Chapter 57: A Masterclass In Denial
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The next morning, I woke up feeling utterly wrecked, as if I’d been hit by a truck, backed over for good measure, and tossed into a ditch to think about my poor decisions while the truck drove off without so much as a goodbye.
For a blissful moment, I just stared at the ceiling of my room in Preston Hall, my mind completely blank. Just me, the white ceiling, morning light pouring in, and the faint sounds of the building around me. It was peaceful. Empty, just what the doctor ordered.
Then it hit me.
She isn’t the one I want.
I snapped my eyes shut, as if trying to will that thought away.
"Nope," I murmured into my pillow. "Not today. Today we’re moving forward. Today, I’m a functional human being who has healthy emotional responses and zero complicated feelings about my roommate."
In fact there’s no complicated feelings towards my roommates at all! Not one bit!
My brain, having seemingly spent the night organizing everything into neat little folders immediately pulled up: Damien’s face, his voice. I could picture him standing close in the lamplight, his expression... well, a bit chaotic for once.
I grabbed my pillow and hit myself with it.
"Get it together, Reyes."
The pillow didn’t exactly provide any helpful advice, just like always.
I groaned, rolled onto my back, and stared at the ceiling again, which had nothing of use to say either. The apartment was quiet...not the cozy, nice kind of quiet you get on a slow morning, but the kind that distinctly feels like someone is missing who should be there.
No sounds from the kitchen, no footsteps and no coffee maker doing its thing.
No Damien.
The realization landed in my chest like a lead weight, he still hadn’t returned after he had stormed off right? I lay there a moment, acutely aware of it, trying to figure out what to do next. The logical response? Just let it go. Acknowledge the absence without getting emotional, get up, make my own coffee, and tackle the day like a normal person.
I frowned at the ceiling.
I wonder where he went.
Before I could fully finish that thought, I found myself out of bed and on my way to the kitchen, which was its own answer I wasn’t quite ready to face.
The kitchen confirmed what I already suspected. No mug on the counter. No note. No sign of him at all, just the cold, citrus-scented air of a fancy apartment that had been empty all night.
I stood there for a moment.
Then I made myself coffee, because at least that was something I could control, and stood by the window sipping it while trying hard not to think about anything. But, of course, I ended up thinking about everything.
Damn it.
By the time I got to Joy’s Café, I was fueled entirely by caffeine, stubbornness, and a hefty dose of denial, really leaning into that denial, which was doing most of the heavy lifting. The morning crowd was already in full swing, and the familiar smell of coffee and warm pastries enveloped me as I stepped inside, that comforting aroma usually making the world feel a bit more bearable.
Today? Not so much. The world had other plans.
I was wiping down a table by the window, with enough force to risk damaging the finish...when Maya appeared beside me. She took one look at my face, her gaze assessing and direct, skipping any small talk and going straight for the diagnosis.
She winced. "Wow."
I glanced up. "What’s up?"
"You look like emotional roadkill."
"Nice to see you too."
"I’m serious, Oliver." She pointed at my face like she was making a formal identification. "May I ask what happened this time between you and your hottie roommate?"
"His name is Damien, stop calling hottie. He’s not hot!"
"But he is though. I’m not as blind as you are"
I sighed and tossed the rag at her. She caught it with a laugh, completely unrepentant. "Or was the date that bad?"
Before I could hold it in, my shoulders tensed, a reflex I couldn’t stop. Maya narrowed her eyes, picking up on the vibe. A moment of silence passed. Then: "Oh."
"Please don’t–"
"Oh, it was totally the date!"
"It wasn’t the date."
"It definitely was."
"It absolutely was not."
"Oliver—"
"The date was fine."
"Then why do you look like that?"
I pointed at her. "You’re infuriating."
"And yet," she said, tucking the rag under her arm, looking entirely too pleased with herself, "somehow still your favorite coworker."
Before I could reply, the front door swung open with the enthusiasm of someone who treats entrances like dramatic announcements.
"Good morning, gorgeous people! Myself included..."
I briefly closed my eyes and let out a sigh. Of course this was happening right now.
Joey bounded through the café with a limitless energy, treating mornings like they were a personal opportunity instead of a struggle. He radiated enough cheer to light up a building and immediately plopped onto a stool at the counter, looking too pleased for his own good.
Maya regarded him the way you might look at an uninvited guest who has no plans to leave. "Speak of the devil."
Joey grinned. "I prefer ’charming ray of sunshine.’"
"Of course you do," she replied. "The usual?"
"The usual."
"You come here every day and order the same thing."
"And every day," he said seductively, "you make it for me while Oliver ignores me. Feels like we’ve built something real, isn’t that right beautiful?"
"Ew, please don’t..." Maya stared at him, her expression one of someone reconsidering a series of life choices. Then she turned to make the coffee, no further comments needed.
Five minutes later, during my break, the three of us gathered at our usual spot near the back window, a setup that had somehow become a staple in my life: Maya with her drink, Joey with his coffee and zero personal boundaries, and me, apparently, the topic of discussion this time around.
Joey took one look at my face, set his cup down, and leaned in like a detective eyeing a case. "What’s going on?"
"Nothing."
"You look like you’ve been crying internally for hours."
"Nothing happened, Joey."
Maya took a sip of her drink, slowly. "He looks worse than yesterday, actually."
Joey gasped, genuinely shocked. "Worse than yesterday?"
I buried my face in my hands.
"Tell us everything."
"No."
"Oliver."
"I said no."
"We’ll find out eventually."
"You most certainly will not, leave me alone."
"We will! Maya’s terrifying when she’s curious."
Maya nodded in silent agreement.
I glanced between them.
Then I sighed, a long, drawn-out breath that signaled my defeat.
"Fine."
Both of them perked up. Under different circumstances, it might have been amusing.