Chapter 29 Kristen
I got home later than usual feeling hollow in my chest, like I had emptied myself of confidence and misplaced it somewhere between class and the study lounge. The hallway lights were warm against my skin, and I breathed them in for a moment like I was inhaling something that belonged to me. When I stepped into the kitchen, the air smelled like last night’s stew, mellow and familiar. I didn’t have the energy for anything else so I reached straight for the leftovers and reheated them. Food in the microwave felt like a lifeline, the beeps grounding me in something human and ordinary.
Patricia arrived moments later, her presence as predictable as the ticking clock above the sink. She set her bag down on the counter and leaned against it, eyes warm but purposeful.
“You’re late,” she said, not accusatory, just observant.
I lifted my fork and took a bite, the flavor familiar and oddly comforting. “Long day,” I said, and chewed slowly.
She slid into the seat across from me, her posture shifting into that mentor mode she always defaulted to when she thought I needed steering. “You look exhausted,” she said, “and that bookish glaze of someone wrestling with life and its terrible checklist.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Patricia’s observation never felt invasive. It just felt real. I set my fork down and met her gaze, half amused and half defeated.
“You planning that party is probably the source of all of this,” she said with that gentle certainty that made it impossible to argue. “Logistics alone could blunt a sword.”
I nodded, wondering if she realized how deep the unease went beyond event planning. “It’s harder than I thought,” I admitted, my voice quiet. “It feels like every second I doubt myself.”
She watched me for a moment, eyebrows softened, eyes patient. “Fitting in is not about perfection,” she said. “It’s about presence. Making an event happen for people who might otherwise walk right past you without noticing.”
I blinked at her, wondering how long she had been studying me like a map she already knew the terrain of. “I just… I want it to be good,” I said honestly.
She nodded with a small, approving smile that made something in me sigh. “A good party could make or break your social standing here. Do it right and they’ll remember you. Not for fear. Not for irritation. For laughter and shared moments.”
The last part of that sentence felt like sun warming cold skin. I gathered my leftovers and took another bite, the food tasting richer now that the burden of judgment felt lighter.
“I’ll help if you need it,” she added, reaching out to rest a hand over mine briefly. Her voice was sincere. “We can brainstorm if you want.”
“Thanks,” I said, and that was enough for the moment. Enough to feel like I wasn’t completely adrift. I finished my food, and when I was done I excused myself and climbed the stairs toward my room with a sense of calm that had been eluding me all day.
Once inside my room, I closed the door softly and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The weight of the day settled against my shoulders, but there was a neatness to it, a sense that things were progressing rather than collapsing. I tossed my bag aside and rested my forehead against the back of my hand.
My eyes drifted to the small box tucked under my pillow. The vibrator I had absconded with from Leo’s stash still felt like a secret artifact, something that hummed with memory I wasn’t ready to unpack. It stayed hidden, not because I was ashamed, but because it carried a kind of charged resonance I hadn’t anticipated.
My stomach stirred with an ache that wasn’t purely emotional. It was physical too, a low coil of want that reminded me of Leo in the afternoon sun the day before. I could still see the way the light had caught the muscles at his shoulders while he washed his bike, the silent precision of his actions, the controlled tilt of his jaw when he looked at me. Those images pulsed in my mind like persistent echoes.
I exhaled slowly, telling myself that acknowledging it was not surrendering to it. I leaned against the edge of my bed and let my fingers brush the box, curiosity and desire knotting together in that familiar, restless way.
Just as I slid my shirt over my head, a buzz on my phone sliced through the moment. My arm stilled, and I reached for it with a pulse that thudded a little too fast.
The screen lit up with a message from Caleb.
Just making sure this is your number. Would hate to get lost on the way to your party 😉
My heart stuttered and my cheeks warmed with an unexpected lightness. I blinked at the message, feeling something gentle and pleasant unfurl in my chest. I hadn’t expected his name to make my pulse beat in a quiet, hopeful rhythm.
I typed back without thinking too hard, letting banter spill out before self consciousness could settle in.
It is. You planning to get lost on purpose?
Seconds later, his reply came:
Only if you’re the one finding me.
My breath caught a little. I wasn’t sure if it was the suggestion or the easy way his words made me feel seen, noticed, even considered. I leaned back on the bed, phone in hand, warmth spreading through my limbs.
I let my fingers hover over the screen before I answered again.
Careful. You’re someone else’s boyfriend, remember?
My own text made me roll my eyes at myself. The moment felt both daring and absurd. I hit send.
Caleb’s response was almost instant:
You’re assuming a lot, Lockwood.
That little jab made me laugh in a soft, unguarded way. Then:
See you at the party.
I stared at the screen, the corners of my lips curving into a smile that held more warmth than I expected. The heat I’d felt before, the kind that had curled low in my belly when I thought of Leo, had shifted. It was still there but different now. Not tangled in frustration or misdirection. Not tied to confusion or longing that didn’t know its own name. It felt lighter, tinged with curiosity and maybe a hint of excitement.
I set the vibrator aside without another thought. My mind was restless again, but in a way that didn’t press against itself in alarm. Instead it danced with possibility, with questions that weren’t frightening but intriguing, with a sensation of anticipation that was easy rather than tense.
The boldness in Caleb’s message unsettled and excited me at the same time. It wasn’t nothing. It was definitely not something Clarissa had approved of. And somehow that made it sweeter.
I lay back on my bed, phone still in my hand, eyelids heavy with the kind of tiredness that feels like it has depth and meaning. My pulse settled into a steady rhythm, and for the first time in a long while, I felt something more like ease than dread.
One thought kept repeating in my head, soft and insistent:
Now I really can’t wait for the party.