Chapter 8

When I woke up that next Monday morning, I woke Sleeping-Beauty up by almost suffocating him with his pillow. Why? Because he and his girlfriend had texted me about a hundred times the night before to make sure that I would. And Tyler-the-Hypochondriac woke me up at three in the morning by switching on all the lights and asking me if the tiny mole on his arm was cancerous because he was sure it was and he was sure it was a malignant form of it and he was going to die in the next four hours.

I swear to god, he probably only became friends with me in the first place because he thought I would become a doctor.

I headed out afterwards to a yoga class Vanessa had signed me up for, grabbing a coffee from the dorm's cafeteria on my way.

Tyler and Vanessa were seriously over doing it, trying to keep me occupied as much as they could, buying me nicotine patches and gum, and they almost confiscated my phone so I wouldn't make any booty calls.

Honestly, I had never figured that having parents could be that annoying.

I guess the yoga class in the morning was kind of nice though. It was a good way to start the day and it helped calming me down. The nicotine patches definitely helped. I hadn't realized I had become that addicted.

Maybe they should have confiscated my phone. Once I got out of yoga class, one of the particularly hot girls there came up to me and gave me her phone number. I was kind of tempted of just calling her the second she walked away and go do some cardio with her, but I was pretty sure Tyler and Van would find out and I would get an ass whooping. I was apparently abstinent for the whole week. And sure, my best friend was easily distracted, but for some strange reason sometimes he noticed things he really shouldn't have, and I was pretty sure any activities in my pants would be reported to him somehow.

My friends little intervention had definitely been a wake up call, but it didn't mean it had resolved anything. Sure, admitting you had a problem was half of the work, according to D. Phil, but dealing with my shit life wasn't going to just magically happen. I still felt like a walking, talking disappointment, like it was useless to even make any kind of effort to make my life less shitty because in the end what was the point? I was never going to be anything more than the screw up orphan who couldn't deal with losing his dad. A screw up... just like my mom.

That line of thought didn't help with turning off my need to call the yoga chick. I mean, if it was all meaningless in the end, what was the point in fighting the inevitable, the inevitable, of course, being me fucking like a rabbit.

I grabbed another coffee on my way back to the dorm where I showered, changed and then ate a little something before heading to class. It was pretty amazing the kind of stuff you could accomplish when you woke up in the morning. I always forgot how kind of rewarding it felt to actually do something with myself.

I totally blamed the mix of caffeine and nicotine patches for that train of thought.

I was sipping on my third coffee which was a Starbuck's skinny iced caramel macchiato with extra sugar-free caramel drizzle on top when I walked into my first class. I was wearing sport pants and a hoodie with a jean jacket over it a cap and sunglasses. All I needed was some Ugg boots to be the perfect basic bitch and I was totally okay with that.

I thought I was going to be the first one but there were already a couple of people sitting around the room. The Minnie Mouse was sitting at the same seat she'd sat during our first class. I thought about picking an empty desk, but then figured I should talk to the girl.

I walked up to her desk and stopped, before sitting down. "Good morning," I said, smiling without showing teeth, you know, the way you should smile to an animal to reassure them that you're not a threat.

She looked up at me, kind of startled that someone was talking to her. "Hi," she replied weakly.

"You mind if I sit here?" I asked.

She shrugged. "It's fine."

Her lack of enthusiasm should have been anticipated, but it kind of surprised me, and I felt stupid now, like maybe I should have just left the girl alone. But it was too late now. I was sitting down. "Hey, I realized that we never actually introduced ourselves," I said while taking a notebook and pens out of my bag. "I'm Nik."

Generally I would have offered my hand but she was just too jumpy and I figured she might not want to shake it.

"Short for Nicholas," she asked.

I left out a laughing breath. "Nah, short for something a lot more embarrassing."

She didn't exactly smile, but she wasn't frowning either. "I'm Esther," she said softly.

I smiled at her again. This time I was showing teeth a bit. "Nice to meet you Esther."

"Nice to meet you, Nickelodeon," she said with the hint of a teasing smile.

Ladies and gentlemen, she has a sense of humor!

I chuckled. "Unfortunately, that's not it."

She gave me a little shrug. "Oh well, I tried."

With a lingering smile on my lips, I asked her, "do you have any idea what you want to do for our project?"

