#this is a wonderful realization to have RIGHT BEFORE taking a practice mcat

[itsallwearecalledtodo]

why did it take me until literally right now to realize nona can’t be harmed by the jellyfish stings or otherwise die because she’s in a lyctor’s body

#I am truly the stupidest woman in the tlt fandom #this is a wonderful realization to have RIGHT BEFORE taking a practice mcat #the locked tomb #ntn spoilers

[lonelyheartsclubhaze]

Chilly mornings away from home

January 2019 // Chapter 4

Soft piano notes waded their way into my mind, rousing me from sleep. Erik Satie’s “Gymnopédie No. 1” complemented streaks of sunlight that seeped in from cracks between the window shutters.

I rolled onto my stomach, patting along the bedsheets, searching for the alarm’s source. Locating my iPhone under a fluffy body pillow, I quickly tapped the snooze button, earning myself nine more minutes of repose.

Mornings were always so disorienting. I still had yet to remember where and when I was. Such things could wait. Clinging onto that snoozy state of nonexistence, I didn’t want to wake up. I was eager for unmindfulness.

Inevitably coming to, dizziness hit like a military grade tank as I realized that my bed was facing the wrong way. My morning senses spun westward from their southern-facing expectations. Cracking my eyes open a few nanometers more, baby blue walls, rather than white, met my gaze. I faced a medium size flatscreen TV set atop a brown cabinet bordered by cream, cushioned seats and a black mini-refrigerator.

It was so easy to be surprised by mornings. Here I was, expecting one thing and receiving another. It wasn’t a huge deal, and they were natural mistakes, but jeez, was I caught off guard. My bed typically faced a window on the southern side of my room in Berkeley, confined by white walls under high ceilings. Unlike my room in Berkeley, however, the ceilings in this place were much lower with windows much wider. My forgetfulness fading, I remembered why I was in this barely decent Denver hotel room, namely, for a job interview.

Grimacing, I also remembered that the aforementioned job interview had taken place yesterday—giving me a sense for why I might have preferred snoozy states of nonexistence to waking life. It was for some technician role at a Pharma-lab. And while they didn’t pay anything close to what Ajay would be receiving at Facebook (while still remaining just as controversial), money was money. Plus, it seemed like a good way to boost my med school app during the summer. Worst case scenario: I’d just spend the upcoming summer studying for the MCAT, which had to happen sooner or later. At this rate, however, it was looking like the worst case scenario would be my only scenario.

Oh well. With a redeye flight the next morning and the interview out of the way, I had a day to kill in Denver. Classes were still on hold for another week-and-a-half and since everyone was home for the holidays, Grace had offered to put me up at her place for the day. She was supposed to come by around nine AM to pick me up.

I rubbed my eyes and pulled up the blanket. The AC units at hotels were always freezing cold—particularly on especially inconvenient occasions, like now, right smack in the middle of a January morning. I flipped over my phone and turned off the alarm. The clock read seven-twenty-one AM. Just enough time to get ready and grab a quick bite before Grace was to arrive.

My hands smacked against the headboard of the bed mid-stretch, my wrists rolling as I struggled to fully wake up. Sitting up, I checked my phone for missed messages, sending out short, succinct text messages where they were needed. I cracked my neck and thrust my legs off the tall bed, my feet grazing the hotel carpet. I stood up, stretching my arms toward the spinning fan that hung from the low ceiling, and started toward the bathroom, tossing my iPhone onto the bathroom counter.

The shower roared to life with the turn of a knob. I grabbed a hotel-provided toothbrush and some paste on my way to the shower, along with a travel-size bottle of CeraVe foaming face wash. Inside, water rushed over my short, black hair, splashing onto medium broad shoulders and size ten-and-a-half feet as I washed my face. After mopping my chest, toes, and everything in-between with an ivory bar of soap, I squirted some toothpaste onto the brush and got to work, counting out one-hundred-twenty seconds in my head. Finally, I turned off the water and reached around the shower curtain for a towel. Drying myself off, I stepped out of the shower and packed up my bath supplies into a compact travel bag.

I shook the towel over my head to dry my hair and tapped on my iPhone screen to find one new notification. Hovering my face over the phone to unlock it, a blue message from Maddie read:

To which I replied:

She followed with:

Heart racing, I replied:

Two minutes passed. I held my breath.

Four minutes—then, a small blurb of text underneath my last message read:

Read 7:46 AM

I sighed and put down my phone. My face contorted as a profusion of expletives rushed my thoughts. Shouldn’t have double-texted her.

I supposed that it didn’t matter too much. She was with someone, anyway. When I’d seen her in December, before we’d left for winter holidays, she’d been at Bear’s Ramen House in the Asian Ghetto—the food hub a block from Sproul Hall—eating with some guy I’d seen around, probably on campus. He was a moderately wealthy, white kid from Marin studying one of the various biology sub-majors offered by Cal. He was also a junior, like Maddie, so a year ahead of me, as if his towering six-foot-three-inch figure wasn’t enough to give him a leg up on me with regards to Maddie. I didn’t know him all that well, despite having had a discussion section or two with him, though we greeted each other with a polite nod of the head when passing by one another in the Valley Life Sciences Building (VLSB) or in the library. To be honest, I didn’t even remember his name, just his face. His outfits often consisted of athleisure wear from Nike and/or Champion, giving off the impression that he played sports. I wasn’t quite sure whether or not this impression was accurate, but I did sometimes see him on the Glade or other grassy campus sites playing Spikeball, accompanied by peers with faces I vaguely recognized.

We’d often talk, Maddie and I. Sometimes I’d run into her on the spiral staircase at VLSB—the stairs that’d curl around the large, plaster T-Rex model to face broad windows on the east, granting access to the morning sun. She’d be on her way to a bio lab downstairs; me, on my way to the private, grad student bathroom that I’d secretly gained access to on the second floor. The restroom upstairs was protected by a keypad, but the code was too obvious: 362 362, or DNA DNA.

“Wonder where you could be going,” she’d say.

“Just need to make sure my hair is okay. I’ll do whatever it takes to get a few extra points from Professor Meighan,” I’d joke back.

“Do you poop here everyday?” she’d ask with wide eyes. “Or maybe you just like seeing me, huh? Is that it?”

I’d freeze up.

She’d laugh, saying, “Maybe a little bit of both, right, J?”

“Nothing gets past you,” I’d mumble.

“You’re funny,” she’d say. “You should have your own TV show. Maybe once you’re done with your residency you can join Grey’s Anatomy, or Scrubs. Or maybe you can have a talk show! Like Dr. Phil, but more funny and less depressing.”

“What about me gives off the impression that I’d ever want to have a TV show, at all, in any way whatsoever?” I’d say, shaking my head.

“See? Just like that! Always asking the right questions! Like Ellen DeGeneres but all doctor-like.”

She tended to tease me a lot. I didn’t mind. In fact, it was probably part of her appeal—definitely was, on second thought.

Like a good portion of the many pre-med students out there, Maddie was a biology major. Berkeley offered a few different options for bio students, and I’m pretty sure she was studying molecular and cellular biology, though it’s hard for me to say. If I wanted to remember something about her, I’d write it down in my iPhone notes. Otherwise, my hippocampus tended to toss it out, preferring to form memories of her nose, her lips, and those low cut shirts that left me off balance.

We’d text back-and-forth about classes, sometimes. A lot less after I saw her eating with what’s-his-face. I didn’t blame her.

My phone read eight AM. I tossed on a waffle knit shirt and long johns, then a Columbia fleece and Levi jeans, topping it off with an aged ski jacket that I’d ‘borrowed’ from Adam, who was up in Tahoe at least twice a month in the winter. I slung the beaten, black JanSport backpack containing my belongings over my shoulders and headed out the hotel door, making for the elevator.

The room door shut quietly behind as I banked right into a narrow corridor housing four elevators, two on each side. I pressed a button to summon one and within a minute, the light above the furthest elevator on my right blinked on. The door opened and I entered, clicking the button indicating the main lobby of the hotel. The door shut and the elevator fell five floors before slowing to let in an older, Black woman wearing a fitted, bell-shaped hat.

“Ground floor?” I asked.

She smiled sweetly. “Yes, honey. Thank you.”

We descended the final four floors in silence. Arriving at the ground floor, the elderly woman smiled and nodded at me before exiting first. I followed her out, glanced down at my iPhone, then diverged from her path as I headed toward the central lobby to check out. After snapping my room key card in half, I left the hotel, walking toward a Caribou Coffee a few blocks north.

Under the warm skies of Seal Beach, California, where I was born and raised, people tended to take their coffee with ice more often than here in Denver, Colorado. Every Friday, my mother would pick up an americano for herself—black, with no cream or sugar—on her way to work. I’d tag along as a kid, but sooner than later elementary school drop-offs morphed into middle school bike rides, then high school walks with pretty girls I swore I had a chance with, and then the here-and-now, flying Economy for interviews that wouldn’t yield job offers.

It’s funny—when I was a kid I practically hated being seen with my parents. At back-to-school events—the evenings when parents conglomerated to celebrate the annual accomplishments of their children—I wouldn’t be caught dead near my family. Somehow, I thought it made me look childish, or immature. After graduating from high school, however, I started seeing them less and less, and I began to find myself missing mom’s morning espresso runs more and more.

It seemed as though I must have picked up my mother’s coffee drinking habits, because when I arrived at the Caribou Coffee on sixteenth street at approximately eight-twenty-five AM, I too ordered an americano with no cream or sugar.

“That comes out to three-thirty-nine,” said the female barista. She wore a black apron over red and black striped under-layers, with a white wool beanie on her head, and deep black mascara on her eyelashes.

I thanked her and handed over three dollar bills along with some loose change from my jacket pocket.

“On second thought,” I said, retracting my hand. “Can I also get one of those?” I gestured to a blueberry scone behind the glass counter.

“Sure. Just three extra dollars.” she said.

I counted out three extra dollar bills, handing the money to the barista. Then I walked over to a small rounded table situated near the entrance and sat down. Scanning my iPhone, I saw that Grace had texted me, so I responded, asking her to pick me up at the Denver sixteenth street Caribou Coffee. Then I put my phone away and tapped silently along the underside of the table, slightly impatient for my pastry and drink.

