Cooper was staring at his computer screen, paralyzed with indecision and disgust as he debated whether or not to schedule an appointment with Professor Li during office hours later today, when the call from Calla came in.
"Hi," he said a shade too quickly, putting her on speaker. Oh, God. What if she asks me about the pills? She's definitely going to ask me about the pills. And he wouldn't have an answer for her, not one she would accept, because the pills were still sitting on his nightstand, two inconspicuous little white dots that were slowly but surely ruining his fucking life.
Calla had made the concept of poisoning his own professor seem so simple. So...inconsequential. Give yourself the week to mull it over, she'd said. And he had. Oh, Cooper fucking had mulled it over—hour after hour, day after day. Staring at the walls, the ceiling, the students that he passed on his way to class. It felt like everyone was watching him. Like they knew what a shitty, terrible person he'd become.
And that wasn't even the worst part. No, the worst part was that somehow, despite the crippling guilt and the nightmares that had returned with a vengeance, he'd worked out a plan.
He knew exactly how to get those pills to the professor. But how to go through with it? How to live with himself once the deed was done?
"Cooper. You there?"
He hit the submit button on his computer screen, dread curling in the pit of his stomach as he confirmed his appointment. No turning back now. "Yeah. I'm here."
"Olivia's throwing a Christmas party and she wants you there."
It wasn't what he'd expected her to say. Do you have an update for me or have you figured out how to kill your professor yet had been, more or less, where his mind had gone. "Olivia...what?" he asked, dazed.
"Olivia invited us to a party," Calla said more slowly. There was a brief pause. "Together." Her next words sounded as though they were being forced through her teeth. "With...matching sweaters, or something."
He couldn't help the grin that split his face—the first flicker of joy he'd felt since she'd left him to come to terms with an impossible decision. "That's adorable."
"It's tacky and awful and if we don't do it, Olivia will never let me hear the end of it."
Cooper had to stifle a laugh. "Sounds serious."
"Cooper," she said, indignant. "You're laughing at me."
"Yes, I am." He closed his computer and sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "You can take down a fully grown man without batting an eye, but matching sweaters is where you draw the line?"
She grumbled something unintelligible from the other end of the line. And then, more softly: "Cooper..."
Here it comes. He couldn't bear to hear a false apology on her lips, did not want to imagine the cold depth of her eyes as she imparted her sympathies for placing him in such a difficult position. She knew such platitudes were to be expected, had learned that lesson long ago from Rachel. From anyone else, Cooper would expect it as the very bare minimum of human decency.
But not from her.
"So," he said, keeping his voice upbeat. "This party..."
She seemed reluctant when she said, "It's in three weeks."
"That's great and all, but there's just one, tiny problem."
"Problem?" she asked, immediately on guard. He couldn't practically hear her walls sliding up into place, defensive as always.
Before her mind could run too wild with possibility, he said, "I don't have a car. So getting to said sweater-party is going to be an issue, I think." He trapped his bottom lip behind his teeth, mulling over his options. A lack of transportation presented a problem not just for the Christmas party, but it would also make a long-distance relationship nearly impossible...
Relationship. He flushed, though there was no one in the apartment now to see him squirm. We're not even in a relationship. Not really. Not yet. He combed his fingers through his hair. Ack, not yet, and maybe not ever. We're just friends. Friends with...benefits. That's all.
The thought carved out a deep hollow inside his chest.
Relationship problems aside, he had to find some way around the loss of his car—may she rest in peace, he thought dejectedly, thinking of how pitiful she must have looked, rusting away in the scrap yard across town. And then the idea struck him.
"Vincent," he blurted into the speaker. "Vincent has a truck."
Calla sighed unhappily. "He's not going to drive you up here just to drop you off."
"Well...no," Cooper admitted. "He'd need an invite."
"You want him to come with us."
"I think he has to. I already ditched him on Halloween—"
Calla tsked. "Fine. He can come." Her voice sounded further away when she added, "On one condition."
Cooper's eyes narrowed on his phone, immediately suspicious. "I'm not agreeing to any conditions until I hear what it is."
So she told him. "You have to tell Vincent about us."
Cooper's dread intensified to an almost unbearable degree. I think I'd rather kill the professor than spend the afternoon trying to explain to Vincent how I ended up in bed with Calla, he thought, and it was so absurd he almost laughed. That can't be normal.
"If he's coming to the party," Calla continued, "he's going to see us together, and even if we try to play it off, we both know he's not an idiot. He's gonna figure us out. Better he hears it from you first, before Olivia or Kevin or someone else gets to him and lets something slip."
She was right, much as Cooper hated to admit it. It would be selfish of him to refuse her, and more selfish still to keep what had happened between them from Vincent—his best friend since forever and brother in everything but blood.
Vincent's gonna kill me. Or hate me. Or both.
