Assassins Don't Go to High School

Chapter Eleven

My name is Celaena Sardothien and I will not be afraid.

I sniffle and wipe my nose on my sleeve. How pathetic am I? Sitting in the empty women's restroom crying over an ex-boyfriend. An ex-boyfriend who was probably the love of my life and died in a horrific car accident - but still. I killed more men than the flu last year, and yet the death of one can wreck my whole life.

My name is Celaena Sardothien and I will not be afraid.

No matter how many times I say it, I can't fool myself. I am very afraid. I'm afraid of living in a world where Sam doesn't exist. That's why I couldn't get out of bed for months, how could I? How could I do anything I once enjoyed without being able to enjoy them with Sam? Or at least tell him about it later.

I check the time on the phone Arobynn gave me for this mission. I was supposed to meet Dorian ten minutes ago. He probably thought I'd stood him up. But how could I face him with my puffy post-cry face?

What is wrong with me and the "how could I's?" How could I not do anything I damn well please. I'm Celaena Fucking Sardothien.

I take a few steadying breaths and exit the stall. I check my reflection in the well-lit mirror; my face isn't too puffy, but under any kind of close inspection it would be obvious what I had been doing. I pull a compact out of my mostly-empty backpack and powder my nose, around my eyes, and the space between my nose and my upper lip. I use my fingers to curl my eyelashes to the height they were earlier. Although my quick work is admirable, it isn't perfect, but it will suffice.

I flip my hair and stare into my own turquoise eyes in my reflection, "You deserve to be happy. Sam would want you to be happy. You will not be afraid."

***

"Lillian!" Dorian exclaims, his sapphire eyes filling with light, "Is your fashionable tardiness intended?"

I smile and let out a small breathy laugh, "Not exactly, I, uh, got hit with a door."

His face scrunches up in confusion and an obvious effort not to laugh, "Care to explain further?"

"I was in too much of a rush to leave class," I pause to wink at him and he smirks, "but when I got to the door someone else opened it and it smacked me right in the face." He narrows his eyes searching my face for any sign of redness or bruising but I say before he can look too hard, "Don't worry I covered any traces of trauma."

Dorian grins with his teeth and I swear my heart stuttered, but I swallow and say, "So, you ready to leave?"

He smiles even wider, "You have no idea how ready."

"Any plans for where we're going or..." I trail off hoping he'll supply me with an answer.

"You'll see."

***

My mind couldn't fathom that what I was seeing was still the same rainy, dreary town of Adarlan.

"Does it take your breath away?" Dorian whispers in my ear from where he was standing behind me.

"My breath, my words, and my thoughts," I respond breathlessly, "How does it look so different from up here? So... beautiful?" Beautiful didn't even seem like the right word.

I could feel Dorian shrug, "The lights look dimmer down there, and the streets look dirtier and the buildings more decrepit," he pauses, and I turn to face him, "From here you can't see the flaws."

I turn back to face what appears to be a gorgeously lit city with buildings of gray stone and emerald roofs and cobblestone streets twining between them. From the roof of the academy, Adarlan looked incredible. "Maybe everything looks prettier from further away," I murmur.

"Not you," Dorian says with his eyes still on the streets.

I turn to him, "I'm not pretty?" I ask with mock incredulity.

He rolls his eyes, "Lillian, you're more than pretty, so much more than pretty that men and women can't help but take notice," my breath hitches as I remember the last time someone had told me something similar, but Dorian goes on without noticing, "But I don't think you're prettier from further away. No, because every time I get a little bit closer to you, I can't help but notice something else about you that I find beautiful."

My heart is hammering and my lips are parted as I stare, once again speechless, at Dorian. Men have thrown compliments at me for as long as I can remember, but they never affected me. Only two men have ever been able to make me feel this way.

I can tell Dorian wants to lean in for a kiss, but maybe he's waiting for me to make the first move this time? And it isn't that I don't want to, but thoughts of Sam keep floating through my mind. Thoughts of how he used to make me feel, the sweet things he used to say to me, the way he used to kiss me...

Used to, used to, used to.

Because he never would again.

Never tell me I'm beautiful or that he loves me or kiss me when I'm mad or look at me the way he always did.

Sam's beautiful face with his high cheekbones and brown eyes- what shade of brown were his eyes? Had they been more golden brown or soil brown? I can't remember, and I will never get to find out.

Because Sam is dead.

That thought violently pulls me from my haze and twists everything in my stomach. One second I'm looking at Dorian and the next I'm vomiting on his shoes.

Sam is dead.

Dorian recoils at first, understandably considering my vomit was now ruining his probably very expensive shoes. But after his first reaction his expression fills with concern as he kneels to pat my back, and ask me if I'm alright.

"Yeah," I respond, though my tongue now feels leaden, "I don't know what happened," I lie, "I might have eaten something bad earlier."

Dorian, still looking worried rather than angry about his shoes or disappointed about the moment we almost had, he helps me to my feet and guides me towards the stairs, "Come on, I'll take you home."

***

An hour or so later, I lay in my bed after Dorian dropped me off. Before he left he had stroked my hair and kissed my cheek and told me he'd see me at school tomorrow. Why was I being tortured this way? Was this punishment for being able to kiss Dorian before without thinking of Sam? Even if any romance we started could never last, and would only leave him heartbroken in the end - heartbroken like I am over Sam. I will be dying the same way after all.

I sigh deeply and then cover my face with a pillow. This is not what my mission is about. Arobynn didn't send me here to help me "get back out there." He sent me to do a job. Maybe I should let Dorian down easy and start focusing more on that job.

The thought leaves me feeling queasy again.

But perhaps being with Dorian makes me appear more normal? Sure I'll stand out more than I probably should, but if I'm faking my own death anyway, then why does it matter how much attention I bring to myself? But would my subconscious even let me be with Dorian without feeling guilty and then vomiting on him again? I don't think I could get away with blaming it on food poisoning if it happened a second time...

I groan into the pillow.

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Author's Note

This chapter is hopefully a little better than the last?

Thanks again if you're still reading this(: