The indifference their midday faces feigned only lasted as far as these old walls. I knew once they’d crossed their invisible threshold of security, whispers of disdain would slip past their curled, midnight lips.
It broke me as much as it amused me.
People were hurting.
They were angry.
We’d lost one of our own, and all that fury had to fall somewhere. It just so happened to have fallen on me.
Vicious.
There was irony packed somewhere between those letters. Fear and apprehension laced with indifference and neglect. They blamed me but they didn’t know me… not really.
I hadn’t had a roommate before Foster Lake, and though I wasn’t opposed to it, I worried my lack of friendships wouldn’t make me a very good one.
Years ago, I lived with my father—in a small, cottage style house just a short walk from Ridgemont’s campus. I was seven when he packed my suitcase and took me for a walk. He ushered me up a damp staircase with a smile between his cheeks as though the loneliness my new room offered was a gift to be grateful for.
I remember the way his back looked that morning, walking over the threshold and leaving me behind as I studied my new home.
There were cobwebs in the corners and a crack in the center of the balcony door. The room felt forgotten about—a lot like I was.
I guess that’s why I liked it.
My room was in the peak of the dormitory, just below the clock tower. For years, it was just me and desolation… and a few spiders I called friends.
…and then I met Foster at the start of ninth grade.
He’d come from an elitist family—the kind that liked to use their kids as trophies. His parents had been grooming him to be the state’s next great business typhoon, but his soul was a creative one, and all he’d ever cared about was photography.
His parents had nearly disowned him, translating his dislike for business into an act of rebellion. They’d brought him here, and though there weren’t any rooms available, the headmaster had accepted his enrollment, anyway.
That’s how he ended up with me.
I don’t know that my father would ever admit it, but I think he hated he handed me a friend. Solitude had always been my preference, but it was hard to make choices when you hadn’t ever really been given any.
Foster was approachable in all the ways I wasn’t. He was outgoing and warm, friendly enough that nobody was afraid of him but mysterious enough to keep them from asking too many questions.
I was more hesitant, restrained and withdrawn. The headmaster’s elusive son who’d lived here his entire life but hadn’t managed to make any friends… until Foster.
I think people thought I was a pity companion, someone he felt bad for. That assumption paired with my evasive, keep-to-myself demeanor made it easy for people to latch onto the idea that I’d throw my best friend off our bedroom balcony.
The rumors bruised me. The looks burned me. The threats shoved in my locker scared me… but buried beneath my pain was a sliver of understanding.
Foster’s death was one worth avenging… though I wondered if anybody would have cared had it been my body on the pavement that night.
The warning bell seemed especially loud this morning, and it shook the walls just as I was stepping into the senior hallway. The narrow space was mostly empty, the sconces flickering as I walked past them.
The dread I harbored was quieter today, not anywhere near as prominent as it was four days ago when I curled up in the corner of that ugly plaid sofa.
I sort of… missed it.
The cushions felt like a hug, and they smelled like the kind of home I wished I grew up in. I’d made a section of it mine, and Roman was careful to keep his distance, allowing me my space but never letting me feel alone.
I… liked it.
Likedhim.
My ears had caught everything that first day, his voice resolute and unwavering as he stood his ground against my father. I felt his conviction seeping through the cracks of the walls, and I wished I could’ve bottled it up and taken it with me when I left.