Page 35 of Oblivion

“I’m not fixing it, Sammy. You belong here, with us.”

“I’m engaged, and my fiancé lives here. He goes to Harvard. We’re supposed to go here together. How do I explain tohim that my psycho friend hacked my email and the Harvard admissions database and got my place canceled?”

“I’m happy to explain it to him myself. We’re flying in this weekend to meet him.”

“You’re what?” I gasp, feeling my heart start to beat erratically in my chest.

“I know Evan told you that last night,” Clay says, amusement clear in his voice.

“You can’t come here,” I protest.

“Why not, Sammy? We’re your friends, your family. We should have met this guy long before now. We should have been with you for the last few months while your dad was sick. We should understand your life, but you wouldn’t let us. I don’t really know why that is. But it’s done now. We’re coming, all of us, and we’re going to meet your fiancé right before we take you back home with us.”

“Maybe I don’t want to introduce you to him because you’re all fucking crazy,” I hiss. “Maybe I don’t know how to explain that one of my so-called friends fucking drugged me last night, stole my engagement ring, and then tattooed his initials onto my ring finger?—”

Clay’s amused chuckle makes goose bumps pebble over my skin. “He tattooed you?”

“That’s not okay, Clay.”

“That crazy motherfucker.”

“I’m engaged.”

“Are you, though?” he taunts.

“What do you mean? What else did you do? What did Evan do?”

“Maybe you should ask him,” Clay says cryptically. “See you Friday, Sammy. Love you.”

He ends the call before I have a chance to speak again, and I lower the cell from my ear, staring at the dark screen and wondering what he means.

My hands are still shaking as I press my car’s start button, pull out of the lot, and head toward my house. Once I’m parked on the street outside, I climb out, and instead of going to my house, I turn in the opposite direction and march across the street, banging on the front door.

When the door doesn’t open, I bang my fist against it again. “Evan, open the door, you fucking asshole.”

I wait for him to come, but he doesn’t, and the door stays closed. Eventually, I exhale, turn, and head for my house. The house I don’t need anymore, because apparently, I don’t go to school here. I’m not sure that I actually go to school anywhere anymore.

Tears fill my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. They won’t help. They won’t change anything. They won’t take the ink off my finger or the doubt from my mind. They won’t stop my two worlds from colliding in a few days, and I have no idea what to even do. Do I stop the crash or just let it implode? Do I let the oblivion take me and see what’s left once it’s finished?

Breathing shakily, I climb the stairs to my bedroom and close the door behind me, standing in the middle of the room that doesn’t feel like mine, surrounded by all the things that don’t feel like mine either.

I don’t know which me is real anymore. Am I Samantha of Samantha and Drew? Well-dressed, polite, and tempered. Am I this girl who drives a sensible Tesla, who wears pearls and stands quietly behind my fiancé while he chases his dreams? Or am I the wild Sammy Evan thinks I am. Who wears the clothes she loves, who drinks too much at parties and makes out with strangers even though she really just wants to be loved and in love.

Am I Starling’s bestie or Drew’s fiancée?

Do I want Harvard or Kingsacre?

Or is there some world hidden in the middle where I can have it all?

That doesn’t seem likely or possible, and even if it was, do I want to exist in some in-between where I’m both wild and tempered?

Ripping the Band-Aid from my finger, I stare down at the ink and wonder what the fuck it even means. Is this Evan claiming me or just defining which world I’ll live in. I want him, I’ve always wanted him, but he’s always been on the edge, close enough to see but not touch, and that’s been okay. Because Evan and all of the guys are flame and fire, and even though the other girls became phoenixes from the ashes of the toxicity of being loved by these men, I’m not sure that I won’t just disintegrate and be lost to the wind as my ashes fly away.

I don’t know what all of this means, and I don’t know what I do now. Pulling my cell from my pocket, I tap on the screen to bring it to life. When I find Drew’s number, I hover my finger over the call button, questioning if calling him is even the right thing to do.

He won’t yell or rage. He won’t plot revenge or do something crazy. He’ll calmly make a plan that will probably involve me moving back to my parents’ house, taking the rest of the school year off, then reapplying to Harvard or somewhere else next year. He’ll talk to his dad and his PR team. They’ll consult on how future voters will perceive my time off from school and what we should do to ensure that every move I make is something relatable and acceptable.

Looking down, I somehow find myself staring at Evan’s contact on my screen. I honestly have no idea how our conversation will go if I call him. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to him on the phone before. We’re not that kind of friends.

---