Chapter 13
Elena's POV
The third-floor study area of the library was quiet except for the occasional whisper of pages turning and the occasional cough. I sat by the window, staring at the textbook in front of me without reading a single word.
Outside, the sky was the color of old bruises. Another storm coming. Great.
My phone sat face-up on the desk. I'd unlocked it three times in the last ten minutes, then locked it again without doing anything.
Stop it, I told myself. Stop checking.
But I couldn't help it. The anger from this morning was still there, sitting heavy in my chest like something I'd swallowed wrong. Not the sharp, hot anger I'd felt when I first found out about Scarlett. That had been disappointment.
Because Damon believed her over me. When it came down to it, when Scarlett pointed her finger and said maybe Elena told, he'd looked at me like yeah, maybe she did.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to push the thought away. But it kept coming back, looping in my head like a song I couldn't stop humming.
The worst part wasn't even Damon, though. It was what I'd said to Caleb.
None of your business!
I could still see his face. The way something had flickered in his eyes—just for a second—before everything went cold and empty.
I'd hurt him. And he'd just... taken it. Like he was used to it.
The anxiety made my chest feel too tight.
---
Something heavy slammed onto my desk, making me jump.
"Elena Cross." Lila dropped into the chair across from me, her canvas bag still swinging from the impact. "If you keep staring at that phone like it owes you money, you're gonna burn a hole through the screen."
I tried to smile. It felt wrong on my face. "Just distracted."
"Yeah, no shit." She leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. Today she was wearing a blue-and-black flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her short hair clipped back behind her ears. She looked wide awake and annoyingly energetic. "Is it that asshole again?"
I glanced around instinctively. "Lila, don't—"
"Right, right. Public space." She waved a hand. "Fine. New topic. Come to a lecture with me."
I blinked. "What?"
"Dr. Thornfield. Cross-cultural semiotics. Four o'clock in the North Building auditorium." She grinned. "Come on, you're doing a paper on cross-cultural communication anyway. It'll be good for you."
"I have two chapters of reading to finish—"
"Please?" She clasped her hands together like she was praying. "I don't want to go alone. It's so awkward sitting there by myself."
I looked at her carefully. Something about the way she wasn't quite meeting my eyes, and she never went to these kinds of lectures. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain someone, would it?"
Her face went pink. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Ethan's going to be there."
"...Okay, fine." She threw up her hands. "Yes. He goes to these lectures religiously. It's one of two courses he never misses. But I'm also genuinely interested in the material! It's not just about—"
"Stalking?"
"I prefer the term 'strategic observation.'"
Despite everything, I felt my mouth twitch into something close to a real smile. Lila had been crushing on Ethan for months now, and watching her try to play it cool was like watching someone try to hide a bonfire under a napkin.
I looked down at my textbook. The words still weren't making sense. I'd been sitting here for over an hour and retained exactly nothing.
"Fine," I said, closing the book. "Let's go."
Lila's face lit up. "Really?"
"Yeah." Better than sitting here driving myself crazy. "But you owe me coffee after."
"Deal."
---
The North Building auditorium was already half-full when we arrived. Dr. Thornfield—a silver-haired professor in his sixties—was setting up the projector at the front, muttering to himself about cables.
Lila grabbed my arm and steered us toward the back. "There," she whispered, nodding toward the front left section.
Ethan sat three rows from the stage, wearing a black turtleneck and his signature black-framed glasses. He was already taking notes, his pen moving in quick, precise strokes across the page.
"Oh my God," Lila breathed. "He looks so good in black."
"You said that about the white button-down last week."
"That was casual-handsome. This is intellectual-handsome. Completely different."
I bit back a laugh. "Sure."
We settled into our seats just as Dr. Thornfield started speaking. Lila's attention was locked on Ethan like a heat-seeking missile, but I couldn't focus. My thoughts kept drifting, scattering like leaves in wind.
My phone was still in my hand. I hadn't even realized I'd taken it out.
Caleb's name sat at the top of my message list.
I stared at it. My thumb hovered over the screen.
What would I even say?
Lila nudged my arm. "You okay?"
I shook my head. "Yeah. Fine."
But I wasn't fine. The guilt was eating me alive.
I took a breath and typed before I could stop myself: Are you there?
Send.
I waited.
One minute. Three. Five.
Nothing.
My stomach sank. He's still angry. Of course he is.
Dr. Thornfield's voice droned on in the background, something about symbolic hierarchies in language. Ethan raised his hand to ask a question. Lila sighed dreamily beside me.
I looked back at my phone.
My fingers moved again: I need to apologize for this morning. I was out of line. I didn't mean to lose my temper like that.
I added a sheepish emoji at the end and hit send before I could overthink it.
The wait was worse this time. Longer.
On stage, Ethan had apparently been invited to present something. Lila sat up straighter, her eyes glued to him as he walked to the front with a laptop under his arm.
My phone buzzed.
No problem.
Two words. That was it.
I bit my lip and typed back quickly: You're not mad?
This time the pause stretched even longer. Ethan was talking now, gesturing at a slide on the screen. Lila was practically vibrating with focus.
My phone lit up again.
I'm not angry. I'm used to it.
I froze.
The next message came immediately after.
Used to you talking to me like that. You're all the same.
The words hit like a punch to the chest.
You're all the same.
All of us. Damon's friends. The Vance family. The kids who used to corner him in hallways and tear up his homework while I stood there and watched.
I wanted to type back I'm not like them, but my fingers wouldn't move. Because the truth was, in his eyes, I was like them. I had been part of that crowd. I'd stood by and let it happen.
And this morning, I'd proven it again.
The lecture hall felt too small suddenly, the air too thick. I stared at those two messages until the letters started to blur.
"Elena?" Lila's voice sounded far away. "You good?"
I opened the text box. Typed a response. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted again.
What could I possibly say that would matter?
The sound of applause jolted me back. Ethan's presentation had ended. People were starting to pack up.
"Come on." Lila was already standing, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Ethan's heading to the campus café. We should 'accidentally' run into him."
I nodded mechanically and put my phone away.
But Caleb's words stayed with me, echoing in my head like a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.