I wondered what Grace had in mind for the day. I hadn’t seen her since—well, I suppose it wasn’t that long ago—final exams last semester. Personally, Grace and I had yet to have a class together, but Adam always took one or two bullshit classes with her, so she was often around my house anyway—especially during the week of final exams, when they’d study together all day long. As an English major, she had it pretty easy schedule-wise. She hardly stressed, at least outwardly, and was rarely overburdened with work, so she never missed a chance to chat it up with my housemates or me when Adam brought her over. She was really likable too. Even Albert got along with her, making small talk about Proust or the latest Pulitzer Prize winning novel from Jennifer Egan, and that’s saying a lot.

She always made it a point to stop by my room upstairs, at 2231 Dwight, waving ‘hello’ to me before vanishing for hours into the recesses of Adam’s single downstairs. I really liked that about her.

A small vibration from my left pant pocket convinced me to reach in. I pulled out my iPhone and saw that Grace had texted me. She was to arrive a bit early, in fifteen or so, around eight-fifty-five AM. She was driving in a black Honda Civic, she’d said. I texted her back to let her know that I’d be ready.

“I’ve got a medium americano and a blueberry scone!” called the barista.

I stood up, pulling my jacket over the chair to mark my temporary territory, then hurried over to the counter to grab my order. “Thanks,” I said before hurrying back to my table, balancing the warm, paper cup in one hand with the scone in the other.

Sitting back down at the table, I huffed down the scone. Then I took off the lid of the cup, wisps of steam condensing on the furl of my lip. I blew gently, cooling the drink.

I sipped slowly, then decided to put on my jacket and wait outside. Grace would be here any minute and I didn’t want her to miss me. I was getting sick of waiting by myself anyway. Walking outside, an icy burst of air cut right through me. I shivered, then zipped up Adam’s ski jacket. It was a good thing that it wasn’t snowing, because it was cold enough as it was.

I paced around for a bit, rubbing my hands to keep warm, until finally, a black Honda Civic with a freckled girl at its helm slowed to a stop slightly ahead of the sixteenth street coffee shop.

Grace rolled down the passenger window. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said back. My pace quickened as my feet approached her car.

“I missed you, dude,” she said. “Come on, let’s go. It’s freezing outside.” A crimson hoodie hid most of her delicate contours, though the graceful arcs that formed over her breasts hinted at something more. The left side of her chest housed a star-shaped sports logo with the words ‘Broomfield Soccer Club’ below in a decorative typeface.

I opened the car door and hopped into the passenger seat. Gusts of warm air ruffled my hair.

She reached over the center console and squeezed me in a close hug. “How was break?”

“Pretty good. I mean, I was finally able to—”

“Bruh,” she groaned. “Did you read Science?”

“What?”

“The magazine,” she said, squinting her eyes.

I cocked my head to the side. “Was I supposed to?”

Grace rolled her eyes and sighed. “Can you?”

“Is there something I should be looking for?”

“Oh my god. Take out your phone.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now. Jesus-fucking-Christ, J.”

“Okay,” I said, pulling the iPhone from my jean pocket.

“Okay.” She cracked her finger knuckles. “Google ‘butterflies’.”

“Grace—” I started.

“Come on. Look it up.”

“Okay. Just because you’re asking.” I opened Chrome’s mobile browser on my phone, typed in ‘butterflies’, and pressed ‘search’.

She cleared her throat.

“Butterfly,” I read. “An insect from the ma-cro-lep-id-opt-er-an clade Rho-pal-o-cer-a, from the order Lep-id-op-tera—”

“No!” She snatched my phone and scrolled down. “Here. California’s monarch butterfly count drops by eighty-six percent, just last year!”

I raised my eyebrows. “Is butterfly watching a hobby you picked up over break or something?”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

I coughed to cover a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t know you took butterflies so seriously.”

“God, and I’m supposed to go to a guy like you for my yearly checkups?” she gasped.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Grace—”

“I don’t want to hear it, insect-killer.” She blew aside a tuft of hair from her forehead. “So, how was it?”

“How was what?”

“How was break?”

“Oh. Right,” I said. “Well, I finally got around to watching that show you and Adam were talking about last semester.”

“Peaky Blinders?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, it’s really good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I really like Tommy’s brother, Arthur. I think he’s funny. I’m not too sure how I feel about Polly yet, though, but then again I’m only on season three.”

“Adam fucks with Arthur too. Personally, I’m more of a John-kinda-person. I think he’s less murderous than Arthur. Kills too much. How’s Adam doing, though?”

“Honestly, you probably know better than me. Haven’t seen him since we left for home.”

“I feel it.”

Grace made a sharp right onto the I-25 freeway, accelerating until our speed plateaued around ninety miles per hour. I gripped the sides of my seat—ninety was a little too fast for my tastes. I considered myself a defensive driver. Dull buildings bordered the freeway shoulders, and I tried to focus on them to distract myself from Grace’s driving.

“What do you say we stop by a park or something, J? Not really tryna see my parents right now.” Grace glanced at me, her hands still on the wheel.

I felt a bit queasy watching her take her eyes off the road. “Yeah, works for me. Something going on?”

“Eh, the usual. Just get sick of ‘em being home for so long,” she said. “But anyhow, I have a ball in the trunk. We can kick it around or some shit.”

The road grew bumpier as we drove over a waterway on the way to Grace’s neighborhood. Spoiled by scenic coastal sights on the drive up to Berkeley, the glum scenes around me felt sobering. I tapped my foot, eager to get out of the car.

Eventually, Grace took exit 225 on the right, keeping left to merge onto East One-hundred-thirty-sixth Avenue. We passed a stucco structure with a sign that read ‘Broomfield’.

“Almost there,” said Grace. “I know just the spot.”

Finally, Grace made a left into a small parking lot bordered by bright green, grassy fields on one end and unkempt trails on the other. “Quail park. I grew up playing soccer here.”

I looked around. I was glad to be there—it certainly yielded better views than the drive had. “It’s pretty.”

Grace popped open the trunk and pulled out a soccer ball and pump. She filled it with air quickly, then gestured for me to carry the ball. We walked over to the open fields, brushing permafrost aside as we squished the grass beneath our feet. Back and forth, we kicked the ball to one another, Grace showing off every now and then by booting the ball over her head and onto her knees, juggling it for ten, maybe twenty bounces before passing it back to me.

“So?” she said. “Did you kill the interview?”

I winced. “Not exactly.”

Grace toed the ball inward, using its momentum to whip the ball onto the flat of her foot. With a touch of force, she tapped the ball into the air and into her hands. “Come on, J. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

I smiled a bit. “It really was though.”

She laughed and dropped the ball to her feet. Passing it back to me, she said, “Ah, whatever. You don’t want to work in Denver anyway. You’re not cut out for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, look at you. You’ve been shivering your ass off since I picked you up, dummy. And I have heated seats!” she said.

“Hey,” I started. “You’re not wrong.”

“Rarely am. Anyhow, how are things with, uh, you know . . .”

“Maddie?” I finished.

“Yes, right, Maddie.”

“She texted me this morning.”

“Oooooh,” said Grace. “How’s Brandon gonna feel about that?”

Ah, right, Brandon. How could I forget?

“Brandon . . . Right. Well, I doubt that it’s a major concern of his at the moment. She left me on read anyway.”

“Oh. Well, it’s her loss anyhow. She’s missing out on a star athlete!” said Grace as she punted the ball, knocking me square in the chest.

“Fucking shit!” I howled.

“You sound like Adam more and more everyday,” she said.

“So dreams do come true.”

“Isn’t it funny,” said Grace, juggling the ball on her quads. “Don’t you feel like certain words belong to certain people?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, don’t you associate certain words with certain people? Like every swear word with Adam, for example, and or maybe, I’m sure there are some you have in mind for Maddie or whoever.”

“You sure you’re not projecting, Grace?” I asked.

This time she threw the ball at me, and it proceeded to hit me right on the head. We kicked around for another hour or so, talking about this or that—how final exams went; our plans for the semester; and Pac-12 Women’s soccer, despite an utter lack of knowledge regarding the sport’s conference on my part. Around five-thirty in the late afternoon, we decided to get something to eat, so Grace drove us to a Vietnamese spot called Golden Bowl Noodle House which she heralded as the greatest phở restaurant on the west coast.

We sat down in blue booth seats across from one another, red and gold walls bordering us on my left. A large, square, green painting depicting an ocean scene lined the wall between us. I ordered the same thing as Grace, the Combo Number One, which consisted of a small rare steak phở, 2 spring rolls, and an iced tea. Grace asked to change hers to a warm tea, which was probably the better move in hindsight. Our drinks arrived first, and we sipped on them slowly. I was hungry—blueberry scones could only provide so much sustenance.

A robed Asian woman, with a slight hunch in her back as she hobbled over, arrived with a tray carrying two bowls of soupy noodles; four translucent wrapped appetizers; and a small dish with bean sprouts, Thai basil, and other add-ons. She bowed slightly and left us to our meals, so I looked over at Grace who had already taken her first bite from a spring roll. I followed her lead, feeling the cool cloak of rice wrappers over fresh shrimp, cilantro, and basil. Taking a bite, my teeth met shrimp with just the right amount of snap, the unexpected tang of hoisin sauce gifting a pleasant surprise.

Grace smacked my hand. “Use the peanut sauce! You gotta appreciate it properly, cuz some people can’t. Did you know that the rate of food allergies is increasing rapid as fuck—especially in developed nations like the US?”

I did as she said, dipping the spring roll into the gloppy, brown sauce. She wasn’t wrong—it was better that way. After swallowing my last bite of the spring rolls, Grace tossed some bean sprouts into my soup and squeezed lime juice over my bowl.

“You know this isn’t my first time eating phở, right?” I said.

Grace hushed me and continued eating. I watched her twirl a handful of noodles into her chopsticks, lifting them to her mouth over a soup spoon. Noisy slurps concluded with sapid bites followed by quick sips of tea. Rinse and repeat.

I opted for a fork, twisting firm noodles around its prongs as best I could, gulping down spoonfuls of savory soup in between steak and noodle bites. I watched the red meat cook to a brownish hue, the hot broth’s steam parting like sea waves under my chin.

“I’ll give it to you,” I said. “It’s good.”

Grace glanced at me, nodded, and continued eating. Finishing promptly, she leaned back into her chair and exhaled heavily.

I rushed to keep up with her, but it took me significantly longer to finish. Sooner or later, the robed woman limped over with the bill. I rose to my feet and met her halfway. I pulled out a Mastercard and slipped it into the folded check before handing it back to her and sitting back down with Grace.

