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━ OCTOBER ,2022━
ISABELLE
✧
IFTHEYCOME searching for me, tell them I had fled to Mars.
That's what I had told Kat when I left the dorm this morning. Now I was here, sitting aimlessly on Eleanor's lilac comforter spread diagonally across her bed and having a staring battle with the gruesome spider on the wall. It was showing least interest in making any kind of movement and neither did I make an attempt to blink.
"Still can't digest it. You slept with Miller?! Like, out of all the guys in this humongous campus, nobody caught your attention but him?"
Eleanor Johnson, partner in crime and probably the only person in Yale, besides Kat, who actually cared to check up on me from time to time, exclaims for the third time in a row. She says it like Miller was an untouchable ─ which he in fact was, way out of my league.
And it almost sounded as if I just had one of my regular-ish extraordinary dreams and I was unnecessarily invested in it.
I am well aware of the contradictory nature of what I just said about my dreams but you'll see.
"Not as in slept and fucked. Slept as in slept." I tilt my face and fold my hands to mimic a pillow. Eleanor looks at me with skeptical clear blue eyes, yet not being able to completely fathom the situation. Her platinum blonde hair was tied up in a neat bun and she blows away one loose strand that was tickling her nose.
"You're saying you basically crashed at his place who happens to be your ex-something and you're also saying y'all didn't touch each other. Impressive." She quirks an eyebrow, taking a small sip from the steaming mug of cocoa.
I can bet not a single person in all of Yale could make a better version of hot cocoa. It was Eleanor's specialty.
"Firstly, he wasn't my ex anything. And secondly, we both don't remember a thing. I just know he was drunk and I helped him reach the resident quarters. I discovered that I had been tricked into consuming alcohol and hence I fell asleep soon after emptying my stomach in his bathroom. God, I swear I'll never trust a fruit punch." I groan, keeping my tone as factual as possible.
"That's just a hypothesis."
"No it's not. That's a theory. Facts" I argue, making air quotes for facts. Yet, I couldn't get myself to ignore the gnawing voice in the back of my head that was growing louder every minute. It is something I hadn't been able to get rid off, despite the major changes I have went throughout these years.
