It's not actually the alarm that wakes me. It's Connor's thrashing as he comes out of his own slumber in a panic. The sheets tangle around my shoulders, jerking me closer to him. Then he knees me in the gut.

I guess I deserve that, for the number of times I've ruined his wedding.

But never mind that. He won't have to worry about it if everything goes to plan.

I sit up, and my head screams in pain. Between that and my bruised abdomen, I'm dying. "What happened last night?" I groan. The last thing I remember is laughing at something he said at the bar. And maybe suggesting that he come home with me. Maybe.

I grimace. Okay, I definitely remember that part.

The alarm starts a second round of chimes.

"Could you turn that thing off?" Connor squawks.

He doesn't have to ask twice. Each trill of the alarm is punctuated by a pound of my head. I reach over and slap the stop button, then let my head fall into my hands. For several seconds the only sound is our breaths.

Then I remember the alarm's purpose. "You have to go."

"What?" he protests. "But—"

"Please," I request, digging around for my clothes on the floor and throwing the nasty green top on. I don't even care anymore. I don't care what we did. I only care that he's gone before Nessa gets back.

"But—I thought we were connecting...."

I can't help it. I stare at him with wide eyes. We connected? So—what—he thinks I'm his soulmate instead of Nessa?

I laugh. He hasn't met her yet.

"I'm sorry," I say out loud. "I was so drunk. I don't remember half of what we talked about last night."

"I don't either, but...." He flails for words. "I just have this feeling that we're...tied together somehow."

Yeah, through Nessa.

"Okay," I sigh. "Time to go."

I haul myself out of bed, gritting my teeth against the dull throbbing that seems to come from every corner of my body. I gather his clothes and shove them into his hands, followed closely by his phone. Then I push him toward the door.

He's more than big enough to resist, but he doesn't. Maybe it's shock. Maybe it's my sterling personality. Maybe he finally realizes he made a huge mistake.

I don't really care. I open the door, and he steps backwards into the hall even though he's still zipping his pants.

"See you around," I say through a thin smile, and close the door.

I sink back down on my bed with a sigh, closing my eyes. I did it. I finally did it.

I feel like absolute crap, but I did it. Now I just have to hope he won't hang around in the hallway of a girls' dorm for too long.

Then Nessa can come home, and I can tell her the truth. That what she did for me at that party freshman year was more than just comforting a friend, at least to me. She changed me forever.

"Nessa, I love you," I murmur, testing the words in the empty air. But she never believes me when I say it that way.

"Nessa, I'm in love with you." Hm. There's an extremely thin line between middle-school secret admirer and stalker, and that seems to ride it right down the center.

"Nessa, I like you." I can already hear her laugh. Well that's good, she'd say, since we're roommates and all.

"Nessa, I like you."

I groan. That one is definitely too middle school.

"Nessa, I—"

The door swings open without warning, and I interrupt myself abruptly. "Nessa, hi."

She takes one look at me, sighs, and sets down her suitcase. "Rough night?"

I frown. Do I look that bad?

"You look that bad," Nessa answers my unspoken question apologetically.

I grunt and flop back. "I do not. I'm fine."

She raises her eyebrows, reaching for the drawn blinds.

"No!" I shout, then cover my own ears. "Don't! Please."

I hear her soft laugh, muffled through my hands. It sends pleasant chills down my spine.

"Hey, you didn't see anyone out in the hall, did you?" I ask after a moment.

"No, it's a ghost town out there. Why?"

I shrug it off. "Nothing, I just thought I heard something out there last night."

"Something tells me you didn't hear much of anything last night," she points out.

I lay back. She's right.

"You want me to go get you a drink? Water," Nessa adds quickly.

I nod, only now noticing the sting in the back of my throat every time I swallow. It feels like the Sahara desert in there. I close my aching eyes. Suddenly I'm a freshman again and she's there, taking care of me, and I'm overflowing.

"Nessa," I whisper to the room when the door shuts quietly behind her. "I...."

My eyes betray me, anchoring themselves shut, and I lose my grip on the world.

I wake up a few hours later surrounded by alcohol-tinged sweat. The room is empty, and after a cautious sniff I don't blame Nessa for leaving.

The glass of water she left to retrieve sits on the stack of plastic bins that serve as my bedside table. I seize it and gulp it down in one go. Then I head for the shower.

I turn the water on cold and let it shock me back to life. Why is the universe so against me telling Nessa that I love her? Don't I deserve to get that off my chest? I've been walking around like Atlas for years now, its weight hunching my shoulders like the old spinster lady I'm meant to die as.

I yank the spigot all the way to the right, letting hot steam start to rise around me. Not this time, I tell the universe. So I didn't tell her yet. I will. When she gets home. In fact, the second I get back to our room I'll call her to come home.

With that decided, I scrub last night off my skin until it's raw. I watch the last of the water drain it all away—Connor, Cam, weddings, all of it—and then step out.

"Okay," I mutter to myself as I put away my shower supplies. I pick up my phone and—

It asks for my passcode. Which is weird because I don't have one. Nessa always gives me trouble about it, saying anyone could read my texts, but I never listen.

I turn the phone over a couple times in my hands, and my heart sinks. It's not mine. It's not Nessa's either. There's only one person's that it could be.

I inhale slowly. It's fine. It's just a phone. I don't need it back. I'll just tell the carrier I lost it and eat the cost of a new one. Connor can figure it out himself, because it's not my problem.

I conveniently ignore the fact that I handed him my own phone before I pushed him out the door. How was I supposed to know? We have the same model. Or at least we did back then. Back now.

No. I can't get sidetracked. I need to call Nessa.

I wake the phone's screen again and scroll down through the notifications. Maybe if I open one of them, it will just let me use that app. I keep scrolling until I find a text message.

Saw you leave with that girl from the bar last night, it reads. Nice!

I read the sender's name.

Cam. Of course. Effing Cam.

The next, from around noon: Crazy night, huh?

I scowl at the winking emoji tacked onto the end of that message and tap on it. It asks for the passcode again.

I punch the number one four times. The screen shakes, and I sigh. That would have been too much to ask.

The phone vibrates in my hand. A new message slides into view at the top of the list, and I recognize the number as my own.

Hey, I took your phone by accident.

Damn right he did. It was all his fault.

Texted your friend. The one at the top of your message history.

No.

I'm meeting up with her in a few to hand it over. I'll give her my number so you can find me if you'd like to return mine.

No. He's not allowed to do any of that! No meeting, no number-swapping!

Because Nessa is at the top of my message history. She always is.

Or you can keep it.

I might just do that.

You should really use a passcode.

I clamp my smelly pillow over my face and scream into it. Not that it matters, because no one is around to hear. Nessa is out meeting Connor somewhere. Again.

And I still haven't said it.