His doubts ate at him and ate at him, but he told himself it was a problem for later—he still had a couple weeks to decide how to break the news—and so he agreed to her terms, albeit grudgingly. "Alright. I'll talk to him. But—"
"No. No buts."
"Calla," he said, exasperated. "You say I have to tell him about us, but what exactly am I supposed to tell him? That we're..."
"We're...what?" she prompted.
He almost threw his phone across the room. "Well, that's what I'm asking you." God, let him die. Let him fall down and die, right here in the living room, before he made a complete fool of himself. "I mean, we're...friends. Right?"
She sounded much closer now, her voice clearer. He imagined her sitting on the edge of her bed, cradling the phone against her cheek. "Sure. We're friends."
"Friends," he agreed, the word like lead in his mouth. "And is that...well, is that, uh, all we are?"
He thought then of the way she'd whispered his name in the dark, her hands curled in his hair, their bodies welded so thoroughly together he hadn't been sure where he ended and she began. He held onto that memory with a desperate, blazing hope—and he knew then that he did not want to be just friends, and that made him ache for her all the more.
But he would respect her decision, whatever she chose. Even if it killed him. Her rejection would be a slow, agonizing death, to have her so near and know she would never be his...
"We're more than friends," she said softly, and the helpless, broken thing inside him that had only ever wanted to be wanted flared with unrestrained hope. "We've always been more than friends."
He barely dared to breathe. "So...that means what, exactly?"
"It means I wouldn't be opposed to kissing you again, you moron."
He smiled, stupid with happiness. "Yeah?"
"Oh, shut up." She hung up the phone, just as he'd known she would. He only laughed. Laughed because she wanted him, and not just in stolen moments.
I wouldn't be opposed to kissing you again.
Cooper knew then that he had made the right decision. Or if not the right decision, then the only decision left to him that he could possibly live with.
His giddiness faded as he retreated to his room and carefully tucked away the white pills Calla had left for him. He checked the time, frowning. Their conversation had made him late. He supposed he could always reschedule with the professor, but there were no other available appointments for the rest of the week. And what Cooper had to do...
It could not wait.
As he made the trek to campus, he combed back over the finer details of his plan—simple in nature, but no less effective. He was sure there were flaws, blind spots he couldn't yet see that might yet bite him in the ass; but the idea felt solid enough as he ran a careful finger over its edges, analyzing it from every angle.
He snorted as he recalled the conversation he'd had with Calla only three days prior.
She'd been mulling over the idea of how Cooper might sneak into the professor's apartment—a ludicrous plan he'd quickly tossed out as unrealistic. "I don't know how to pick a lock like you do, and besides, I've got a better...less obvious idea," he'd told her, just when the idea had first started taking form.
"A better idea?" she'd asked, skeptical—as if she couldn't fathom how breaking and entering wasn't the penultimate solution for any immediate problem.
His idea was better. No lockpicks required. He'd only needed an excuse to meet with Professor Li during office hours.
Sure, the plan required flunking his last test and incurring his mom's wrath...but it would be worth it. If the plan worked. Maybe Professor Li had left his pill bottle at home, Cooper thought as he crossed campus, the anthropology building coming into view. Maybe he kept his satchel under lock and key in his desk. Maybe—
No more maybes. It'll work or it won't and there's no point in agonizing over it in the meantime.
Before he could doubt himself further, Cooper pulled out his phone and dialed Vincent, who answered on the second ring. "Yo. Just wrapped up lunch with Nat if you wanna play some—"
"Actually, I need a favor." Cooper slipped his first two fingers in his front pocket, feeling for the pills there. "A no questions sort of favor."
"You're stressing me out, man. What's up?"
So Cooper explained what he needed Vincent to do. Vincent listened in silence, and for that, Cooper was grateful. Please, he silently begged, pausing on the front steps of the anthropology building.
"Alright," Vincent said at last, breaking his silence. Cooper's shoulders sagged in relief. "And you'll get no questions from me. For now, anyway."
"Thank you," Cooper said, fervently grateful. "Bottomless margaritas on me next week."
"That I will take you up on," Vincent grumbled.
Cooper ended the call and ducked inside the anthropology building, savoring the warmth that blasted across his face, chasing away the cold edge of winter. He wanted to linger there, toasty and snug and unburdened by poisoned pills and the knowledge that his professor had murdered a girl when he was not much younger than Cooper was now—but Cooper was already late for office hours and so, with a heavy sigh, he started down the building's left wing, scanning each doorway for room number 117.
Once he'd tracked it down, he hesitated at the threshold. Hurry, Vincent, was his last, desperate thought—and then he knocked, once. Just the once. Half-tempted to leave it at that and—
"Come on in," Professor Li called, dashing Cooper's hopes.
He curled a finger around the pills in his pocket.
