Game Theory × NH

108 | hassium

× Horan

Lynn and I haven't left the bed all day.

It was February 1st, three days since the stunt. In those three days, I've had millions of unknown callers try to reach me on my cell, more than likely reporters wanting the multiple new rumors floating around since our outing to be confirmed from the source. I ignored all of them.

The media was nothing but hungry dogs wanting the biggest scoop. The ideals of every aspect of public life was being bent - in this case, the newly exposed relationship of Lynn and I. The media had once been the shining outlet for journalism, but had been turned into a puppet show, anything for the ratings. Ratings meant money, lots of it, which also meant any kind of sympathy was out the window to the victims of the media.

I was the one to leave the room as I was the least likely to be hounded from the situation. I knew the moment Lynn would show her face, people would be all over her, slut-shaming and calling her awful names where I would be applauded and praised for the inside act we had committed.

Media was a monster in more than one way. They had opinions where opinions shouldn't have been placed. They give warped opinions to the people who read the articles or watch the news, not giving them the chance to form their own opinion on the subject. Which was why Lynn wasn't portrayed as the victim in all this, and instead as the perpetrator - the one and only reason why the London Lions had lost the game.

I knew all this because when I would leave the room to get us food or get the school work we had missed that day, I would grab the daily newspaper and read what was being said about us. Lynn didn't know this, however. She shouldn't be exposed to that kind of trash.

"Lynn," I said, walking over to the bed where she lay, grabbing her ankle to get her attention.

Her eyes shifted toward me slowly, like they were heavy and an effort to move. She looks at me like the fire in her eyes had been dowsed with ice water. I'm not used to it, it unnerved me. It's like she just crawled inside some invisible shell and no matter how hard I tried, she was unreachable. I wanted to crack my usual jokes but I knew she wouldn't laugh. I wanted to hold her and make her feel safe, but I knew she'd force me off.

I'm standing right next to her but she might as well be on the moon.

"I'm going to go get our assignments from today," I told her.

She blinked sluggishly at me and gave me a small nod. That had been the most reaction I've gotten out of her for the past two days.

I grabbed my jacket and car keys and walked out the room, making sure to lock the door behind me.

× × ×

I started at English because that was the closest building from my hall. My feet echoed off the marble floor as I walked through the corridors. It was after school hours and the building was deserted, but I knew Professor Lawtherd would be in his classroom. He was always in his classroom.

Sure enough, when I rounded the corner, I saw a streak of light coming from an ajar door at the end of the hall.

Walking into the room, I found him sitting at his desk, black wire rimmed glasses on the end of his nose and a thick book in his hands. Ever since Emily told me that he was her brother, it was hard to look at him the same. As I walked closer, the golden serif font of the title of the book stuck out against the black. Romeo and Juliet. From the tear of the binding and the ragged edges of the pages, I assumed it was one of his favorites.