“Real gentleman, aren’t you?”

“It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me today. Besides, you’ve just introduced me to the ‘best phở on the west coast’, right?”

“Suppose that’s true. Okay, you’re right, dinner on you.”

The restaurant owner signaled that I could take back my card, so I walked over, tipped four-and-a-half dollars, tucked away my card, and we left for the car.

Grace’s eyelids were a bit heavy, so I asked her if she wanted me to drive. She handed me her keys and jumped into the passenger seat. After I buckled into the driver seat and turned the key in the ignition, she directed me to make a right out of the parking lot. I drove slowly back to her house, which was only ten or so minutes away, then pulled into her garage. The garage led into a two-story, vinyl sided, upper-middle class home with a comely, green lawn out front.

“Come on. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

I followed her over hardwood floors into the living room, where a tall, white man with square sunglasses over his eyes and a black beanie atop his head shuffled through TV channels with a remote. The lights were off in the room even though the sun had set a little less than an hour prior.

“How are you doing, sir?” I asked.

“Wassup?” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “How are you today, sir?”

“All good.” He took a long draw from an IPA resting on the coffee table in front of him. “Catch y’all. Gracey—you got trash, yea?”

Before Grace could reply, a voice called from the kitchen around the corner, “I got today, hun!”

We nodded in acknowledgment to the man and turned to leave. “Must be your dad?” I asked.

“Yup,” she said. And that was the end of it.

I followed Grace into the kitchen. A woman—her mother, presumably—with a polka dot apron around her neck and a noticeable accent in her voice greeted us warmly. I was surprised by the speed of the woman as she rushed me with a sturdy hug, a tactic she then repeated on her daughter.

“Are you Filipino?” she asked, placing a motherly hand on my shoulder.

“No, ma’am.”

“Ayo,” she said. “No problem. Sleep good, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for letting me stay—”

“Sorry about him, mom,” said Grace. She hit me on the back playfully and the two women burst into laughter in unison. “You’re always welcome, J.”

I smiled, said goodbye, and trailed Grace as she led me up a winding staircase to a small bedroom encapsulated by canary yellow walls laden with rooster prints. The room housed a twin bed and two lamps with cube-ish shades. The bedsheets matched the walls, realistic rooster designs corresponding with the overarching theme of the bedroom.

“Don’t ask,” said Grace. “Night, J. Sleep up.”

I hugged Grace and thanked her. “Night.”

It was still early, only six-thirty or so, so I plopped onto the bed and pulled out my iPhone, intent on watching YouTube videos to pass some time. I chuckled to myself as I admired the chicken print theme of the room.

Clicking my phone to life, I was surprised to find text messages from Maddie that read:

I sighed and put the iPhone down as my heart rate spiked into the mid eighties.

#fiction #newadult #new adult #contemporaryfiction #na #youngadult #ya fiction #yafiction #young adult books #ya books

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 38

AO3 link here

The campus is quiet over spring break, and Sam has resolved to force himself to take advantage.

He’s been asked to fill in at the library - they’re on limited hours and he’s not a regular work-study student, but his dad is basically best friends with Dr. Morris over there, and when they’d decided to do a shifting project while the students were away, he hadn’t exactly had other plans to use as an excuse. So, since he’s here, he’s decided that he won’t leave until he’s settled on something.

Leslie at the reference desk gave him a couple of career advice books and he carries them in his arms out onto Keyser Quad. It was cold yesterday and it’s supposed to be cold tomorrow, but today it’s mid-fifties and sunny. He squints a little coming out from the low light of the library, trying not to let himself get distracted already.

He’d looked at other schools, was accepted at some, and figuring in both his parents’ tuition grants, could have gone to even a good private one without much trouble. But he grew up playing under the desk in his dad’s office on the weekends and doing his homework in the hospital cafeteria with his mom in her scrubs, being the only kid in his class interested in college lacrosse. He was excited to come to Hopkins, to make it even more his own, to stay. His parents had been excited for him, and the school was so well-regarded in so many different areas, that no one had really objected to him coming in undecided. But now here he is, coming up on the end of his sophomore and he has yet to declare a major.

He’s a good student and he’s taken classes he’s liked - a basic level astronomy course as a natural science credit, Introduction to Comparative Politics with one of his dad’s colleagues - but nothing he can even come close to imagining doing for the rest of his life.

Sometimes he wishes that someone would just decide for him, but then he realizes how much he hates the idea, and instead wishes he would just feel it, whatever inside push that made his mom decide that medicine was her thing, that makes his friend Wen describe the life of a struggling filmmaker with some kind of odd, headlong relish. But no matter what he tries on for himself, he can’t make anything fit right.

He’s already flipping open the top book as he walks, skimming down the table of contents, and so he doesn’t notice that he’s brought himself over to the one bench on the vastly open quad that’s actually already occupied.

“You look like you’re trying to make a decision.”

When Sam looks up, the older man sitting next to him already has a smile on his face. But when Sam’s eyes meet his, there’s a slice of a second where the smile shifts to something a bit pained, a bit wary, strangely knowing. The next second, Sam wonders if he’s imagined it; it’s just a nice stranger’s smile again.

“Just trying to decide what I want to do with the rest of my life,” Sam tells him, giving a wide smile of his own, the kind that charms professors, parents on his campus tours, all the people at his grandparents’ church. Somehow this guy doesn’t seem to fall for it.

“That is a big decision,” he says, and it’s the calm observation there, the way he sounds like he’s cracking a conversational door if Sam wants to step through it, even more than the fact that they’ll likely never see each other again, that makes Sam close his book and turn to face him fully.

“Sometimes I think it would be easier,” he says, “if we had a family business. A store or a company or a tradition, ten generations of something that everyone would expect me to go into.” It’s not only the first time he’s said such a thing outside of his own mind before, but the first time he’s allowed himself to even think of it in such specific words. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, shakes his head. “I know it’s selfish, thinking that way. Plenty of folks would give a lot to have my sort of problems - I’m in a great school, my parents are supportive. I can choose practically anything I want.”

“But you aren’t someone else, and it doesn’t make it easier if you don’t know what to choose.” The man stretches long legs in front of him, hands patient in his jacket pockets. The calm understanding hits Sam in a way that nearly makes him want to turn his face.

Instead he asks, “How did you choose your job? Whatever you did.”

“I was a social worker for the state, working in the foster care system. Twenty years in the job. My wife and I adopted all four of our kids, and every time we went through the process, I knew that it would be impossible to bring all those children home with us. But it wore on my mind, thinking of them all, it really did. I stayed home with the kids when they were younger, but after that I went back to school, got my masters, started doing what I could to help all those I couldn’t bring into my own family.”

Telling a saint about my problems, Sam thinks. Smooth.

“It wasn’t as if I had thought of doing anything like that before, but then I ran into the idea and I knew it was the right one.” He shrugs, and for a sudden blink, Sam can imagine him younger.

Sam shrugs back. “Guess nothing like that’s happened to me.”

“Not yet, maybe,” says the man, but Sam shakes his head.

“And what if it doesn’t? I don’t have much time left to get--” He waves a hand around a little. “Inspired, or whatever.”

“Time, hmm?” With a tilt to his head, the man says, “Sounds like you’re putting quite a bit of pressure on yourself to have things figured out now. What if instead, you got things figured out for now?

“Like, for the next few months, or what? Because I have parents who like a little bit of a longer timeframe. And I don’t think they’ll be that impressed by my picking a major and then changing it next semester.”

A laugh. “So let’s go for something a bit more permanent. What are you interested in?”

“That’s pretty much the problem,” Sam says. “I’ve liked plenty of classes, but there’s nothing that really jumps out to me.”

The man shakes his head. “I didn’t necessarily mean classes. You’re thinking narrow.”

“I guess…” Sam runs a thumb over the soft-edged corner of the book in his lap. “I was a camp counselor, and that was cool. And we had to do CPR and first aid training there - I ended up getting EMT certified after that.”

“Really?” says the man, though he doesn’t sound entirely surprised. “Why?”

“I guess I liked the idea of being able to help people,” says Sam, ducking his head for a second. “It made my mom think that I was going to become a doctor like her, though.”

“And you don’t want to be?”

“I don’t think I’m that science-minded, man. I’ve looked at the sample MCAT questions. But it isn’t like there’s a paramedic major here.”

“You know,” says the man thoughtfully, “one of my sons-in-law got a degree in physics, even though he always planned on becoming an electrician. There’s no shame in learning for learning’s sake, if you have the means for it.”

“Bet he didn’t have my parents, though. They’re...They expect something from me. My dad was the first person in his family to go to college, and now he’s got tenure here. My mom worked her ass off - sorry - for years to get where she is. They want that to mean something.”

“I wonder,” the man says, “if you are holding onto a narrow definition of what has meaning. Because hard work, helping people, that seems to me like something that means a lot.”

Sam thinks of his mother coming home worn through and ready to go back tomorrow to help a new round of patients. He thinks of his dad explaining the ways that political science isn’t just theory, how it shapes lives without even being truly recognized. Slowly he says, “Maybe I could talk to them about it. See what they say.”

“I think that sounds like an idea,” says the man, smiling. “I’ve known a lot of parents in my time. I’d hope yours might surprise you - by being more open than you think, or bringing something new to the table.”

It surprises Sam, how much he likes the thought even as it scares him: just sitting down and telling his parents what he’s been thinking, hearing what they have to say. He shakes himself a little, looks at the fresh grass around them. “Thanks for talking that through with me. You’re pretty good at that.”

“I had plenty of people who taught me.” Once again his smile seems almost ready to tip into something else before he rights it. “And communication like that only works with someone who’s willing to give back from their end. So thank you.”

“What are you doing on campus, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My wife is giving a lecture soon. I’m just a little early for it. Thought I’d enjoy the weather while it’s here.” He checks his watch, stretches himself into standing. “But it looks like it’s time for me to head over.”

“It was good to meet you,” says Sam, extending a hand. “I’m Sam Wilson, by the way.”

The man takes his hand, shakes it, but doesn’t say anything for a second. Finally, hand still clasped firmly around Sam’s, he says, “Steve. And believe me, Sam, it was very good to meet you.”

More chapters here

#things left behind fic #Steve Rogers #Sam Wilson #pretty short this week sorry

[helloprettybb]

kiss the girl

Yes, this fic is based off the song Kiss the Girl from The Little Mermaid. I think it’s perfect for a fluffy Spencer x reader fic. Also I’m 90% sure I already used this gif, but whatever.

