Chapter 78: The Sacred Art of Avoiding My Problems
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I managed to squeeze in about four hours of sleep that night. Honestly, I felt like it was a small win given everything going on. The issue wasn’t so much the lack of sleep but rather the poor quality of it; my brain had decided that sleep was optional and chose instead to replay the past week on repeat. Maya’s voice.
The hockey game. The weight of the keychain in my jacket pocket that I somehow started carrying around. The constant awareness of a person who lived just twelve feet away and whom I was now, with great determination and a touch of obsession, trying to dodge.
Avoidance had turned into my full-time gig, and I was getting surprisingly skilled at it.
The days blurred into one long, chaotic routine. I’d rise before sunrise almost every morning, sneaking out of Preston Hall while Damien remained snoozing under his blankets, blissfully unaware of my stealthy escape.
I’d grab a coffee from the nearest vendor, clutching the scalding cup in my hands, and dive headfirst into the day, fueled by the frantic energy of someone who knew that moving forward was the only way to avoid confronting my thoughts.
Classes, the café, the flower shop, the hospital...repeat. I had packed my schedule so tightly that there seemed to be no space left for anything uncomfortable. I was keeping this up with the devotion of someone building a very complex distraction device.
Evenings were devoted to visiting my dad. Every time I saw him, he appeared stronger, sitting up in bed, his face looking healthier, always asking about my life with that hopeful look that parents wear when they’re eager for good news but trying not to seem too eager.
I’d share about Melanie, carefully crafting the story to be simple and straightforward, leaving out the complications.
He’d squeeze my hand and smile, and I’d feel guilt for making him happy while knowing the truth was a lot messier, and I’d push that feeling down, because honestly, I wasn’t ready to talk about it.
I wasn’t ready to talk about how I was actually attracted to my dumbass roommate.
Melanie had ramped up the pressure in ways that left me feeling overwhelmed. Her texts flooded in, cheerful good morning messages with suns, heart emojis after class updates, and casual mentions of our next date, suggesting a continuity in a relationship I hadn’t fully accepted.
Because besides the whole Damien fiasco, I still wasn’t quite ready for a relationship with all the shit I had to deal with.
When she called me her boyfriend in front of her rich, cute friends during a quick lunch between my shifts, I was dumbstruck as hell, but I smiled and didn’t correct her because doing so would require an explanation I wasn’t prepared to give, and going along with it felt easier.
Safer, like holding my position until I figured things out, except figuring things out was taking its sweet time.
If part of me thought I was playing a role I hadn’t auditioned for, I tucked that thought away for later, just like everything else.
By midweek, I was running purely on caffeine and adrenaline, and let me tell you, that combo works until it doesn’t. After our shared psychology class on Wednesday, Joey cornered me, bursting out of the lecture hall with the kind of energy that signaled he had been planning this encounter.
"Food," he said, pointing toward the student union. "Now. You look like you’re surviving on spite, and I need to confirm you’re still human."
"I’m a person," I replied.
"Walk with me," he insisted, already heading for the door.
We ended up at an old table in the union, surrounded by the usual noise of student life with trays clattering, overlapping conversations, and someone three tables away laughing at their phone.
Joey ordered something massive and devoured it with the kind of joy you only see in people who’ve never had issues with food. I picked at a sandwich that had probably been under a heat lamp for too long and didn’t mind.
"You’ve been a ghost," Joey noted, stabbing me with a fry. "Not a fun ghost, either. You’ve been an exhausted, avoiding-everyone kind of ghost. I’ve seen you at the café, the flower shop, and the hospital, but nowhere else."
"I’ve been busy."
"Busy, sure. But it’s a different kind of busy right now."
I stared at my sandwich. "Everything’s fine."
"You said that like someone who’s far from fine."
"Joey—"
"I’m not pushing," he said, raising his hands. "Just saying, for the record, you look like a guy carrying way too much and running out of pockets."
I chuckled despite myself. "That’s actually pretty accurate."
"Is this about your dad?"
"He’s improving."
"Is it about Melanie?"
I looked at my sandwich.
Joey met my gaze.
Three seconds of silence stretched between us.
"Let me guess: it’s about the Damien situation," he said, as if he already knew the answer.
"There is no Damien situation."
"Right." He ate a fry. "How’s he doing?"
"Fine."
"Seen much of him this week?"
"Not really."
"By design?"
"By schedule."
"Got it," he replied, his tone indicating he didn’t buy it but wasn’t ready to argue. He switched gears to tell me about his latest blunders trying out for the intramural soccer team, and I appreciated the distraction, even as the unsaid questions loomed between us like furniture we weren’t moving.
By Thursday, my avoidance strategy was in full swing.
Morning: sneak out before Damien woke up.
Afternoon: café or the flower shop, wrapped in the clean scent of flowers that hadn’t added any drama to my life.
Evening: hospital visit, then return late, straight to bed.
These brief encounters were meticulously choreographed, like someone studying another person’s schedule without admitting it. I knew when he left for practice.
I knew roughly when he came back. I used that intel to be elsewhere, convincing myself it was just smart time management, not anything deeper.
And it was working like a charm.
Then Friday rolled in with rain and a power outage, and of course, that meant everything came crashing down, as it tends to when the universe decides to throw a wrench in your coping mechanisms.
I’m sure you’d be surprised as to what Damien did next as if the emotional/sexual torment, he’d put me through wasn’t enough.