Ask yourself if this is something you're even capable of.
He did not think of Calla then, as he thought he might. Instead, he thought of Margaret Yate. Margaret Yate, who would never graduate college. Margaret Yate, who would never fall in love.
Margaret. Margaret. Margaret.
Someone out there had mourned her death. Maybe they mourned her still.
He could do this. He would. For Margaret. And, he knew but did not want to admit—for Calla.
Cooper nudged the door open with his foot and smiled sheepishly at Professor Li, who peered curiously at Cooper from behind a cheap laminate desk, the black, faux-wood grain streaked with handprints. "Mr. Daniels," Professor Li greeted warmly, which only served to worsen Cooper's guilt as his eyes fell to the suede satchel at the professor's elbow.
But it did not lessen his resolve. "Professor," he said back as calmly as he could, stepping more fully into the room. "Sorry I'm late."
"Not a problem." He gestured to an empty chair, which Cooper took gratefully. His legs had begun to shake, and he didn't think he could hide his nerves for much longer. "So. I saw your request come in, and I have to say, I'm a little surprised. It looked like you were doing pretty good there for a while..."
He has a kind face, Cooper thought. And then, I bet Margaret had a kind face, too.
But the vague recollection of a girl long dead—a girl Cooper had never even known—wasn't enough to soothe his guilt, not while Professor Li insisted on being so helpful, offering to set Cooper up with a tutor, some kid who'd been a top student of his last semester.
The longer Cooper sat there, listening to the professor's solutions to Cooper's imaginary problems, the more doubt began to gnaw at him.
I can't do this, he thought, stomach lurching as Professor Li dug out a notepad from his satchel, the telltale rattle of pills drowning out all else. I can't. I won't—
A knock at the door interrupted the study plan Professor Li had scrawled out on a spare sheet of notebook paper. "One second," he muttered, apologetic, before hurrying around the desk to the door. "I'm with a student—"
"Sorry," a familiar voice panted. Vincent. Cooper twisted around, wide-eyed. Vincent studiously ignored him. "Coach Kirkland wants a word."
"We're almost finished here," Professor Li assured him.
"Uh..." Vincent shuffled his feet, clearly at a loss. His eyes flickered in Cooper's direction. "Coach said it's important. He's got some big meeting after this, and he's right outside—"
Exasperated, Professor Li glanced back at Cooper. "Would you mind? It'll only take a moment."
"No, no." Cooper waved him on, unsteady. "Go on ahead. I'll wait."
Professor Li slipped out into the hall with a vague grumble, Vincent lingering behind to cast Cooper a long, curious look before following in his footsteps.
Cooper's window of opportunity had arrived.
He didn't hesitate, not as he thought he would. His body moved of its own accord, propelling him out of his seat and around the desk—and then his hands were in the professor's satchel, reaching and searching and grasping, grasping at straws, but the pill bottle was in his hands now and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think as he unscrewed the cap and dropped the poisoned pills inside, and he started to panic then because he couldn't undo what had been done even if he'd wanted to because there was no one of knowing which pills were the rotten ones—
Footsteps in the hall. Cooper stowed the bottle back into the satchel. Unable to remain in the professor's office for even a second longer, he shouldered his backpack and left, ignoring the surprised exclamation of the janitor as he burst out into the hall, chest heaving.
He glanced over his shoulder. Professor Li would be coming back soon. He'd probably wonder where Cooper had gone—or maybe he wouldn't wonder at all. Office hours had officially ended three minutes ago.
Queasy with nerves, Cooper hurried over to the building's back exit, suddenly desperate for the cold. Why was it so goddamn hot in this building—
He burst through the back door, but the rush of wind against his face did nothing for him. Groaning, Cooper rushed over to the nearest pair of hedges and, ignoring a leering group of freshmen, he emptied out his stomach, acid burning his throat. Tears, burning his eyes.
Once he was sure he'd hacked up the last of his lunch, he straightened, one hand braced against a nearby brick pillar as he gasped for breath.
It was easier than he'd imagined, destroying a life. A few seconds. That was all it had taken.
He let himself sprawl against the concrete walkway, his back to the brick pillar. The professor was as good as dead now. And Cooper would have a hand in his death.
Vincent, too, he thought, closing his eyes. And he has no idea he had any part in it. If he ever finds out...
Cooper shuddered as a cold gust of wind tore through the breezeway, seeping through his clothes. He'd done what needed doing. He knew that. He knew it as surely as he knew that there would be no coming back from this.
He had made his choice.
Calla tried to warn me. He shuddered again, more violently this time, but he didn't dare stand, not when he couldn't trust his own legs to hold his weight. From the very start, she told me there would be consequences. I just never imagined this would be one of them.
And now he was lost, adrift in the dark—with only what little remained of his good intentions to keep him company.