In the back of his mind, Tristan knew that he should've changed his phone number right before he started throwing his stuff into his luggage.
He was already comfortable with his stay in the college he was attending, but as his phone continued to annoy him, it reminded him of the fact that his crazy ex-girlfriend was still stalking him just so she could get him back.
Tristan snorted and rolled his eyes. No way in hell, he thought to himself.
His cell phone kept ringing, an unknown number flashing on the screen. He didn't need to answer it, he already knew that it was Lillian calling him again.
And as usual, he chose to ignore the call.
Tristan vaguely recalled how he even managed to get along with such a crazy woman. He wasn't saying that all ex-girlfriends were crazy, but he was pretty damn sure that his ex was a woman who had loose, almost-detached and not-perfectly-maintained screws inside her brain.
He cringed at the thought. Small shivers ran down his spine as he hastily threw every available piece of clothing from his drawers to his luggage.
Tristan and Lillian had met at a Halloween party months ago. Long story short, they talked, hooked up in a vacant room later that night, and ended up exchanging numbers the next morning. They dated for a few weeks... until she pulled some creepy shit on him.
The crazy—and creepy—shit started when he had let her stay with him for the night. It had been raining pretty hard after all; and although he thought of driving her back to her place, he decided against it—he didn't want to risk either of their safety.
And when he woke up the next day, she wasn't beside him anymore. So he figured, if she wasn't there, then she must have left already. Relieved of the thought that Lillian was safe in her own home, he got out of bed, did a couple of push ups, then went straight to the bathroom to take a shower.
So imagine his surprise when he saw her again once he got out of the shower. His eyes widened in shock and she gasped—totally caught in the act of the creepiest thing he had ever seen a girl doing.
Lillian had been kneeling in front of his hamper, her back facing him, and she was still dressed in last night's clothes, her flaming red hair a tangled mess, her body tense and stiff as she slowly turned around to face him.
What shocked and weirded him out more was the fact that she had his dirty underwear pressed against her nose when he caught her. It took him a good two seconds to process what he had just seen—his girlfriend was sniffing his dirty underwear. Holy shit.
He had also noticed that his hamper was wide open and his dirty clothes were sprawled out around her in a chaotic disarray.
"What the fuck are you doing, Lillian?" Tristan had demanded, staring at her with incredulous eyes. He wasn't an avid fan of arguments when it came to relationships, so when his voice ended up being louder than usual, Lillian's eyes widened in surprise.
With shaky hands, she lowered his underwear, crumpled it up, and threw it back again to the hamper.
Lillian had been unable to speak.
"And why the hell are my dirty clothes inside your fucking bag?"
For all he knew, she was going to take them home with her and pull some weird voodoo shit on him. Lillian apologized profusely, her eyes wild and panicked, her cheeks pink from embarassment.
"It's not what it looks like, Tristan," she denied furiously. He raised his eyebrow in response. "I can explain, I swear. And I'm sorry for the mess I've made, I'll clean it later." Lillian swallowed, averting her eyes from him, then regained her composure. Apprehension was still clear in her eyes. "H-Have you had breakfast yet?"
"No," Tristan deadpanned. "And I sure as hell am not letting you steal any more of my clothes. Get the fuck out of my flat." His voice was harsh and cold as ice. Hurt flashed before her eyes, but she recovered quickly.
"B-Baby," Lillian stammered, looking at anything but him, still trying to muster up the courage to speak. "I—I'll start cooking breakf—"
"Get. Out." Tristan said through gritted teeth, his voice stern, his decision final. Lillian stared at him with sad eyes for a quick moment, then she went down on her knees and quickly removed his stuff from her bag.
A shiver went down his spine. What if she really did pull some crazy, weird witchcraft voodoo shit on me? I didn't want to be tied to her forever, I wasn't ready for something serious like that yet. Hell no, he thought.
After she left, he picked up his scattered clothes and threw them all in the hamper.