Warning: a curse word or two

Word count: 2.1k

There you see her

Sitting there across the way

Spencer did not want to go to the club. Spencer did want to go home and watch Doctor Who and reread War and Peace. Yet he knew the team would not take no for an answer, so he begrudgingly joined them at the club. While scouting for a secluded area where he could avoid the crowd, he found you. Unlike every other adult, who was on the spectrum of buzzed to black-out drunk, you looked serene compared to the mob. Something about the sober look on your face or your intelligent eyes, drew Spencer to you and before he could stop his feet, he was moving towards you.

“Hey,” Spencer clears his throat and continues, “Can I, um sit here?” He gestures to the empty seat next to you. Nodding, you give a polite smile and continued to gaze into the crowd. “My name’s Dr. Spencer Reid. What’s yours?” he asks a little awkwardly.

“Y/n Y/ln,” you reply kindly, trying not to seem too standoffish. Although the stranger was rather handsome and seemingly polite, you weren’t here to talk to people. You didn’t even want to drink, but your friend forced a beer into your hands. You only gave a small sip to please her so she could run off and grind with some gross asshole who probably wouldn’t give her the time of day if not for his high blood alcohol content.

She don't got a lot to say

But there's something about her

Spencer could tell she wasn’t looking for a conversation, but he wanted to work on his conversational skills with strangers and he wanted to try with someone who might have something in common with him. “This place isn’t really my thing.” He comments honestly.

You wanted to end this before it began, but he seemed like he meant well so you decided to throw him a bone, “Me neither.” you agree. Elaborating you add, “I’m only here because my coworkers wanted to ‘celebrate the weekend,” You chuckle, “They practically dragged me out here then everyone separated.”

Spencer turns to you and responds, “My coworkers forced me here too. I’d rather be home watching Doctor Who.”

“Doctor Who?” you ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Spencer admits, “You probably think it’s sad that I’d rather watch Doctor Who than be here.” 

“No, I was just wondering like what’s it about? Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey...stuff?” you smile. At first, Spencer seems confused, then he realized what you said and his face lights up.

“You watch Doctor Who?” he asks surprisedly.

“Of course! It’s the best British science-fiction show on!” you laugh happily.

And you don't know why

But you're dying to try

You wanna kiss the girl

Spencer hasn’t talked to anyone with an obsession for Doctor Who in a while. For once, someone didn’t ridicule him for something he liked. Maybe it was the half a beer or the intoxicating nature of the club, but he was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss you, but he told himself that was irrational.

Yes, you want her

Look at her, you know you do

You and Spencer started with Doctor Who but eventually got to magic.

“Wait, you do magic?” you ask with a delightful chuckle. 

“Yes, magic!” Spencer replies his voice cracking which only helped his charming dorkiness.

Even without the influence of alcohol, you were starting to loosen up around him. “Show me a magic trick then.” you challenge him with a smirk. Spencer smiles back and searches his pockets. After fishing through his pockets, he places a seemingly ordinary pen and his business card.

He picks up the pen and the card and tells you, “This is a normal card” He taps the card with his pen. “Now,” He pokes the pen through the card, “Don’t get...” Spence slides the pen under his number, “Distracted.” he pulls the pen out of the card to reveal an intact card. 

You laugh and flirt, “If I figure out how you did the trick, do I get the card?”

It's possible she wants you 

Spencer grins, “You can try.”

Given the word, you start, “The pen is magnetic.” You look into his eyes, which reveal nothing so you continue, “When you forced the pen through, you could move it along the card because of the magnet between the tip and pen.” Without a word, Spencer hands you the card and you happily take it. “The only thing I don’t understand is why you carry the pen around.” you jest.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Spencer replies jokingly.

There's one way to ask her

“I’m sorry if this is too forward, but do you want to go to my apartment?” Although you are becoming quite comfortable with this man, who you’ve only met a couple of hours ago, you were still hesitant since you knew what happens when women went to a stranger’s apartment. Seemingly knowing your thought process he suggests, “We can watch Doctor Who.” Seeing the candidness on his face, you smile and nod before following him out of the club.

Neither of you drove to the club, Spencer took the train and you were driven by a friend, so to get to Spencer’s apartment, you walk through the park. You had to admit, the late, dreamy environment set a romantic mood as you and Spencer strolled through the park, occasionally being surrounded in darkness when walking in between lights. You were still a little uneasy about going to a stranger’s apartment, even if the stranger is dorky and admittedly attractive.

It don't take a word

Not a single word

Go on and kiss the girl

Both you and Spencer were subconsciously swinging your arms, which caused some delightfully awkward situations. “S’ry,” Spencer apologizes after your fingers brush against each other.

“It’s okay,” you laugh. After a couple moments of silence, you ask, “What do you do for a living?”

“Oh, I’m an FBI agent,” Spencer replies casually.

“An FBI agent?” you ask surprisedly with a happy laugh.

“What’s so surprising about that?” he questions with another adorable voice crack.

“It’s just that you look more like a college professor than someone who would kick down doors and shoot a gun,” you reply honestly.

“Well, It’s usually my colleague, Morgan’s job to kick down doors. I also failed my gun qualification and needed the physical requirements waived.” Spencer confesses candidly.

“Well, if I’m ever in trouble, tell your friend Morgan so he can kick down the door and save me,” you joke. You and Spencer enter his apartment building. “But didn’t you consider any other career?” you ask curiously as you step into the elevator. “Someone as smart as you could do anything. Why the FBI?”

Spencer thinks for a moment and responds, “The simple answer is that I knew from a young age that I wanted to become a profiler. The only place I could that is the BAU which is a part of the FBI.” He elaborates, “The more complex answer is that I wanted to look into the minds of criminals. I wanted to understand how people could do such horrible things.”

You process his answer and admit, “Wow. That’s a very complex answer.”

You arrive at his apartment door and he chuckles, “I did warn you.” Spencer fishes for his keys and subconsciously steps closer to you. You and Spencer were less than a foot apart. For a second, you thought he would kiss you, but instead, he unlocks the door. He opens it and lets you go in first.

My oh my

Look like the boy too shy

Ain't gonna kiss the girl

His apartment looked just how you imagined. Bookshelves were scattered across the walls. Some were drilled on while others attached to the floor. The apartment looked like an organized mess, which seemed to fit Spencer’s personality. He strolled over to his T.V. and opened the cabinet underneath which revealed C.Ds for all the seasons of Doctor Who. “Should we start from the beginning?” Spencer asks. You smile back and nod happily. After he pops in the first C.D, he joins you on the couch across from the television. In the beginning, you kept a respectful distance from Spencer, but as the episodes continued, you gravitated slowly toward him. In the end, you were right next to him, almost leaning on him. You begrudgingly admitted to yourself that you enjoyed this little moment with Spencer, but something made you instinctively check your phone.

“It’s late. I should probably go,” you speak up. You got up and started toward the door.

Ain't that sad?

Ain't it a shame? Too bad

He gonna miss the girl

“Do you want to stay?” Spencer impulsively asked. He continues, “I- I mean it’s late and in 2013, drowsy driving was responsible for 72,000 crashes, 44,000 injuries, and 800 deaths. However, these numbers are underestimated and up to 6,000 fatal crashes each year may be caused by drowsy drivers. An estimated 1 in 25 adult drivers report having fallen asleep while driving in-”

“Okay, okay.” you laugh. “I’ll stay.”

Now's your moment

Boy, you better do it soon

No time will be better

“Do you want something more, um comfortable?” he asks a little awkwardly.

“Sure.” you laugh. He leaves the room and a couple minutes later, comes back with a sweatshirt and pajama pants. 

“I don’t think these will fit you, but these are the smallest clothes I have.” Spencer states. 

“It’s fine.” you chuckle. “Where’s your bathroom?” He points to it and you walk away. You come back and to Spencer’s surprise, you’re only wearing the sweatshirt. You see Spencer’s slightly shocked face and explain jokingly, “The pants were too big and this sweatshirt is practically a dress.” Spencer sets the pants down on the couch.

“I haven’t really asked anything about you,” Spencer states plainly.

“What do you want to know?” you ask matter-of-factly, sitting next to him on the couch.

“Well, uh,” he thinks for a moment, “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a doctor,” you reply.

“Why a doctor?” he questions.

“The literal answer,” you start causing both of you to laugh, “Is because I scored high enough on my MCATS and breezed through med school. But my complex answer is because I want to do good in a world surrounded by bad.” Spencer chuckles lightly which causes you to follow up with, “I know, it sounds like a cheesy answer.”

“No, I think that’s the perfect answer.” Spencer grins causing you to smile back.

Don't be scared

You got the mood prepared

Go on and kiss the girl

You and Spencer were inches apart. Subconsciously, you bite your lip which only makes Spencer want you more. Right as your lips were about to connect, Spencer’ s phone goes off. You promptly break apart as Spencer fishes for the phone. “Hello?” he asks. You hear laughing from the other end and Spencer hangs up. 

“Who was that?” you ask curiously.

“Just someone from work. She was drunk though, so I hung up.” Spencer shrugs with a smile.

Don't stop now

Don't try to hide it

How you want to kiss the girl

You clear your throat and state, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Spencer replies awkwardly, “I’ll get you a pillow and blanket.” Spencer enters his room and closes the door behind him. “Is it wrong to want to kiss someone so badly?” he thinks to himself. A part of him wished he turned off his phone and proceeded to kiss you. 

You got to kiss the girl

You've got to kiss the girl

You wanna kiss the girl

You've gotta kiss the girl

Trying to ignore his inner battle between logic and instinct, Spencer opens the door to hand you the pillow and blankets. “Here,” he says.

“Thanks,” you reply politely. He looks into your eyes and sees disappointment. He reads your body language and senses you expected something and were let down. Maybe it’s his emotions or feelings clouding his judgment, but he knew what he had to do.

“I’m sorry if this is too forward, but I just have to do this,” he confesses.

You start, “What is it, Spence-” Before you could finish, he closes the gap between you, causing you to drop the pillows and blankets between you. Feeling the intensity between you and him, you pull him closer and he rests his hands on your cheeks.

You pull apart, still inches apart, “Wow.”

“Wow.” he chuckles. “Your lips taste amazing.” You laugh and he pulls you into another kiss.

