21 lost

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JEM WAS SERIOUS. It’s December, and three months since I’ve seen him. He doesn’t have any social media, and I’m slowly starting to forget how he looked. He’s becoming just a blur in my memories. It scares me, but I don’t know why. Or maybe I do, and I’m just too stubborn to admit it.

He doesn’t come to the shop anymore—I know because I don’t hide in the storeroom anymore. I could’ve sworn I got a call from him in my birthday, but it’s a shot in the dark. Whoever was on the other end didn’t say a word, then eventually cut the call.

Initially, it hurt. But now, everything feels like nothing. Because I don’t even have the right to feel what I’m feeling. Because he wasn’t mine to lose. I use life to distract myself. It helps, sometimes. But mostly it just feels like I’m lost at sea with nothing to anchor me. Like I’m drowning.

Right now, I’m brushing my teeth, getting ready for campus. I do a spit take and then lift my head to face myself in the mirror, but I can’t recognise the person staring back at me. I look pale, and my eyes are dull, with dark shadows under them.

These days, I can’t seem to do anything right. Sleeping, eating, studying. I’d talk to mom about it, but every time I call I feel like I’m wasting her time. The last time she called was for my birthday, which was more than two months ago. Kade was right. I asked her if she could come, but she was too busy.

As for Kade . . . I was going to break up with him so I could focus on myself—so I could try and fix the mess my life was becoming . . . but he organised a study date and came over every day for a week to make sure I ate, and I couldn’t do it. I just . . . couldn’t.

His kindness only lasted for a week, and now we’re back to where we were at the beginning. I should’ve guessed. Now every time I try to end it, it’s like he senses it, and makes me feel too guilty to do anything. I don’t know why I can’t do it. Maybe I’m just weak. And pathetic. Maybe the scraps of affection Kade throws my way is the only thing I’ll ever get, and maybe I should just get used to it.

I pull my gaze away from my reflection, but it just catches on my hand and the ring on my index finger. Jem’s ring. It’s worrying to admit, but I’ve been taking better care of this ring than I’ve been taking care of myself.

It’s magnetic. I figured it out when I was opening the fridge and felt a slight, but noticeable magnetic pull. I Googled it and found out that it’s hematite — and that to keep the magnetism, you have to clean and polish the metal. So I do that. As often as I can.

Maybe it’s stupid, but sometimes, when I don’t feel like eating, the soft magnetic pull of the ring beckons me to the fridge. And I end up eating something. And sometimes, when I’m lost in my own mind, the glint of the ring on my finger brings me back to reality. So yeah, maybe I am lost at sea. But maybe I was wrong about not having an anchor.

Mindlessly, I slip the ring up to the tip of my finger, around my nail, and my throat tightens, my eyes tearing up. Then, it slips off my finger completely. There’s a resounding clink as it swirls around the basin, once, twice, then down the drain.

All while I stand there, frozen in horror.

“No,” I whisper, clicking into motion as I grip the edge of the basin, peering down the drain. “No no no.

My heart sinks as I look down the drain, my mind screaming. I can’t see it. Oh God. I can’t see it. I held on to that stupid ring for three months and now it’s …gone.

Something inside me breaks—something fundamental— and I lift my palm to my forehead trying to calm down, but my vision is already blurring and it’s painful to hold back the tears, so I let them stream down my cheeks. The ache in my chest makes it too hard to stand, so I sink down to the floor as a sob breaks through.

I don’t know how long I sit there in my bathroom, crying on the floor before Scarlett finds me. “Indigo?”

I sniff, wiping at my face with the back of my hand, but it’s too late. She walks in, a deep frown and a mixture of annoyance and confusion and slight concern in her features. “What are you doing?”

I roll my eyes, because isn’t it glaringly obvious that I’m having a meltdown on my bathroom floor? But Scarlett’s never been any good with emotions anyway. Finally she walks around me and notices my face. “What happened?”

I shake my head, exhaling. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up and tell me,” she mutters, “I’m getting late for class.”

And despite everything, I supress the urge to laugh. It might sound crazy, but I’ve managed to figure out Scarlett more in the past few months than in my entire freshman year. She’s not half bad. We even go to campus together now, probably why she came in here to check on me.

When I don’t reply, she sighs. “Get up.”

Taking a deep breath, I stand. Void of the ring, my hand feels empty, like my body’s trying to remind me how stupid I am. Scarlett notices me staring at my hand.

“You dropped that ring of yours down the drain, didn’t you?”

I glance up at her. “Maybe.”

She lifts a pierced brow. “Is that why you’ve been having a breakdown for the past fifteen minutes?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

“You do know you can get it back, right? I just have to remove the P-trap. Go get changed.” She pushes me out the bathroom. “I’ll get it out.”

I frown, relief flooding my chest even though I don’t fully believe her, it’s the only piece of hope I have to cling to. “How are you so sure?”

She rolls her eyes. “My brother’s a plumber.”

I didn’t even know she had a brother. Numb, I walk to my bedroom to change. It’s cold out, so I pull on a long beige trench coat and boots. I try to keep my outfits decent because at this point, they’re the only thing that makes me look human. And Mae looks a little less worried than when I showed up to campus in a ratty old t-shirt and jeans.

I walk back to the bathroom, fully expecting Scarlett to have gotten nowhere. But to my surprise, I find her standing there with my ring in her hand, her dark hair clipped back by a claw clip.

“It was gross, by the way,” she mutters, her voice dry, “You owe me.”

“Oh my god.” Without thinking, I rush forward, wrapping my arms around her, her expensive perfume flooding my senses. “Thank you.”