Tristan had been putting on his boots when his phone rang, her name embedded on the screen of his phone. Ignoring her call, he shoved his phone inside his pocket, grabbed his keys, and went on his way to the elevator so he could get to class.
Lillian hadn't stopped calling him for the whole day. The next day, he finally decided to answer her call. He was about to get himself coffee, still thinking of what he should say to her if she were to call again.
And then his phone rang. Speak of the devil.
"Tristan," Lillian said, annoyance evident in her voice. "Why weren't you answering my calls? I kept calling you—"
She was fucking nagging him, again. He hated it when she nagged him—especially when she nagged him about the simplest things—her voice became to high-pitched and irritating.
Tristan also hated it when she whined about everything—not picking her up (which only happened when he had morning classes), forgetting her stupid peppermint lattè (which he bought for her everyday, yet she'd get pissed when he'd get her a venti and not a grande), and that wasn't even half of it.
He had considered patching things up with her, maybe even talk about her weird fetish for dirty underwear. He had been willing to understand her, to imagine what it's like to be in her shoes.
But as she continued nagging him, just because he refused to answer her calls, he thought to himself, Hell, she must have put some weird-ass potion or some shit when we were dating to make me stay with her for this long.
"You were with that blonde slut of a cheerleader, weren't you? I was going to apologize for snooping through your things—"
"You know what? I don't need to hear your shit anymore, Lillian. We're—"
"What?!" Lillian yelled, her voice rising an octave higher. Tristan had to remove his phone from his ear for a moment to save himself from going deaf. "Don't you dare—"
She had been fucking snooping on him, stealing and sniffing his dirty underwear like a deranged, obsessive person, and now she's yelling at him, accusing him of being a cheater when all he did was try to forget the crazy shit she had done. What the fuck?
Tristan had cut her off and finished his sentence. "We're fucking done for good, Lillian." He hung up, turned his phone off, and sighed.
No more whining, no more endless demands, no more crazy voodoo shit. No more Lillian.
I'm free, Tristan smiled to himself, Finally.
Tristan had tried to avoid her as much as possible when he was at campus. Every time he saw a redhead, he would assume it was her, and he would instantly avert his eyes to the other direction and walk away.
Even though he was the one who had terminated their relationship, he still felt as though she was watching him, as though her skin was just inches away from his. It always made the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end.
A week after they had broken up, Tristan decided to transfer schools to permanently get away from her. He didn't want to feel her presence anymore, didn't want to be on edge in every building he stepped foot on.
He didn't even care if it was an abrupt and irrational decision—he needed to get away from her for good.
And that's what brought him here.
Tristan slapped the back of his head for being an idiot and not changing his number or throwing away his phone.
It rang again, louder this time. Uncertain of whose number it was, he decided to reject the call instead of letting it go to voicemail. If it really was Lillian, she would never stop contacting him.
Damn it, he thought, I really need to change my number already.
~
It really wasn't a new thing for him, being stared at by girls. Tristan knew for a fact that he didn't look that bad; truth be told, he wasn't too much of an eyesore.
Before his next class, he finally got rid of his old number and changed it. I should've done it earlier, he thought, shaking his head, maybe right after we broke up—but hey, better late than never, right?
Some heads turned, curiosity burning in their eyes as they whispered in hushed tones. Tristan chose to look straight ahead and ignore the people who couldn't get enough of staring at him.
More females' heads turned when he entered the classroom. He sighed. I guess the whole staring-at-me thing is going to last for a while.
At the back of the room, there were a lot of vacant seats. Since he wasn't a fan of sitting too damn close to the board, he chose to sit at the farthest one in the corner. He sat two chairs away from the last seat in the room.
Tristan took his phone out of his pocket, put on his earphones, leaned back, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes. He still had ten more minutes before his class started, so that meant a little extra sleep for him.
He mentally patted himself in the back for waking up a bit earlier than usual.