The Scars of Anatomy

32. Know

I hear her through the wood giving instructions for the final, her voice not as bubbly or lively as it normally is.

With a sigh, I sink back against the wall, waiting impatiently until the last student leaves the room.

I hop up from the bench and walk inside the lab to find Olivia quickly collecting papers, no doubt trying to dodge me.

"Finch, we have to talk." I walk up to where she's standing at the front lab bench.

I watch her bite the inside of her cheek, avoiding looking at me.

"Finch," I plea, unable to resist the urge to reach out for her, but she shrinks away. "Just let me explain."

"Explain what?" she asks, her voice holding a cold edge that I've never heard from her before. Its then she finally looks up at me, her eyes just as cold.

I realize in the past twenty-four hours her sadness has rolled over into anger. Rightfully so.

"I'm sorry," I begin, desperately needing her to listen to me. "I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what happened. I had both of my alarms set, I swear. They were set before you even left!" I explain, still scrambling to try to figure out what happened. "I know Adrianna had something to do with this."

I watch Olivia's face crumple, the absolute hurt resurfacing. "Why?" she asks, so softly I barely even hear her, her voice wavering as she fights back tears. "Is it because she slept in your bed that night?"

The accusation is so out of left field it feels like a one hundred mile an hour fast ball just hit me right upside the head. "What?" I ask in a rushed, disbelieving breath.

She shakes her head again, collecting all the final exams in her arms, hugging them to her chest. She rounds the bench, trying to leave, but I stop her, placing my body in front of hers.

"Where on Earth did you come up with that?" I ask.

The tiniest scoff passes her lips. "Oh I don't know, Bronx," she says, some of the coldness returning. "Maybe it's because she came parading into lab that morning bragging about it, and about how you wouldn't wake up no matter how hard she tried to wake you."

My jaw goes slack in shock. This is why her demeanor is so cold. Not only does she think I ditched her to take the final by herself, but she also thinks I cheated on her.

"You know I would never do that to you," I claim definitively, my voice thick with emotion.

"Do I?" she asks, tears welling in her eyes. "Tell me, Bronx, were you just using me this whole time?" Her eyes are deadlocked on mine, begging me to tell the truth. I can see the desperation, the insecurity, the hurt behind them.

I know what rat boy, and others on this campus, have been whispering in her ear all this time. That I'm a scum bag that could never commit to one woman. That I'm just using her to pass the class, and she's naive enough to let me do it and believe I actually care about her.

"Of course not! Finch,"—I take a step towards her and she retreats, breaking my heart—"do you really think I'd ask for you to tutor me and actually show up to every single study session if I was going to use you to just take the final for me?"

I see a flicker of realization—hope—in her eyes, and I cling to it desperately.

"I used tutoring as a gateway to spend more time with you because I liked you, and I wanted to do better because of you," I admit. "All those bets—why would I try so hard to get good grades if I was just going to use you in the end? If I didn't care? Finch," I swallow thickly past the lump in my throat. "Why would I let you be the only girl I've allowed in my room? The only one I've ever shared my past with? Why would I literally beat myself up over disappointing you?" I hold up my hands, flashing her my busted up knuckles.