Page 43 of Fault Line

“What?” She pouts, blinking her big blue eyes up at me. “How unfair. I’d tell you about my nights with Rai if you asked.”

I give her an exasperated huff. “That’s great, but I’m not going to ask.”

“Kaia,” she whines, drawing out my name.

“Lizzie, stop. It was a one-night thing, anyway. No use talking about it now.”

“One night?” She winces, slumping down into her seat. “Must not have been that good, huh? I knew it—those types of guys are all talk.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t good.”

She perks up. “So it was, then? His dick is huge?”

Blood rushes from my cheeks all the way up to the tips of my ears, and I push up from the table without answering. Lizzie can be so crude sometimes, so blunt, and I don’t want to indulge her any longer. At least not at six o’clock in the fucking morning.

Without another word, I head back to my room to get ready for class.

“Wait, Kaia!” she calls, her voice carrying down the hallway. “You can’t just leave in the middle of a conversation.”

“Bye, Lizzie!” I call over my shoulder, and then I shut myself inside my room, hoping and praying for a few more minutes of peace.

* * *

By some miracle,I managed to make it through the rest of the week without crumbling into a million little pieces. Classes went fine, I was able to rework my research question on my own, and I successfully avoided another mental breakdown.

The only thing I still haven’t taken care of is Elio. I messaged him after the whole fiasco on Monday, but he never replied. It’s been radio silence from him ever since, and he even skipped out on our second Calc lecture of the week.

It all has me worried sick.

I’m a bundle of nerves waiting to combust. All the momentum I built up on Saturday night has officially evaporated into thin air, like steam fogging up my windows and then suddenly clearing. My one night to reset wasn’t enough.

I need a repeat, and I need it stat.

Like clockwork, my thoughts drift back to Holden, who offered himself up on a silver platter to me. But I don’t know if it’s worth it to screw up our already complicated relationship. So, that leaves me on the hunt for someone else.

The only problem is I don’t want a boyfriend. I can barely handle what’s on my plate as it is. But maybe Holden’s right about one thing; a steady hookup wouldn’t be such an awful idea.

It’s too bad that finding a trustworthy college guy—who also happens to be up for something casual and consistent—is easier said than done. I have nothing against sleeping around, but having a different guy in my bed every night is not my idea of a good time. I mean, who has the energy for all that?

I just want one person who can satisfy my needs and won’t put my health at risk.

As I mull it over, the question lingers: Is Holden fucking Becker really the best option for that?

Perhaps it isn’t the most rational decision, but it’s undeniably the most convenient one. Against my better judgment, I pick up my phone to text him. Then I change my mind, nearly slamming it back down onto my nightstand.

Then, I pick it back up again. This time, I scroll all the way down to find his contact, bringing up a new message. As my fingers hover over the screen, ready to hit Send, a wave of uncertainty washes over me. I quickly stuff my phone underneath my pillow and shut off my bedside lamp, pinching my eyes closed.

The internal debate rages on, but a part of me knows that going with Holden might just be the solution I need right now. The thought of having someone familiar, someone who understands the pressures of our shared situation, is oddly comforting. And maybe, if I’m lucky enough, this could be the escape I’m desperately seeking.

So thirty seconds later, I dig my phone back out and finally press Send.

Kaia

are you up?

Holden

I’ll be there in 20

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