then there was a knock at the door. I checked my phone to see if Santiago had texted me, and nothing. Opening the door, I found him standing in the hallway.

“I just wanted to turn in for the night,” he said, and Marissa was suddenly behind me, understanding he was kicking her out in a roundabout way.

“You don’t have to leave,” I said, and she smiled.

“I know, but I have classes in the morning, so I gotta prep. First day.” She opened the door to the apartment next to mine. When she was tucked inside, I looked back at him.

“You need to stop kicking her out.” I huffed. “I told you I was fine. If I am inside the apartment, everything is safe, you don’t need to monitor me.”

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