The final project was a bitch. We had to make up an exhibition. We had to pick a venue, any venue our little hearts desired and which art pieces we wanted to have included. It could be anything we wanted as long as it made sense.

Last year a guy picked his grandmother's basement for his project to exhibit paintings of cats. It was funny and definitely pathetic but he had made a sort of 3D virtual model of his grandmother's basement with all the paintings and sculptures in place and as ridiculous as it was, it made sense and it was well executed, so he got a good grade.

I was supposed to be with cat guy for my final project but since I was so out of it he kicked me out of our two people's group with the consent of our teacher and I ended up hastily bullshitting something. The Louvre. All the mummies I could find. That was my exhibit. Why? Because I wanted to start a mummy apocalypse. That was it. That was what I actually wrote. It's a wonder Professor Connor ever let me in his class again.

"Not really," she said. "I just think it would be better if we didn't just make an exhibition with one artist. I'd prefer a theme."

I nodded. "I agree, just one artist would be kind of lazy and I don't think we'd get a good grade."

"I guess we'll have to think about it," I said and she nodded in agreement before going back to her notes.

I left her alone after that and sipped on my coffee. Professor Connor arrived shortly after and started his lecture, and I actually listened and took notes for once.

The class felt like it took forever because I wasn't doodling and gone in my head, so I was kind of relieved when the lecture was finally over.

I stretched my arms over my head, yawning a little and then started to pack up.

Esther and I both got up at the same time. I tried smiling at her again. She hadn't been jumping every time I breathed this time, so I figured I was slowly starting to accustom the scared mouse to my presence.

"You're not wearing your plugs today," she suddenly remarked while we were walking out of the class.

I pinched my ear lobe when she said that and realized she was right. "Oh yeah, I totally forgot about them. Guess they were bothering me. I know I kind of look sketchy, but this is just a cry for help. I'm totally like a Goth kid going through a phase."

I was hyper and rambling. I definitely needed to ease up on the caffeine. Maybe she wasn't realizing this because I didn't really look like I used to, because I was talking to her and seemingly interacting with people in general, but talking with new people when there was no alcohol involved was still such a big thing for me.

My beginning-of-life crisis hadn't suddenly made me not socially awkward. Beneath the tattoos and the devil may care attitude, I was still the same kid that sat in a corner as far as people as he could because he assumed no one wanted him around. I was still the guy that hadn't eaten for two days once because I was at a conference with my father and he'd been busy all the time and I didn't know where the cafeteria or places to eat were and I was too scared to ask anyone, or to bother my father while he was occupied and I didn't have any money to get things from a vending machine.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you apologize for them, I just noticed," she quickly said.

"No worries."

No worries? No worries? What was I even saying?

I coughed a little and then asked to change subject, "Do you want us to meet up so we can start talking about the project?"

"I guess we could both look for ideas on our own and then see what makes the most sense later."

I nodded. "Good thinking. Where would you want to meet up? Which dorms are you staying at?"

She slowed her pace down a bit. "I don't live in the dorms."

I frowned. "Aren't you a freshman?"

"Yes, but I got a special exemption."

Blake's parents had bribed his college so Lexi and him didn't have to live in the dorms when they started college. I doubted she made that kind of arrangement. But it didn't seem like she wanted to talk about it, so I let it go.

"If you have time between classes or after them, we could meet at the library," I offered.

"Sure," she agreed.

"What's your number?"

She took a second too long to answer. "I don't have a cellphone," she admitted softly.

"Messenger? Email? Landline?" I recited.

"I have the university email that I can use," she answered.

"Alright, here, write it down." I gave her one of my sketch books and a pen. She didn't just scribble it hastily, she took her time writing it down. Her handwriting was neat and small, like she didn't want it to take too much space, like she was worried it might compromise the integrity of the paper.

Once she handed me back my book I tore one of the blank pages off and started writing numbers. "Here's my email. And if you ever find yourself in the vicinity of a phone, there's my number too," I told her, handing her the piece of paper.

She folded it neatly and slipped it into her bag. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I smiled at her. "I think we covered everything now."

And there it was, the not-exactly-a-smile forming at the corner of her lips. "I think we did."

"Well, until next time," I said and waved.

She waved back. "Until next time."

