Page 7 of The Casualty of Us
Don’t be a bitch. Don’t be a bitch. Don’t be a bitch.
Say something nice and appropriate. There’s nothing wrong with her being happy I’m alive and well. Fuck, I’m happy that I’m alive and well too.
And that’s okay. It should be—
“You’re safe here.” Her hand drops from my arm, and I suck in a breath. “I promise.”
“Right,” I mutter, trying not to sound too empty. “Thanks.”
Looking away, I leave Ollie to deal with the leftovers as her words join the chorus in my head. Right along with all the rest who have uttered the exact same thing since I was shoved out of a van and onto the sidewalk of Lincoln Park three months ago. Blindfolded and bound in full view of the early morning work rush. The final nail in the media coffin that would cement it all and give me the moniker—
“You’d think people would remember that I at least tried to save us.” Ollie’s voice pulls me back, and I look over to him, noticing that it’s just the two of us now. “But no, all anyone wants to say is Ophelia this and Ophelia that, when we both know Mom would have paid at least another ten mil to make sure my pretty face remained—”
“Shut up, ass.” I bump his shoulder with a soft laugh before snagging his hand in mine and giving it another squeeze. “And thank you.”
“Always, baby sister.” He squeezes back, crooked grin in place while pulling me along toward the doors of Excelsior. “Now come on, I’ll let you help me unpack first like I know you want to.”
“Fine,” I agree easily, tacking on just for fun. “But don’t expect me to touch your fetish porn stash.”
Chapter Two
OPHELIA - AUGUST 2012
“Yes, Mom.”I rummage through one of Ollie’s boxes, phone pinned between my head and shoulder while looking for his most prized possession. “Everything went fine, and we got the whole tour.”
“And you like it? The campus? Your room?”
“Well, I haven’t actually seen my room yet,” I admit, promptly closing the box and moving onto the next one. “Ollie conned me into helping him unpack first.”
“Of course he did,” my mom sighs before quickly regrouping. “But the rest of it?”
“Yeah.” I pull out a questionable-looking football jersey and scrunch my nose at the faint odor coming off it before dropping it to the ground. “The campus is pretty. Very woodsy.”
“You’ve got to give me more than that, Ophelia,” she scolds grumpily. “Longer sentences, more words. We both know your vocabulary is not lacking.”
“Fine, fine, but it’s going to be succinct,” I grumble back, resigning myself to the full report. “Like I said, everything went great. The campus reminds me of the old state house we saw in Boston last summer, remember?”
“Ooh,” she hums. “You loved that one.”
“Yeah.” I nod to myself, reluctantly pausing in my search to summarize quickly. “Lots of red brick, pretty arches, more updated and bigger, though, which makes sense, obviously. The library looks amazing, and there’s even a lake, apparently.”
“And your dorm?”
“We’re in one called Excelsior, there’s a theme here with those.” I let my mind wander back through the layout of the building. “The common room is nice, with forest green walls, lots of leather couches, and a fireplace at the back.” I take a breath and try not to rush through the rest because I know she’s as nervous about this move right now as I’m trying not to be. “The entrance to the girls’ dorm is on the right, boys’ is on the left, and you need a keycard to get through.”
“That’s good, secure.” She hums appreciatively again. “And what about Oliver’s room?”
“It’s nice, although he’s in a triple, and I don’t envy him with the two roommates,” I scoff, looking to the door on the right that sits open and gives me a peek into the suite. “Basic kitchen and living room setup when you come in with lots of dark wood. The kitchen is small and the living room has a couple leather armchairs and a couch.”
“I’m sensing a theme here as well.”
“You would be correct.” I lift my eyes with a laugh escaping, trailing them from the right side of Ollie’s room, where his door sits, to the other side, where the bed is. “His room is good, though. A totally unnecessary four-poster bed that he won’t appreciate with built-in shelves and a desk that he’ll appreciate even less.”
“Don’t underestimate your brother.” She laughs, the sound like an echo in my ears, just a more practiced replica according to my father. “Who knows? He might discover the wonders of Voltaire there and decide to become a philosophy major like you.”
“Unlikely,” I snort, starting to dig through the box again. “Unless I can somehow convince him that he’s single-handedly responsible for the creation of football.”
I hear her take a breath through the phone before a happy noise comes through. “Well, if anyone can, it’s you, darling.”
