Page 42 of Fault Line

“Come on, I was being sincere.”

“Whatever.” She turns on her heel, attempting to walk away from me. But before she can manage, I gently clutch onto her wrist, trying to ground her and make sense of what’s going on in her head.

“Kaia, seriously?”

Her response is quick and cutting. “Look, I get that you were trying to help in there. And by the same coin, I’m reallytryingnot to be mean to you right now. But I’m feeling overstimulated and really fucking anxious, so can you just leave it?”

I drop her hand like a hot coal, taking a step back to give her space. Despite her biting words, I’m grateful for her honesty and willingness to be vulnerable with me again. “I’ll leave it. But we’ll talk later, yeah?”

She steadies herself, closing her eyes as if to steel herself for the conversation to come. With the tiniest nod of her head, she says. “Yeah, later.”

I sigh as she turns and walks away, feeling like a lost puppy while she disappears from view. Everything in me wants to chase after her, to make things right, and to take away some of her frustration.

But for now, all I can do is stand there and watch.

15

KAIA

I slamthe door behind me, the crushing weight of my disappointment bearing down on my shoulders. Dr. Khatri was kind and supportive during our meeting. Of course she was, but that doesn’t change the fact that she called me out on my poor performance.

And Holden overshadowed me again. It’s not that I’m jealous of him—not in that sense, at least—but it’s frustrating to put all that time and effort in just to come up short.

I spent hours poring over the research this past week. And for what? I sincerely thought my question was good, but apparently, it wasn’t good enough. Meanwhile, I’m sure the golden boy didn’t start his search until the last fucking minute.

I know he says he was being sincere, but his offer to help me felt like the final nail in my proverbial coffin. Yes, I know it’s not technically a competition, but everything always is between us. And unfortunately, Holden came out looking superior this time.

Before I can help myself, my mind starts to spiral. There’s a familiar twinge inside my chest, a wound that won’t heal, as I replay worst-case scenarios in my head. If I can’t get this one tiny thing right, what chance do I have for the rest of the semester and for my dissertation as a whole?

I throw my bag onto the couch and collapse onto it, burying my face in my hands. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I can’t stop them from spilling over. It’s pathetic how easily I’m reduced to tears lately.

I’m embarrassed that I let Dr. Khatri down and frustrated at how the meeting went in general. But most of all, I’m angry with myself for not measuring up to my own expectations.

I know I need to do better, to confront my issues head-on, but I don’t even know where to start.

And to make matters worse, I still haven’t broached the conversation that I need to have with Elio. My mind’s a mess, and I can’t seem to find the right headspace for it. Or maybe I’m just not ready yet, not when my thoughts are still all tangled up.

* * *

I shuffle into the kitchen,my body heavy with exhaustion after another sleepless night. The morning sun casts a warm glow over the small dining room, filtering in through the window over the sink.

Lizzie’s already dressed to the nines, looking ready to take on the day with her vibrant energy. I slump into a seat across from her, my tired eyes glued to my phone screen. We sit in silence together, and I know her eyes are on me, but I’m too drained to engage in small talk.

As I’m poised to grab some breakfast, she gives me a sly smile. “So, Kaia,” she says, raising a mischievous brow. “I’ve been wondering, how’s Holden in bed?”

My heart rate speeds up, and I choke on my coffee. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I say, feigning innocence.

“Come on.” She laughs, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “I know you left the party with him on Saturday night.”

Heat rises in my cheeks. “Oh, well, we didn’t . . . you know, sleep together.”

Her brow raises in disbelief. “You’re telling me he came back to our apartment, and you guys didn’t hook up?”

“We did . . . other things.”

“What kinds of things?” she asks, her interest officially piqued. “Did you go down on him, did he go down on you, what did his dick look like, did he—”

“Jesus Christ, Liz,” I chide. “Calm yourself. I’m not telling you any of that.”

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