Chapter 114 Safe Distance
Malia's POV
Sleeping feels hard so I don't.
I can't actually. I just lie in the dark listening to nothing, looking at the ceiling, repeating every horrible moment in an infinite loop.
When morning comes at last, pale and cold through the window, I drag myself to my feet. Shower. Get dressed. Fake functioning, real dysfunction.
I can't ditch class again. Can't give them more ammo. One more mistake and I'm out — Principal McLunar was very clear on that.
So I'll go. I'll sit through lectures. I'll pretend I'm okay. I can make it through the day. And then the next. And then the one after that.
Until eventually—maybe—it stops hurting quite so much.
I drain the jar, drinking that early, before I have to pretend or make small talk or explain the puffy eyes or act like yesterday never happened.
It’s still early enough on the quiet campus—only maintenance men and a handful of diligent students on their way to the library. No crowds. No staring. Blessed invisibility.
I settle on a bench at the edge of campus, between the buildings, away from the bustle of people. Close enough that I can get to class on time, but far enough off the main walkways to not draw any attention.
It’s chilly this morning. I zip my jacket up and watch my breath form clouds in front of me.
This is my life now. Hiding. Evading. Counting down to my scholarship review. Hoping I can make it through that long without making another mistake.
I turn at the sound of a revving engine.
A car turns into the campus entrance—luxurious and smooth, the sort that screams old money. I know it right away, and I’ve only been inside once.
Aiden's car.
My heart stutters. Stops. Restarts too fast.
The car pulls up to a parking spot up by the main academic building. The engine cuts. Driver's side door opens.
Aiden steps out.
He looks tired. Hair a little messy, dark circles under his eyes clear from where I am standing. Like he doesn’t look like he’s slept well either.
Good. He shouldn’t sleep well for what he did.
I am fooled by the acrimonious thought.
He goes around to the passenger side. Opens the door.
My world spins. Lydia emerges from his car.
She's wearing his t-shirt. I know it—the faded gray one with his old high school logo, the one he wore the day after we first slept together, the one that smells like him with a small hole in the hem.
She’s wearing it over a mini skirt.
Hair perfectly tousled Make-up subtle but intentional The very definition of morning-after slouch that’s not not slouch The writing is on the wall. Unmistakability Designed to be seen.
I spent the night. I wore his clothes. I have what you lost.
I can't breathe. Can't move.
I can only watch as Aiden says something to her; she laughs and touches his arm, and they walk toward the building together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Like he didn’t break up with me three days ago.
Like he had never called me a mistake in front of half the school.
Like he didn’t just replace me with the girl who’s been trying to destroy me since day one.
They walk inside the building.
I sit still on the bench, chest tight, eyes burning.
He moved on. Already. Three days and he’s already—
The thought won't complete. It’s too much.
I make myself breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The meditation technique July taught me that’s supposed to help with panic.
It doesn't help.
Nothing helps.
But I can’t fall apart here. No more footage of the unstable hybrid breaking down. Can’t prove them right again.
So I swallow the pain. Lock it down deep where it can join all the other pain I’m carrying. I plant myself on shaking legs and head to my first class. They are coming out now, students—more of them, pouring out onto the pathways, gathering in clusters. Some look at me. Most don't.
The video drama has begun to fade, supplanted by later scandals, fresher gossip.
But when I get looks at all – they’re different now. Not inquisitive, not jubilant. Just... irritated. Disdainful. As if I’m an issue that has been allowed to fester too long, a blemish they wish would vanish.
I keep my head down. Keep walking.
First class is Supernatural Ethics. I burrow in just as the professor begins, in the very back corner. A few students glance back but most ignore me.
Progress, I guess.
The lecture goes by like a flash. I write down things automatically, my pen following my brain instead of the other way around. Just going through the motions. Living to tell the tale.
In between classes, I run into Freddy in the hall. He waves at me and begins to walk over, but I look at him and shake my head slightly and keep walking. He stops, perplexed and wounded, but doesn't chase after me.
Not for me. I'm not able to. Can't cope with his worry, his questions, or his well-intentioned efforts to assist. Can’t pull him any further into my ruin.
Second class. Third class. Rows upon rows of the same—back corner seat, mechanical scribbling, avoiding eye contact.
The video had to have stopped being circulated. None of them seem to be watching it on their phones. Can’t hear the whispering commentary that followed me everywhere yesterday.
Small mercy.
Or perhaps Principal McLunar issued a general order. Threaten to take disciplinary action against students who keep spreading it. That would be just like him—not to protect me, but to protect the reputation of the institution.
At any rate, the active harassment has softened into passive hostility. Chilly shoulders instead of bitter laughter. Evasion rather than clashes.
I’ll take it.
My last class is at 3:15. I slowly collect my things, I wait for the room to be empty before walking out.
The hall outside the classroom is crowded—students hurrying off to the next obligation, friends assembling in groups, the typical chaos of college life.
I walk to the door. And stop.
Cian leans against the wall, just inside the doorway, hands in his pockets. Waiting.
For me. His pale eyes find mine instantly, so it’s for me, no question.
My heart does something complicated. tangled together Relief and pain and guilt all up was in my heart.
I look away. Walk the other way.
"Malia, wait." His voice follows me.
I pick up my pace.
Footsteps behind me. "Please. I want to talk."
"Don't." The word comes out harsher than I intend it to.
He catches up anyway. "Five minutes. That's all I'm asking."
"I can't." I keep my eyes forward, not meeting his gaze. "I've gotta go."
"Where? You don't have another class."
How does he know my schedule? Right because we did used to compare schedules, used to figure out when we could get together between classes, used to live in a world where that mattered.
"Cian, please." Despite my best efforts, my voice cracks. "Just leave me alone."
He stops walking. I sense him come to a halt, sense the space widening between us, but I don't look back.
“Is that really what you want?” he asks in a soft voice.
No. I want him to keep trying. I want him to fight for me. I want someone to not give up. Anybody, just don’t throw in the towel.
But that’s not the way it should be. Not for him. Not after what I’ve done to him already.
"Yes." The lie tastes like ash. "That is what I want."
The silence stretches. Heavy. Painful.
"Okay," he says at last. Voice flat. Hurt. "If that's what you need."
I hear him turn. Hear his footsteps retreating.
And I keep walking forward because turning around is breaking, and I've done that enough already.
But god, it hurts.
Watching him leave. Pushing him away. Doing the right thing when the right thing feels like ripping pieces of me out.
I make it around the corner before the tears come. Wipe them away angrily before anyone can see.
This is what survival is. What protecting my scholarship looks like. What averting further catastrophe looks like.
Staying away from everyone who filed complaints—Lydia and her crew. Staying away from the brothers: because being around them just leads to trouble, more drama, and it just makes me look like the unstable mess everyone says I am.
Isolating myself because alone is safe. Alone can't hurt anyone else. Because Alone is what I deserve once I’m done destroying everything.
I head back to my dorm, take the long route to avoid populated areas, and lock myself inside.
Sit on my bed. Stare at the wall.
Think about Aiden with Lydia. Of Cian's pained face when I told him to go away from me. Rowan is the one who won't ever look at me.
Think about how I had it all three days ago and now I have nothing. Think about how it's my own fault.
All of it.
The force under my skin is still today. Dormant. Like even it understands there’s nothing more to fight for.
My phone buzzes. July again, probably. Freddy. Or someone else who wants to help me, and whom I’ll hurt if I take their help.
I power it down without looking.
Tomorrow I will do it again. And the day after. And the next day, too. I will sit in back corners and take mechanical notes and pretend not to notice any of you who are important.
I’ll protect my scholarship by becoming invisible.
I will live by giving up everything that made survival worth living.
It’s not much of a life. But it's all I've got.
And for now, that is all I have to do.