Kiss the girl

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagines #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction

[justalittlebluetiefling]

Chapter 50: Sometimes I Can’t See Myself

Rating: T Fandom: The 100 Pairing: Bellamy x Clarke Chapter: 50/68 Word Count: 2636 Words

Chapter Summary: The one where Clarke makes an unpleasant discovery.

A/N: Okay, damn, this was literally the hardest chapter to write. I’m still not 100% happy with it, but I cut it in half so I could at least get an update in. No cliffhanger, I swear. Anyway, I can’t wait to be done with the next chapter. It shouldn’t take me as long to get the next update out, at least. And then this disastrous portion will be behind us. Sorry for the lack of Bellamy here. He’s all over the next one, I promise.

Also on AO3;  Start from the beginning on AO3

The first day Clarke didn’t hear from Lexa, she wanted to assume she was busy. It was easier to assume that she was busy than to think that she was being ignored.

The second day, she was angry.

The third day, she was a little worried. She was tempted to ask Lincoln if he knew what was going on, but she didn’t want to put him in the middle of things. Instead, she decided to pretend that there wasn’t anything wrong.

On the fourth night, she cried herself to sleep and wondered what could be so wrong with her that someone would just disappear without saying anything.

The fifth day, Monty bought her a mocha with extra whip and caramel drizzle between classes. When he handed it over, he didn’t even tease her about the grotesque amount of sugar in her drink. It was clear that she wasn’t doing a a great job at fooling her friends.

She skipped her classes on day six, because she had slept so poorly the night before.

By the time a week had gone by, Clarke discovered that anger almost functioned as well as caffeine to get her through the day. If she let herself be angry, it gave her a little boost. Not enough to make it through the day, but enough to make a decision. She was done texting, done calling, done moping. She was just angry. Anger is what drove her to Lexa’s apartment to pound on the door until she got an answer.

No one answered, so she sat down on the floor to wait. While she waited, she pulled out her study guide for the MCATs to run over some more questions. The test was in three weeks and Clarke’s current stress levels hadn’t been great for her study schedule. It was a way to pass time until Lexa got home, but time still dragged.

And dragged.

It had been almost an hour when she heard Lexa’s voice coming up the stairs in the form of a hushed argument. Sudden, overwhelming panic made Clarke feel sick to her stomach as Lexa appeared at the top of the stairs, flattened cardboard boxes tucked under her arm. Lexa stopped in her tracks at the sight of Clarke and a startled Lincoln almost slammed into her back.

Clarke took a deep breath and clenched her fists so tight her nails dug into her palms. She barely recognized her own voice through the strain. “We need to talk.”

To her credit, Lexa looked mildly panicked for about thirty seconds. Of course, one of her frustrating qualities was the handle she had on her emotions, but Clarke felt a little victorious that it appeared to take an effort to get them under control. “I was planning on calling you in a couple days to talk.”

Lincoln scoffed, startling Clarke and Lexa both. “Well, she’s here now, so you can fucking talk.” He took the boxes from Lexa and let himself into her apartment. On his way in, he shot Clarke an apologetic look. She wondered how long he had known about whatever was going on. She wondered what they had been arguing about on their walk up the stairs.

The silence stretched painfully after he was gone. Lexa maintained eye contact, but her jaw was set.

Clarke broke first. “What the fuck are the boxes for?”

“I got the opportunity to live in Florence next year. My advisor arranged it so I can finish the year there. I couldn’t turn it down.”

“You couldn’t… couldn’t turn it down?” It was hard not to choke on her words. Any thought of standing to try to be on more even ground vanished half-formed. Clarke was sure she couldn’t stand if she needed to.  “So you decided to what? Pack up and leave without saying goodbye?”

“I told you, I was going to call you in a couple of days.”

“Were you planning on calling while the plane was taxing down the runway? ‘Oh, hey, Clarke. On my way to Rome. Peace?’”

Lexa had the decency to look ashamed, but her tone was still harsh. “Don’t be like that, Clarke.”

“Be like what? Pissed off that my girlfriend is apparently moving halfway around the world without telling me? Of fucking course I’m going to be like this. What did you expect?”

Lexa sighed and sat down on the floor, motioning to the ground next to her. Clarke glared and crossed her arms. No way was she going to sit next to her and let Lexa try to talk her way out of it. It felt like she had a better chance at staying strong if she stood, so she finally forced herself up. When Lexa realized Clarke wasn’t going to move, she sighed again and leaned back.

“How would you have preferred I handle this?”

“You could have called or come over or anything! We could have sat down and talked this out like adults.”

“Should we be sitting to talk this out like adults? Because you’re standing now.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Just tell me how long you’ve known about this.”

“I’ve known about the opportunity since before we started dating.”

“Did you apply for it right away?”

“No. I almost missed the deadline, actually. I didn’t want to put the strain on a new relationship.”

“And this isn’t strain on a ‘new’ relationship?!” She used air quotes, because their relationship wasn’t new. Not anymore.

Lexa shrugged. “I decided that I needed to look out for myself. I was being weak by trying to factor you into my decisions this early in the relationship. Especially when you’re not ready to make such a strong commitment.”

Clarke’s jaw dropped. It was impossible to fully absorb what Lexa said. “I don’t… what are you talking about? When did I ever give you the impression that I wasn’t willing to commit to you? You didn’t even give me a chance to fix whatever you think is wrong.”

“I gave you plenty of chances. I told you what I needed to feel secure in our relationship and you blatantly disregarded it multiple times.”

The ‘Bellamy’ of it all hit her like a ton of bricks. “Please tell me you’re not moving to a different continent to punish me because you don’t like my best friend.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I’d word it that way.”

Clarke took a step back into the wall behind her, shocked at how far Lexa was going to try to prove a point. “Well, then how would you word it?”

Lexa stood, walked over to her, and ran her thumb along Clarke’s cheek. She smiled sadly. “I can be second or third or fourth place behind school or work or maybe even family, but I can’t be behind him. It’s not fair to me. It’s not fair to either of you.”

They stood there in silence for a moment as Clarke once again attempted to absorb what was happening. She didn’t know if she should push Lexa’s hand away or try to beg, because both seemed valid to her in the moment. Lexa had never been patient, though.

“I need to keep packing, Clarke. You can stay, but it would probably be better if you go.”

Clarke frowned and took a few steps toward the stairs before turning back. Lexa was still watching her. “We could have tried long distance, you know. I thought you were worth it.”

“It wouldn’t have worked.”

“Why?”

“If you don’t understand now, I hope you do someday.” Lexa went inside her apartment and didn’t look back.

Lincoln 2:32pm Lexa’s moving to Italy.

Octavia 2:33pm EXCUSE ME WHAT?

Lincoln 2:35pm I went to her place today to talk to her and ended up taking her to the store for more boxes. She’s moving to Italy for her first year of grad school.

Octavia 2:37pm Clarke hasn’t mentioned this to me at all What the hell?

Lincoln 2:38pm Pretty sure Clarke didn’t know. When we got back with the boxes, Clarke was sitting outside her apartment. L’s trying to hide the fact that she’s crying while she boxes up her books. I think she just broke up with Clarke.

Octavia 2:41pm Hey, I love you, but maybe fucking lead with that next time.

Lincoln 2:42pm Noted. Tell me how she’s doing when you get home, okay? By the time I got out there, she was already gone.

Octavia 2:43pm I’ll be home in 20 I’ll text you as soon as I can

By the time Octavia got home, Clarke was basically a pile of blankets on the couch. The pile didn’t even move when the door shut, but O could see Clarke’s toes sticking out and what appeared to be an eyehole at the other end.

“You’re being really nice and what I’m about to say is going to make you hate me.”

“Okay, then I’ll just open the box for you.”

Octavia didn’t need to look at the TV to recognize Parks and Rec. She set her bag on the ground and pulled off her jazz shoes before she called across the room. “Why are you starting at season four?” She thought she did a great job at sounding casual.

“I just needed to, okay?” Clarke’s voice was muffled and a little broken.

“Is it okay if I watch with you?”

“If you want. I thought you had practice tonight.”

Octavia was supposed to go to practice, but she hardly ever skipped. This was definitely an emergency and she didn’t want to leave Clarke alone. She walked over to the couch and stood next to Clarke’s head. “I’m not feeling too great,” she lied. “I think I’m going to stay home.”

The blankets shifted, the episode paused, and Clarke poked her head out to study Octavia. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she had stern doctor face on. “Do you have a fever? I can go get you some soup. Do you want Mucinex? Nyquil? Tums?”

“No, no, no.” Octavia climbed onto the couch and hugged Clarke as best as she could through the blankets. “I’m mostly worried you’re not feeling well. You’re usually studying your face off right now, not binging TV. Not that I’m complaining. I want to hang out, just in case.”

“Oh. Well, you don’t need to.”

Octavia rolled her eyes and started searching through the blankets. “Where’s the controller? You really think I’m going to practice when Ben and Leslie are breaking up? You know I can’t see this episode without binging straight through to episode eight. Maybe episode nine.”

Clarke muttered something under her breath about Lincoln, but O didn’t hear enough and just stared at the TV expectantly. The episode eventually started up again and Clarke leaned her head against Octavia’s shoulder.

Octavia 4:45pm do you know why they broke up? clarke has confirmed the event but won’t talk about the circumstances i can’t tell if she’s more mad or sad

Lincoln 4:57pm Is she okay? Lexa isn’t being very forthcoming.

Octavia 5:00pm well the whole thing is fucked up i don’t know if i even care why i mean i do because clarke’s a badass and lexa’s an idiot 5:05pm sorry i mean i do mean that but i know she’s your friend

Lincoln 5:07pm Don’t worry about it. I’m fucking pissed too. Lexa’s been hurt a lot though. I don’t think she was fully over her last breakup.

Octavia 5:09pm Well that’s bullshit why would she start a new relationship? clarke is way better than a rebound

Lincoln 5:15pm I know. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have introduced them.

Octavia 5:17pm you can’t blame yourself for this blame your bff she’s an adult and knew what she was doing

Lincoln 5:18pm You didn’t answer my question, by the way. Is Clarke okay?

Octavia 5:21pm I don’t really know. we’re watching season 4 parks and rec she’s not crying but she’s staring at the screen and won’t talk anymore

Lincoln 7:14pm I have a theory about the breakup. But you can’t freak out if I tell you.

Octavia 7:16pm You know I can’t promise that.