I can practically feel the disdain radiating off her, but I don’t care. Tears of relief spring from my eyes, and I can’t help sniffing back a stilted breath.

“Are you crying again?” Scarlett asks, trying to separate herself from me. “Jesus. Get yourself together. Let’s go.”

*

I MAY HAVE left out an important detail when I was talking about how Scarlett’s become nicer to me. It may just have nothing to do with me and everything to do with Mae asking her to be nicer. And when we walk into the lecture hall and Scarlett starts whispering something to Mae, then they both look over at me with concern in their eyes (Mae more than Scarlett) it becomes glaringly obvious.

Exhaling, I ignore them, taking down the notes from the slides up on the screen up front. I’m still taking notes without really absorbing any of the content, like reading the same page of a book over and over until you realize that you haven’t actually been grasping anything, when Prof Morris dismisses the class.

I’m about to leave after them when Prof Morris stops me. Since it’s a smaller class, he knows all of us. And judging by the look on his face, I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

“Indigo,” he says, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

I fall back, letting other people pass by. Mae glances at me and I nod to let her know I’ll be there when I’m done. That worried look I’ve come to hate is on her face again, and I wish I could be a better friend. One she didn’t have to worry about all the time. But I don’t know how, and I’m afraid that she’ll get tired of this— of me.

“Indigo?” Prof Morris’ voice snaps me back to reality.

I nod. “Sorry, yes?”

He clears his throat uncomfortably. “I’m sure this isn’t news to you, but you’ve failed both your tests this semester. I know the class isn’t easy and a lot of students aren’t doing well in the pracs, but since you’re a scholarship student, your situation is a bit different. I’m required to keep your scholarship fund in the loop and unless you do well in the prac, I’m afraid it’s not looking so good…”

“I know,” I say, “I’m sorry, I — I’ll have to do better in the pracs.”

He nods primly, like he’s not entirely convinced I’m grasping how serious this is. Maybe he’s right. I’ve become so numb that even this doesn’t hit me as hard as it should.

“I have a list of tutors,” he says, “I’ll mail them to you. And if you have any questions, let me know, alright?”

I nod. “I will. Thank you.”

Blood rushes to my face as I walk out of the lecture hall. I knew I failed the past two tests. I was planning to study harder and pass the prac, but Morris is right. If I don’t pass this class, the scholarship fund could drop me. There’s too much on the line. I thought I could do it alone, but maybe I need help. A tutor.

I make up my mind to enlist one of the tutors from the list Morris promised to email as I catch up with Mae in the hallway. Eyes wide, she asks, “What did he say?”

“I need to well in the prac or the fund might drop me.”

Mae’s quiet for a while before she says, “What?”

“Yeah,” I say, shrugging. “But I think I can do it. If I get a tutor.”

“Indigo . . .”

“Don’t worry,” I say, “I can do it.”

But I’m not so sure I can. The rest of the day rushes by uneventfully, and I find myself walking to the flower shop for my afternoon shift with Mae.

“You’re late,” Kat mutters, just as we enter the shop.

I glance at my phone. “By a minute.”

“Still late,” she huffs, “I’m not paying you for nothing. The wedding delivery needs to be done by today.”

If Kat was annoying before, she’s become insufferable now. One of the other day shift employees quit, so now Mae and I have to take on more work until Kat finds a replacement.

Mae and I get to work, arranging the bouquets, and she starts the same conversation we’ve been having for the past few weeks.

“I thought you were going to break up with him,” she says.

“I can’t.”

She flails her hands in the air, almost stabbing me with the pair of garden scissors. “I swear to God, Indigo—”

“I can’t!” I exclaim. “I’ve tried. Seriously, I’ve tried to tell him that I need some space, but it just ever works out. And besides, I’d be doing the same thing he did to me, remember how much I hated that? I’d just be a hypocrite to break up with him because I need space.”

“They’re completely different situations!” Mae yells, frustrated. “He’s making you miserable. Look at you!”

I grimace. “But I’m wearing a trench coat.”

She makes a face. “What are you even talking about—”

“I spent a fortune on this coat,” I mumble, patting my coat, “No one looks miserable in a trench coat.”

Mae’s confusion deepens, and she puffs out an agitated breath. “Listen, Indigo, I’m worried about you. I’m leaving for winter break, alright? My gran is sick, and they want me back home. I can’t always be there for you, and I can’t expect Scarlett to, either.”

I sigh. “Okay, okay, I get it. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry,” she mocks. “That’s all you say. Don’t worry, Mae. My stupid trench coat will fix everything.”

I gasp. “My trench coat is not stupid.”

But she’s already stomped off to the other end of the shop, clearly annoyed with me. It’s been weeks of her begging me to do something about my life, to get me to leave Kade, trying to take me out to lunch so I eat, trying to sit with me in the library so I study. But I don’t leave Kade, I pick at my food, and I don’t absorb any of the work. I’ve become a self-destructive explosion waiting to happen.

At the end of my shift, I check my phone and find an email from Professor Morris. It’s the list of tutors he promised to send me. This is it. The step I need to take to push myself in the right direction. A healthier direction.

I scroll through the list of tutors with their images. And then I stop. Because I see her—the blonde girl from the ice cream shop. The same one who scowled at me and Kade couldn’t seem to meet her eye. Mila Roth, it reads and then under her name: Biochem tutor.

And then Kade’s words ring in my head. The reason he broke up with me at the beginning of the semester.

Biochem is slaughtering me.

*

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