I looked at her as she walked away, clutching at her notebooks, her messenger bag hitting her hip with each step she took, her back slightly hunched, her eyes on the ground. I was seeing myself again, looking at her.

I shook my head shaking the memories away and turned around to walk away.

I didn't have anything to do for the next couple of hours.

I called my uncle Trey.

When he picked up, he didn't even greet me, he just said, "do you need money?"

"If someone needed money between you and me, that would be you, you trust fund baby who's not old enough to get his cash," I answered immediately. Idiot.

"We can't all be life insurance mongrels like you."

I make a pained sound. "Low blow."

He whined a little in response. "Sorry, I'm hiding in the detergent closet at grandpa's house. I'm kind of wound up."

I snorted. "What the hell are you doing in the detergent closet?"

"Hiding from grandpa, are you even listening?"

I shook my head, amused. "Why are you hiding from him? Why are you even at his house?"

"He's trying to set me up! Can you believe this? He said and I fucking quote, if you're not going to be useful and work with the family at the firm, we'll have to make do with your reproductive capacities."

I burst out laughing loudly. People were looking at me funny, but I didn't care. That was freaking priceless. "Oh my god, that is absolutely savage!"

"So now, he invited some daughter of an oil tycoon, because he wants to sell my ass so they can represent him."

I was laughing, sort of hunched over, leaning the hand that wasn't holding my phone against my leg. "You have no idea how much I love our grandfather, I'll seriously hang up, call him, tell him I love him and say you're hiding in the detergent closet."

"Fine, I don't care. Do you think he actually knows where that is?"

"Probably not," I admitted. "He'll get your half brothers to carry him on their shoulders while they follow the guiding maids."

"Our life is a reality TV show."

"Not at all, our life is an afternoon soap."

"Did you call for a specific reason?" Trey asked me, bringing me back to the present.

"Not really. I just wanted to tell you that me and Pedro are still keeping things totally PG so it definitely doesn't count as gay, so no one is winning this bet any time soon," I announced dramatically.

"When you say Pedro, we talking Napoleon Dynamite, vote for Pedro, or like Youtube La Divaza Pedro?"

"Nah, I'm talking Pedro Martinez. You know, baseball pitcher with a good grip."

Trey groaned. "I'm ashamed to share blood with you."

I laughed again. "Coming from the family reproduction bull, that's a compliment."

"I know you just tried to insult me, but calling me a bull isn't going to affect my self esteem."

I grinned even though he couldn't see me. "Attagirl. That's the spirit. You're going to have to be strong if you want to survive that arrange marriage."

I could almost feel him scowling one the other side of the line. "I'm hanging up now," he said deadpan, while I kept laughing.

The second he did, I texted my grandfather. Trey's hiding in the detergent closet.

Thank you, son. You're back on the will! he answered me a few seconds later.

You're welcome, I replied automatically. But then I re-read his text. What the...

Wait. Back on the will? When was I ever out of the will?

No answer. Grandpa?

Five minutes later and still no answer. Grandpa!

That scheming old man.

I'd been walking without any kind of goal, so when I finally looked up from my phone and around myself, I realized where I was.

I'd walked all the way to the medicine building.

I tucked my phone in my pocket and stared at the people coming and going inside the building. I didn't recognize anyone, but then again I had always tried to keep my distance from everyone else in pre-med.

I thought about walking inside and wandering around the halls, but decided against it. I could already feel it, that hollow pit inside of me that sometimes appeared when I thought about it, really thought about what dropping out of med school had meant.

Dropping out of med school had made me lose any sense of purpose I ever had. Sure, it was my way to screw with my dad beyond the grave, my way to rebel and at that moment I had thought I wouldn't miss it.

But if I was being honest... I missed it. I missed being good at something, I missed knowing things, and just knowing who I was and what I was going to do with myself.

I sat down at a bench and just stared at the building, thinking about older days.

God, I missed it.

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A/N: Hey everyone! Just a friendly reminder that my giveaway on my instagram page is still up, if you want to win a bunch of fun stuff. I'm at kaygiard. You just need to like the giveaway picture and comment your favourite character of mine. You have one week left. :D

And also, thanks for being patient with my uploads. Hopefully you can get more of Nik soon. :D

Love you guys! <3