Lincoln 7:17pm Well at least promise that you won’t jump all over Clarke about it.

Octavia 7:18pm Fuck the things i do for love this is bullshit tell me

Lincoln 7:20pm Okay, so you know they’ve been fighting.

Octavia 7:21pm duh

Lincoln 7:23pm Not helpful. I’m rolling my eyes at you. What was always the main factor in their fights?

Octavia 7:26pm no way no just no that’s the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard

Lincoln 7:29pm You really think it’s that farfetched? Lexa’s pretty insecure. Why would it be weird for her to be jealous of Bellamy?

Octavia 7:31pm okay you know i used to think there was something there i thought it for a long time but clarke started dating lexa and bell started dating gina who is amazing btw i was wrong it’s okay to be wrong sometimes it’s the way odds work despite what you say i am not perfect all the time

Lincoln 7:34pm Stop making me laugh. It’s pissing Lexa off. But you know I used to be jealous of Clarke, right?

Octavia 7:35pm wow okay even through texts you’re the worst liar you two immediately bonded

Lincoln 7:38pm Not true. I liked her, yeah. She was the most welcoming out of everyone. But she’s your best friend. She still knows things about you that I don’t. It’s the same thing. And you’re not the only one who thought something was there. Their friendship has always seemed a little romantic. Raven and Jasper never shut up about it. Especially when he was sleeping over all the time. He was still sleeping there a couple nights a week when she started dating Lexa. He didn’t stop until after she introduced Lexa to everyone. It’s why they never got along. Side note, can you tell them to remove me from the fucking group text?

Octavia 7:45pm still don’t buy it we knew he was still there they weren’t fucking and lexa never knew he was sleeping over, did she? also i asked them to a couple times jasper says no because he wants you to feel included

Lincoln 7:48pm I mentioned it to her once. Way before they met. I don’t know if she ever connected the dots. But she’s not stupid. I’d be surprised if she didn’t. Wait… can’t you remove me from the group? You’re the one who made it.

Octavia 7:50pm i don’t know what you’re talking about at least jasper’s been quieter since they started dating people can’t we call it a victory? and if you don’t know if she knew bell was sleeping over i still don’t buy it there were other reasons for them to break up because i love you i refuse to extrapolate

Lincoln 7:52pm Thanks, I think?

Octavia 9:48pm Wow. I honestly can’t believe Lexa dumped Clarke because she’s jealous of my stupid brother

Lincoln 9:50pm What changed your mind?

Octavia 9:51pm Clarke just told me on her own, I promise i didn’t even ask they’ve literally been fighting about him for three months are you still at her place?

Lincoln 9:54pm I’m getting ready to go home. Why? Want me to call you?

Octavia 9:55pm No. I want you to stab her.

Lincoln 9:55pm You’re terrifying sometimes.

Octavia 9:56pm All the time. And come on. Just a little bit?

Lincoln 9:57pm No stabbing. How do you stab someone just a little bit?

Octavia 9:58pm Ugh, you’re no fun. I just want to defend Clarke’s honor.

Lincoln 9:59pm All over it babe. I promise. WITHOUT STABBING.

#bellarke fanfiction #bellarke #modern au #sometimes i can't see myself #my work #erin writes

[dawnover-dusk]

Problem (Jinyoung)

genre: med school/NY!au, friendship, optional romance in epilogue

word count: 1,566

summary: this was based off of Carly Rae Jepsens’s “Boy Problems”

series: i used to be a got7 stan until they finally found their music sound and i didn’t like it lol

Future (Yugyeom) | Problem (Jinyoung) | Falling Slow (Youngjae)

“Jinyoung, the last time I checked, we were medical students, not freshmen in high school,” you said exasperatedly into the phone.

You stared at the people walking through Bryant Park from your vantage point on an armchair, which you had turned to face the window. Men and women in business casual streamed out of the subway station and onto the concrete, juggling phones and purses and coffee cups as they all moved forward with purpose. You idly wondered if anyone would get hurt if you hurled your Pharmacology textbook out of the window, but the windows on the 9th floor student lounge were not made to provide fresh air, only a view. Also, you were sure that you would be breaking the Hippocratic Oath, and it was too early in your fledgling path for you to become jaded enough for that.

“I just don’t know where we stand anymore,” Jinyoung’s voice continued, ignoring your little quip. In these moments, you often left your phone on speaker and just let him vent, with some noncommittal “hms” and “yeahs” to pretend that you were listening. You were flattered that he felt close enough to you to talk about his problems, much less his romantic life, but you’ve had this conversation too many times already. 

“Hey Jinyoung,” you interrupted, “A female patient presents with a creatinine clearance rate of 132 mL/kg, urine osmolality of 1650 mOsmol/kg, and hypokalemia.  The most likely cause of this patient’s condition is what class of drug?”

“A loop diuretic. Furosemide. Ethacrynic acid. What do you think I should do?”

“I think that you should come to the lounge and help me with pharmacology, as you seem to get questions right even when dealing with all your girl problems.”

A sharp intake of breath. A groan. “You make it seem so trivial.”

Silence. You bit back the most logical retort of, “Well, yes, it is.” More silence. Did he hang up?

“Just come to my apartment, I have take-out and flashcards.”

You silently pumped your fist in the air as you cleaned up your papers and gathered your things.

Ten minutes later, you found yourself in front of Jinyoung’s apartment building, finger poised to buzz the intercom. The front door of the complex opened and to your surprise, you were face to face with none other than Yerin, the object of Jinyoung’s affections. She greeted you shyly and held the door open for you. Dressed in an oversized sweater and clutching a pathology textbook against her chest, you couldn’t help but greet her fondly. 

“Do you have a pathology exam coming soon?” you asked, pointing to the textbook. She played with the strap of her messenger bag as she nodded, flashing a bunch of papers that she had sandwiched between the pages of the textbook.

“Is Step 1 preparation going okay?” she asked in return. Her voice was quiet and calm and you replied with your hatred of pharmacology while expressing jealously about how it came so naturally to Jinyoung. Upon hearing his name, she laughed nervously and agreed with your high-spirited rambling.

“Well, it was super nice to see you, Yerin! I won’t keep you for too long. Just let me know if you need help with path; Dr. Lore loves me,” you grinned proudly. 

With that, you climbed the stairs to Jinyoung’s apartment while thinking about all the things that he had told you about Yerin. As one of the first year students, you thought that she was quite humble, unlike many of her classmates who had come in with elitist and entitled attitudes. Your interactions with her were few, but she was at the top of her year while working part-time. You couldn’t imagine her as someone who would lead another person on. 

You fished the copy of the key that Jinyoung gave you from your backpack and entered the apartment to see him sprawled out on the floor of the living room, papers spread around him. The apartment complex was popular because it was so close to the medical college, but due to financial reasons, you stayed with your parents back in Astoria, which was an hour’s commute by subway. However, Jinyoung decided that you spent the nights often enough to warrant giving you your own key, and now you were pseudo-roommates; you ended up paying for utilities and groceries. 

“I ran into Yerin downstairs,” you began, placing your bag on the floor next to the small kitchen table. “I didn’t know she lived here.”

Jinyoung turned and emphatically pointed at you with what looked like a crude drawing of the bones of the hand. “That’s why it’s so hard! I see her practically every day.”

You rolled your eyes at him as you opened the refrigerator for a drink. He took the opportunity to continue where he had left off from on the phone. “She seemed to enjoy the dates that I planned, but then she goes and ignores all my texts when I accidentally introduced her to someone as my girlfriend.”

You sat down next to him on the floor, popping the tab of the energy drink and grabbing a pile of flashcards. You regretted bringing it up again, but this time, you remarked, “She is just a first year. Maybe she doesn’t feel comfortable with a relationship at this point? She seems super into academics and stuff so I would understand if she wanted to prioritize that first.”

“I just wish that I could have this conversation with her without her being all stoic and quiet.”

“Jinyoung, you can’t expect her to change for you. You said that you liked her because she was quiet in the first place. You have two options: either give her some space or keep trying to talk to her. One of them is the logical choice. Also, you are getting super annoying.”

Grumbling and conceding defeat, he took the flashcards from your hands as he began to quiz you about the mechanisms of action for various classes of drugs.

“So…I think I broke it off,” the text read. You raised your eyebrow as you wondered if you could break off something that was never officially a thing, but you decided to spare yourself the minutes that it would take Jinyoung to explain this concept to you.

“I’m sorry, how are you feeling?” you replied. You were snuggled in a cocoon of blankets on the sofa in Jinyoung’s apartment, a USMLE book on your lap. You half-heartedly read the practice question over again when your phone vibrated. 

“Weirdly, I don’t really care anymore. I’ve got worse problems, like getting you to pass the pharm section of the Boards :P”

“Aw, I’m honored.”

“I’ve got fried chicken. ETA 5 minutes. You better have finished that practice section.”

You and Jinyoung stood next to each other as you stared at the Prometric center, resigned to your fate. You were a bundle of nerves, your heart pounding as you thought of the eight-hour exam that was about to occur. You took the MCAT, you tried to reason with yourself. This is only two hours more.

Sensing your fear, Jinyoung intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing gently in reassurance. Pulling you into the the building, he quietly wished you good luck before you had to go separate ways to check in and be seated at your respective computers.

Eight hours later, you shuffled out of the examination room and threw yourself into the seat next to Jinyoung. You lazily rested your head against his shoulder as you mumbled, “That sucked. Also, screw you for finishing early.”

He chuckled softly as he got up from the waiting room chair, pulling you up along with him. “Let’s go get some food,” he cheered, “We’re done!”

You bounced excitedly out of the building and onto the street as a wave of giddiness washed over you. Indeed, the first part of the Boards was behind you, and you had a summer vacation to look forward to. Skipping in the direction of Koreatown, you shouted behind your shoulder, “You’re treating!”

Jinyoung smiled as he watched your retreating figure amongst the sunset, the golden hour peeking through skyscrapers and tinting the city with a glowing warmth. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he ran after you.

On the day that he sent you that text, he had realized that (1) you always managed to come to the correct solution and (2) no one could compare with his best friend.

Bonus Epilogue:

You were all smiles at the white coat ceremony, still awed by the novelty of how fitted your coat was and how it now brushed the sides of your knees. Jinyoung put an arm around your shoulder as you took photo after photo with your classmates. Fiddling with the ring on your left hand, you felt comforted by the familiar weight on your shoulders and the atmosphere of excitement in the room.

