Actually? Scratch that because that’s not completely true.
I’m also obsessively waiting for a response from my email to Kristyn about getting information on Ravenwood. I’d really like to learn more about Nora if I can before I’m forced to meet with her again. Which I am, by the way. I’ve no choice but to go to her if I want to know whether Jenn is okay or not. I’m scared as hell, though. Between Jon Eric and my room being destroyed, I’m terrified of what she might do to me.
Wednesday morning, I make my way to breakfast in the dining hall to meet with Loni. We haven’t really seen much of each other yet this week, other than a quick encounter yesterday, and I try to push all my own issues aside so I can focus in on her. I’m curious as to how her date with Brandon went.
Loni’s sitting at our usual table already when I arrive, but Henry’s MIA. She looks up when I draw near and smiles, but something seems … off. It’s just as friendly as usual, but it somehow feels distant. Almost like she’s distracted. I recall she seemed a little weird yesterday, too.
I slip into the chair next to her.
“Hey, Loni,” I say.
“Hey.” Again, something doesn’t seem quite right. There’s nothing outwardly wrong, but I can tell something’s bothering her.
“Everything okay?” I ask, my brow knitting together.
“Fine.”
I don’t buy it. Not one bit.
“Loni, I can tell something’s up,” I persist. “Did something happen? Did I do something?”
She doesn’t respond for several long moments, staring down at her hands on the table as she seems to consider her words carefully.
“Alright,” she says with a sigh. “Here’s the deal. Friday night, I went on my date with Brandon.”
I nod. “Yeah. Did it go okay?”
By the look on her face, I can tell that’s a no.
“Turns out, Brandon just wanted to go out to try and get information.” She sounds so disappointed that it makes my chest ache. I’m also instantly furious at that sonofabitch.
“Information about what?” I’m going to hunt his sorry ass down and feed him his dick.
She chews her lip for a moment, as if she’s considering whether to tell me. “You.”
I jerk my head back in surprise. “What? Me? Why would he want information about me?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Guilt shoots through me and I reach out to take her hand. “I’m so sorry, Loni.”
“I don’t blame you, Mallory,” she says. “Really, I don’t.”
That may be true, but I know there’s something she isn’t saying. She has every right to be upset with me, but I just wish she’d spit it out so we can figure out a way to move past this.
“Loni, something else is wrong,” I insist. “Please just tell me.”
She releases a heavy breath. “Obviously, Brandon is a dick and I must have been out of my mind to ever give him another chance, but…”
“But what?” I gently urge when she trails off.
She glances over at me. “But … as I sat in my room this weekend, wondering where the hell you were and if you were okay, I couldn’t help but think how the person I keep putting my neck on the line for is bullshitting me.”
I wince, as if she slapped me. Really, she may as well have, but I can’t really be mad about it. She’s right, after all. Loni has been my staunchest defender since I came to Angelview, and I’ve done nothing but keep things from her. Some I firmly believe are for her own good, but there’re other secrets that I’m just too scared to tell her.
“Loni, I—”
“I almost reported that guy that broke into your room Friday night,” she tells me, cutting me off. “Some scary, tattooed guy. I was going to tell campus police about him, but then I worried you’d get into even more shit than you’re already in. I didn’t like doing that, though. I need you to know that. I didn’t feel safe with that guy around.”
I’m stunned, and I don’t think I’ve felt this much shame in my life. I’m such a shitty friend, which I’ve always known, but it’s a whole new level of such to be called out for it.
“I’m so sorry, Loni,” I murmur, dropping my gaze to the table like a chastised child.
“It’s not that I need you to be sorry,” she tells me. “I just … I just want you to know what I’m feeling. It won’t take me long to stop being angry, but I think I need a few days, okay?”
All I can do is nod. I feel awful that I’ve done this to her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she realized she’d be better off without me.
She nods then pushes to her feet, and I dare not look up at her for fear that I’ll lose control and start bawling like a fucking baby.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“I’ll get over it.”
With that, she turns and walks away from me, leaving me all alone with my guilt and spiraling thoughts.
After Loni’s confession, I don’t anticipate my day getting much better, so it’s a pleasant surprise when I walk into class and find that Liam has made his grand reappearance. He looks just as bored and unaffected by the world around him as usual. All signs of the reckless drunk idiot from Friday are gone.
He shoots me a smirk, and I offer a small smile in return as I dart toward my seat. Even though I’m so relieved to see him here—alive, sober, and well—I can’t help but think about what Saint told me over the weekend.
Liam killed someone. Intentionally. After what happened with James, it’s not like I can judge anyone. Still, taking a life is no small thing, and I know how much it can weigh on a person. Even if that person deserved it, like Rosalind’s stepdad.
I wonder if I should tell Liam that I know? Maybe he’s as desperate to talk about it with someone as I am?
As the day goes on, I can’t stop thinking about it. About Liam. I steal glances at him during our classes together, and he catches me more than once, sending me confused grins and arched browed looks. I realize I might be sending him the wrong message, especially when I catch Saint glaring at me during history class.
After fourth period, Liam finds me in the hall.
“Hey, Mallory,” he says, catching me as I try to make my way out of the building.
I stop and turn back to look at him.
“What’s up?” I’m not really sure how I should interact with him. Do I acknowledge what happened Friday night? Do I let him know that I know what he’s done? Do I just ignore it all and pretend everything’s fine?
“Look, I just wanted to apologize for Friday,” he says, taking the decision out of my hands. “I was drunk and not thinking clearly. I shouldn’t have dumped you in the pool like that. I was a shithead.”
It’s almost weird having someone apologize for being an asshole to me. I’ve grown so used to people just hating me and treating me like shit, I’m a little stunned.
“You’re good,” I quickly assure him. “We all do stupid shit when we’re drunk. I’m just glad to see you’re back.”
He scratches at the back of his head, the long sleeve of his shirt dipping and giving me a peek at the beginning of one of his tattoos.