Page 67 of Sweet Oblivion

Aya’s eyes. Her beautiful, violet eyes, raised up toward me in defiance and anguish. My dad’s eyes—no, Brad’s—filled with anger and grief.

I blinked. Steve’s face loomed before me, his eyes filled with worry and frustration.

“Drugged,” I managed to slur. “Aya… Need her.”

Then it all went black.

27

Aya

Seeing Nash in Lindsay’s arms had brought up every one of my insecurities. She was blond, poised, gorgeous. She loved parties, whereas I liked to stand in the background. She was the exact type of girl everyone expected Nash to go for. Everything I wasn’t. The Holyoke seniors had invited me to parties begrudgingly, mostly so Nash would come. If he was with Lindsay, one of the glamor girls, there’d be more parties, more chances for those kids to get close to him and his rising fame.

But more than that, I never had fit in. I loved science and worked as a math tutor—superstars didn’t date the smart girls. Even Cam, nice as he was, seemed to go for the sleek exterior instead of depth of character. I wouldn’t even know how to walk in a short, skin-tight dress.

Those fears, present since before my first day at Holyoke, now choked me. I’d never understood why Nash chose to hang out with me.

Up until yesterday, Nash had never even glanced at Lindsay. And he’d clearly been trashed last night, which was also unusual for him, as far as I knew. I squeezed my hands into fists. Clearly, there were parts of Nash he’d kept hidden.

Just like my mother. She’d omitted that she was dying. That’s why we’d come back to the United States. Except I never knew.

And I’d never seen how into Lindsay Nash must have been all this time. Why wouldn’t he be? She was the girl who made sense for him, the one who wanted to live the rock-star life.

I closed my eyes, but all I could see was Nash with his head in her breasts—his favorite body part—in front of me, in front of our entire class at Hugh’s party.

He’d refused to tell me he loved me. For months. Now I knew why. Because he’d wanted to be with Lindsay. My head pounded, and I could scarcely breathe. It was as if I’d forgotten how. Everything I’d once counted on was gone.

I heard pounding on the thick, solid wood front door, and Mrs. Ombly scurried to attend to it. She informed me that it was Hugh, and I met him in the living room.

The room’s ceiling soared to dizzying heights, framed in thick bands of crown molding. The walls were covered in damask silk, delicate threads catching the sunshine that peeked through heavy, matching draperies. Seating areas, created with the intent to lessen its vastness, did the opposite because three large area rugs nestled atop the reclaimed wood floors, soaking up the space between the soft, tanned-leather couches and bright yellow accent pillows, each its own distinct cluster.

“Aya, you look bad,” Hugh said after he hugged me.

I wore the same clothes I had for days—black leggings and a too-large top that slid off my right shoulder, baring the camisole underneath—the outfit I’d thrown on…what was it? A day ago now? Two? I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t thought to dress for the party when I went in search of Nash, needing his arms.

My hair shifted, emitting the faint, sharp scent of hospital disinfectant, reminding me of where I’d been and what I’d lost.

I remained impassive, nearly limp in his embrace. “What do you want, Hugh?”

“To be a shoulder for you to cry on. I know you’re hurting.”

I blinked up at him. “Because Lindsay hurt you, too?”

He grimaced. “About that. There are some things you should know—”

Tears brimmed, and my breath ached in my chest. I whimpered, reliving Nash’s harsh, angry words.

Rejected.

Oh, I’d heard them all. He’d promised never to hurt me.

He’d promised.

Lindsay’s vindictive laugh, her bright, vicious eyes spun through my head.

Whatever Hugh said, I didn’t hear, so lost in my own mind.

After a moment, he reached for my arm. “He wants to see you.”

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