“Four more years, huh?” he whispered, taking the chance to ruffle your hair.

“More like five,” you snorted as he playfully shook his head in mock disbelief. 

“Tell me why you want to do forensic pathology again?”

“Tell me why you want to do pediatric oncology,” you retorted. “Plus, I have way less chance of a malpractice suit,” you winked.

He responded by enveloping your hand with his, the band of his matching ring cool against your warm skin.

#got7 scenarios #jinyoung scenarios #got7 #jinyoung #got7 imagines #jinyoung imagines #jr scenarios #jr imagines #got7 jr #park jinyoung

[ecotone99]

[RF] Arriving at Empty

Arriving at Empty

Sometimes clarity comes into your life abruptly and inconveniently. As for Erica Sharp, she’d spent two years of her life waiting for that moment of divine intervention. A recent college graduate from the University of Chicago, she worked hard to get everything in life she ever desired. At 22 years old she’d double majored in Biology and Chemistry, earning Suma Cum Laude Honors as one of the top students in her graduating class.

Both the student, and socialite Erica garnered a reputation as the total package. Spending her time wisely between her sorority, pre-med clubs, track, and a family who lived only a few hours away in Elgin. Standing at 5”6 , she ran the 300 meter hurdles as a preferred walk on. The boys around campus would gaze at her gazelle like legs as she moved around campus, the muscles in her legs protruding finely in her short shorts.

“I’m going to take this year off Mom.” Erica announced as they pulled into the driveway of their midsize home.

“All right sweetheart, whatever you want” Erica’s Mom replied reassuringly.

Unpacking the car quickly, they carried everything in within 10 minutes. In the weeks leading up to graduation Erica either donated or sold the things she wouldn’t need in the next phase of her life. Like the matching dresser, nightstand, and matching bed frame from Ikea. Passing them down to a sorority sister. Or the two foot bong that she had purchased during her last semester in school. Now in the hands of friend of a friend who offered her $20 bucks. Part of her wished she would have kept some piece of college with her, though mostly all that remained were clothes, and a collection of books in the sciences.

Laying on her bed, Erica dove into instagram scrolling through pictures of the last few months in college. Clicking into the profiles of friends, many of whom were moving to towns out of state or starting a new career. She felt grateful to not be in their boats. The original plan of taking the MCAT and going to medical school, was now far removed.

Receiving a message from her best friend Samantha Gilcrest, she opened up to see a picture of a thick finance book. Samantha was studying for her CFA, new corporate job. The two were best friends for most of college. During their sophomore year Erica and Samantha lived the most promiscuous semester together. Running around fraternities, it was during the off season for track, when Erica for the first time in her life let down all of her boundaries. Waking up in Jake Lylar’s bed after a homecoming party, was till that point in her life, the slooziest thing she’d ever done.

Seeing that Samantha was active online, Erica took a selfie attempting to block out the floral sheets on her bedspread. The same ones she’d had since high school.

“I miss you!”

Seconds later Samantha responded.

“Trip to AZ in the near future? :D”

“Yes, soon!”

(2 years go by.)

Erica woke up to the sound of her alarm, the same one she’d been hearing since college. It reminded her of the sirens from that old “Pearl Harbor” movie with Ben Affleck and Josh Hartnet. Pressing snooze, she knew she had at least 2 more alarms until she really needed to get out of bed.

Her flight to Arizona didn’t take off until 2:05pm.

By the time Erica had gotten out of the shower, she realized she was running late, again. Time seemed to move quicker than expected these days. In an hour and a half they would start boarding her plane. Elgin was already a 45 minute drive from the airport.

“Mom! Are you ready to leave in 15 minutes?” she yelled out across their family home.

Her Mom did not answer her, she was busy on the phone with Erica’s Dad.

“I’m just worried. She hasn’t even begun studying or preparing for medical school. Her test is in 3 months and now she’s running away to Arizona with her girlfriends.”

“Its all right sweetheart, Erica has a good head on her shoulders. I wouldn’t bring this up before her trip out.”

“She’s not a little girl anymore, she’s 25 now Bill.”

“Be patient, everything will be all right.”

“I hope so.”

Erica made it to the kitchen with her towel wrapped around her like a burrito, grabbing a piece of toast and cup of coffee. She left wet footprints on the floor which her mother noticed and began cleaning up with a paper towel.

“We’ve got to hit the road Erica, we don’t want you to miss your flight!”

“Coming Mom!”

Erica escalated down the stairs causing a earthquake like experience for everyone in the house. Entering the kitchen her hair still wet, she was dressed in jogger pants, an adidas t-shirt, and sneakers. Studying her momentarily, her Mom thought how she hardly looked the part of a Pre-Med student. Attached to her roller suitcase was the teddy bear her mother had gifted her on graduation.

“Still with that teddy bear huh?”

“You got it for me. Whats your problem?”

“Oh just poking a little fun, thats all”

“Ugh. Can we go already.”

The drive to the airport ended up being much quicker than they anticipated. Part of that was Erica’s mothers speeding, caused by the tension in the car. Erica asked her mother for a little extra cash which seemed odd, considering Erica worked three jobs.

Erica’s mother wondered what it was Erica did with all her money? Handing Erica a hundred dollar bill, she remembered what her husband had said about waiting till after the weekend.

In truth, Erica didn’t do anything beguiling with her funds. Her years of smoking weed had stopped as soon as she entered the real world. A few experiences of low level panic attacks helped alleviate the urge to revisit that habit. Instead she enjoyed spending her money shopping for material items such as clothes, jewelry, make up, hair and skin products at the most popular stores online, which just happen to be the most expensive.

As Erica pulled into the departures terminal, she hugged and kissed her mom good bye before strutting through the airport to the priority security check. Her parents had assisted with her ticket too, an expense paid with the expectation of reimbursement one day. Waiting momentarily in line behind a handicap woman with her dog, Erica opened up her instagram and scrolled through pictures of her best friend Samantha and the life she had created for herself in Arizona.

Samantha now worked in a leadership position, and had a very flashy lifestyle. Elaborate dinners, weekends spent in the mountains, nights out at the clubs in Scottsdale, she really seemed to have everything going on. Even her new boyfriend, a few years older than her was attractive. She looked happy.

“So excited to see you!” Erica messaged in.

Turning her camera phone towards her like a mirror, Erica checked her makeup again. Pursing her lips, she looked good, the best she ever had in her opinion.

Erica spent a majority of her flight going through pictures, mostly other people she knew or sort of knew. Her first class ticket got her free wifi, food and drink. Ordering a bottle of white wine with a cheese board she lounged and enjoyed herself.

Posting pictures of herself on instagram, Erica had built a strong following since graduating. Over 10,000+ people followed her, since she began posting bikini pictures with her friends who didn’t nearly have as much time on their hands to expand their audience.Erica worked three part times jobs, each allowing her enough freedom during her shifts. Posting Instagram stories were apart of her everyday rituals, and she was good at it.

Only two years removed from rigorous track, she still had amazing legs though she hadn’t put on her running shoes since walking in the St. Judes Turkey Trot. An event she typically raced and won over the years.

Truthfully told she maybe communicated with 30 people. Those individuals stemmed from her close friends, family, and some coworkers who she kept relations rather short with.

In her mind, Erica knew she wouldn’t remain close with that group forever. The group consisted of about 6 people who worked with her at either the athletic club, the physical therapists office, or the ICU in the small town hospital in Elgin.

Telling herself that she would one day become a Doctor, Erica held herself to a higher standard than that of her coworkers and practically anyone she met. She decided early on that most of the people she worked with lacked direction or capabilities to succeed. When she did communicate with them on social media, it was never more than a like on a picture or a comment.

By the time she landed in Arizona, Erica had posted four stories, commented on 10 photo’s, liked 50 pictures, and unfollowed 5 people. None of the photos she liked were of her coworkers, most were of models or old friends. As much as she’d hate to admit it, Erica’s life fuel came from social media engagement.

Erica rolled off the airplane with over 20 message notifications on her phone which she knew she would not answer for at least another hour. The awareness that people were thinking of her was plenty to get her through seeing her good friend Samantha whose life she hadn’t been apart of outside of communicating over the phone.

Seeing a text message from Samantha, Erica opened her phone while walking through the terminal to see a picture of “Chad,” the Roomate of Samantha’s boyfriend.

“He’s single” she sent over with a winky face.

Focusing in on the photo, Erica examined the attractive brown haired and blue eyed twenty something year old. Grabbing his instagram handle, she looked and found that he, like her had over 10,000 followers. On a few of his pictures he posted advertisements for body lotion and mens hair care.

(Later on that night.)

“Erica, this is John and Chad”

Shaking both their hands, Erica found that Chad wasn’t as attractive in person. He seemed to have a bit more age to his face than his pictures gave him credit for.

Taking tequila shots, the four of them sat around the couch playing card games. Eventually the game turned to “never have I ever.” Attempts by the guys to uncover what they could about the girls, now that they were warmed up with booze.

“Never have I ever fooled around in the car.” John started.

Chad and Erica both put their fingers down. Everyone laughed, Erica blushed.

“You would Erica, you totally would.” Samantha joked.

The guys looked at each other and Erica continued to laugh along, though she knew that only once in her life did she do anything in a car. It was in high school with her boyfriend after prom. In college Erica almost never put herself in compromising situations. She’d only slept with 4 guys in her life, two of them being her boyfriends.

“Your turn Chad” Samantha blurted out tipsily, pouring another round of shots.

“Okay, okay, Never have I ever had a threesome.”

Samantha and John both put their fingers down.

“It was one time!” Samantha signaled with her middle finger at John who’s eyebrows were raised. The group began to laugh. John took a drink of his beer.

“Wow, okay you two definitely keep it interesting over there.” Chad began clapping audaciously.

“No, not with each other. No, no. Haha who did you do it with Samantha?” John asked his girlfriend curiously.

Erica knew the story very well. It happened right after college graduation when they met two Law School students from the University of Chicago. Erica had made out with one of the guys earlier in the evening, but turned decided to go home instead of sleep with the guy. Samantha on the other hand went back with both and the rest was history.

“It was with my boyfriend in college and a girlfriend” Samantha lied.

“Hmph right!” Erica blurted out accidentally.

Samantha’s face turned white, and Erica kew she had messed up though the response was rather unconscious and partially reactive to Samantha’s earlier comments.

“Hmph, then what happened?” John asked rather amused.

“Two guys Chad interjected?”

Samantha and Erica looked at each other and knew the gig was up.

“Okay, it was one time, and I was really really drunk” Samantha pleaded.

The guys stood up and high fives each other on the couch, while Samantha’s head fell into her hands. Everyone laughed and took another shot.

“All right, my turn.”

Samantha looked at Erica and knew exactly what was coming.

“Never have I ever fucked my professor.”

Samantha smiled and locked eyes with Erica who wore a candid look that didn’t fully show the pain and heartbreak she felt. It was her senior year, Anatomy and Physiology both semesters with Mr. Ramstrak. Newly married with a baby on the way, Erica slept with him once first semester and then began a romantic relationship for 4 months before he left her.

“Put it down Erica” Samantha continued.

“You hooked up with you professor? Did you get an A?” John joked.

“Erica always got straight A’s.” Samantha interjected feeling a little bad by the comment.

“Yeah, it was stupid.” Erica answered rather tight.

The group played a few more rounds, though Erica never really got out of her funk. The guys brought out a marijuanna blunt, and began to watch animal planet. Seeing the lions and tigers fight to catch their prey, Erica felt her nerves and anxiety heightened. She opted to sleep on the coach when Chad invited her back to his room.

Sobbing to herself, Erica wondered how she had gotten to this point in her life. *

(The following night.)

Erica and Samantha got ready to go to dinner with the guys. They had not discussed the details of the drinking game. When Samantha asked Erica if she had been crying, she lied saying it was from laughing. Samantha accepted this, and so the girls carried on.

“I think it was a smart move leaving Chad alone like that last night.” Samantha began, while pouring the two of them a glass of wine. They were both in sweats in Samantha’s kitchen, a hour or so before dinner.

“Hey, I don’t know if I’m going to drink tonight. I’m not feeling my best.” Erica answered, her hands on her hips.

“Come on Erica, we never see each other. You always say how shitty your friends are at work. Let's enjoy this time while we have it.”

“Okay.”

Pouring two heavy glasses of pino noir, the girls drank and talked about the guys. John supposedly was really good in bed, and always kept her pleased. Erica felt the wine loosening her up, and began to feel better again.

The four of them went to dinner, and again ordered shots. When the bill came, everyone threw in their card except Erica. She put in the $100 bill and said that was her contribution.

“Oh big spender huh?” Chad asked.

Samantha thought to respond but decided maybe to watch what she’d say.

“I’ll have to get you back somehow for that” Chad continued placing his hand on her thigh.

The group made it back to Johns house shortly after, and after a few drinks the four of them split into two’s. Samantha and John in their room, Chad and Erica in the other.

Kissing each other Erica was turned on by Chad’s sensual touch. Confident and respectful, he never put his hands where they weren’t needed. A little bit older than her, and incredibly handsome she felt a rush of emotions as they laid on his bed. Stroking her hair with one hand, Chad unbuttoned her jeans with the other which she halted.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Thats okay.”

Smiling into her lips the two continued to hold each other close until Erica pulled away. She hadn’t had sex in over a year. Once out of desperation, after Remy Ramstrack left her.

(The next day)

“This was so much fun Erica, so happy you came out.”

Hugging her old best friend Erica and Samantha embraced each other. Erica wore joggers, a nike t shirt, and the same sneakers she started the weekend in. Her teddy bear still strapped around her role backpack. Walking over to security, she checked in and saw her parents booked the flight home in business class. The line moved quickly at the Arizona terminal, so really there wasn’t much of a difference in time.

Getting on her phone, she checked and saw that she had received 40 comments in the last 2 days. The picture she posted of the group already had over 300 likes, which compared to 10,000 followers wasn’t very much. Sitting at her terminal, she scrolled through pictures for a little bit only to find that she had lost some interest in it.

With about an hour to go until her flight, she decided she would grab a coffee, give her Mom a call. When her Mom didn’t answer, Erica sat in Starbucks and went back to social media scrolling. Clicking into facebook she received a notification.

“Today is Remy Ramstrack’s birthday.”

November 9th, of course it was. The deceptive scorpio as she had told herself for the last two years now. Against her best judgement she clicked into her ex lovers profile and found all the evidence she needed that they were officially over.

Remy looked thicker, he had a beard and looked tired. His wife Candice had put on weight from the two babies. Their son Colton, now two years old, and another baby girl Carlyle. Clicking into their shared photo’s she found the only one of them together.

Graduation day, she wore he tight white dress and mothers pearl earrings. Mr. Ramstrack had his doctorate gown on and did not smile in the picture, instead looking a bit uncomfortable. Two years had flown by since he broke up with her, hence her pulling out of medical school applications. Time really had flown by, and in a few short months she would be taking her exams again.

Would she ever move on? She hoped so. Still that nagging voice kept running her around and around in circles. She should have never slept with him in the first place. How could she be so stupid to trust him. How could she ever trust anyone again?

Getting onto the plane Erica felt anxious. There wasn’t a thing she could do that didn’t feel tormenting. It was as if the whole world was conspiring against her. The plane took off to a bumpy start which made matters worse and as she flipped through photo’s on her phone of the weekend, a spike of anxiety hit as she thought again

When the plane leveled out, the service attendant announced that wifi would cost $15 for the full flight. Erica paid without thinking twice, though her wallet was empty.

Posting a picture of herself dressed before dinner the following night, Erica felt content. She knew she looked good and was sure this would be a good one.

“Excuse me, would you like anything to drink?” Asked the flight attendant.

“How much for a glass of wine?”

Raising her eye, the older yet attractive attendant smiled.

“Not letting go of the weekend huh?” She asked with the maturity of someone who had taken this path a fair share of times in her day.

Erica purchased the $9 bottle which ended up being more than $10 with tax.

The touch of the Chablis hitting her lips, felt cool and soon the toxins reached her bloodstream causing all to relax. Her hangover dissipated with each sip and before the attendant reached the back of the plane, her mini bottle was empty.

Clicking the button atop of her she waited for the attendant to return. Wiling to pay whatever cost at this point to get through the flight. As if on cue, she came with a credit card chip scanner and mini bottle of Chablis.

“Thank you so much.”

“First one always goes down the easiest.”

Three hours later Erica arrived home in an uber. Her Mom had to work and Father away on business. Getting out of the Toyota Prius her buzz had all but wore off. Walking up the porch to her home, she began to open the door.

“Excuse me Erica” it was a females voice.

Turning around, Erica saw the stern face of Mrs. Ramstrack.

“Oh hello, Hi you’re Mrs. Ramstrack right? I think we met at…”

Watching her steps, Mrs. Ramstrack approached Erica, ignoring her words until she stood directly underneath her at the front porch.

“Erica, did you sleep with Remy?”

“Did I sleep with Mr. Ramstrack. No, of course not he’s my teacher.” Erica defended herself earnestly.

“Okay.”

Turning around, Erica began her decent back towards the minivan parked down the street, Erica could see the pain in her eyes. The pain of someone who needed answers, Erica knew that pain because she had felt it everyday for the last two years.

“Wait, Candice!”

Erica now in a light jog over found herself now within arms reach. She’d only met Candice once during the awkward photo they’d taken at graduation. Erica did not know it but Candice had been suspicious of Remy. During her last 4 months of her pregnancy, Remy had only one class to teach, so that the could spend more time with Candice.

On his longer days, he often times said he would spend time with students prepping for medical school. A feat, he himself never completed, though he did get his doctorate.

“Is there something you want to tell me Erica? Were you screwing Remy too?”

“We did sleep together yes.” Erica found herself say.

Shaking her head, Candice laughed a bit. A kind of crazy laugh, an unhealthy but necessary one. Biting her lip, she looked like she could have hit Erica right there.

“Do you know how much I could fuck you up for this? What do you think your school would have to say about this?”

Candice asked brokenly.

“I don’t know.”

“You’d get kicked out of medical school today.”

“Erica?”

Erica didn’t want to answer the question. How could she tell Candice that she hadn’t ever enrolled in medical school? What good would come from it, she didn’t know. There wasn’t anything good that could come from this situation. She needed time, time to get away, to escape this drama. She needed reassurance, some kind maybe from her instagram. Nothing could be right in this moment, and she cursed herself for leaving the porch to pursue this conversation.

“He’s cheating on me again” she continued. “The girls pregnant, can you believe that?”

“Oh my god. I don’t know what to say”

“Oh my god is right. Fucking ass hole.” Candice rolled her eyes, showing some acceptance in her current circumstances.

“I’m sorry” Erica responded.

“No don’t be sorry. Be grateful that you don’t have to deal with what I do now. If it weren’t for this other girl, I’d be bringing you into court to testify. I’m taking full custody of the kids and letting you off the hook. This is just for me, so that I know I’m not the crazy one.”

Candice began to break down a bit, and walked away. Getting in her red mini van, she drove west toward the freeway, back into the city. She was about two blocks down the street when Erica felt the urge to break after her.

First in a slow jog, and then in an all out effort Erica began to chase down Mrs. Ramstrack. Missing every crack and divot on the side walk she knew the road well, and was making headway on the red minivan about half a block away. Moving in full form she was restrained from the sneakers, joggers, and t-shirt which were all made ironically from sports company’s.

The Adidas were loose and came off on the sidewalk, leaving her feet bare. Her joggers weren’t flexible and so by nature, ripped in the back. As for her nike shirt, it was already a crop top and rose high above her ribcages, exposing the pink sports brah underneath.

A group of boys on the other side of the street watched on their bicycles as the “hot neighbor” ran full speed out of her clothes. Erica didn’t even notice or care, she was past caring about other peoples opinions. The red minivan, now half a block ahead of her was making a turn that subsequently led to the freeway, back towards the city.

Passing each house in only a few steps, Erika was losing speed. Fatigue setting in, she knew she needed to break through this barrier for herself, for the person she once was. No more than 50 meters away, she locked in on the red minivan making a right turn to get onto the freeway. All that stood between her was a 4 foot bush, which was half a foot higher than a hurdle and more length to clear. As she crossed over into a neighbors front yard, she had one shot to meet Candice. Throwing her cell phone to the grass she used all her strength, hurdling herself into the air.

Landing gracefully on the other side of the pavement, Erica ran into the side of the van, startling Candice. Rolling down the window, Candice looked shocked and scared to see Erica who looked a mess.

“You’re not the only one he hurt here. What can I do to help?”

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