Chapter 8: Too Late to Back Out Now
•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•✾•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•
Before I could fully take in my surroundings, my hands were already digging through the worn bag, pulling out the first clothes I found, sifting through them in that absent-minded way I always did when something felt off and I needed something familiar to hold on to.
The fabric felt strangely out of place here...my shirts were a bit wrinkled from being stuffed in so hastily, and my jeans had creases that told stories of a life lived out of necessity rather than care. I kept stopping, my fingers hovering over the zipper, my eyes wandering around the room before bringing them back.
Nothing about me matched this place.
Not the frayed edges of my bag, thin after too many moves. Not the sigh that escaped me without my consent. And certainly not the creeping realization settling in my chest: I was in a room that had never been meant for someone like me.
Behind me, Joey was still talking.
Of course he was.
His voice filled the apartment, fast and light, brimming with that particular energy of someone who never quite figured out how to read a room or decided it wasn’t their job. He was introducing himself and I to Damien with a kind of effortless confidence that came naturally to those who never had to question their place as they walked through a door, tossing his words around as if this was nothing but another lazy afternoon with nowhere to be.
Something about us being in third year.
Something about how I was "actually a really good roommate once you got past that bad attitude."
Something about this being temporary, just until things sorted themselves out.
I caught bits and pieces of it but let the rest fade because my focus had already shifted, drawn to the room itself in a way I couldn’t resist.
It was impossible not to stare.
This was definitely not a dorm—not in any sense I’d ever thought of the term. Too quiet, too spacious, too intentionally designed for it to be a place where students lived their messy, exhausted, half-functional lives.
The living area stretched out beneath soft, cozy lighting that felt carefully chosen, warm but not too harsh, making everything look just a touch more expensive than it actually was. A large sofa anchored the center of the room, low and sleek, covered in fabric so smooth it seemed untouched, as if it was there more for show than for sitting.
In front of the sofa, a glass coffee table caught the light without a single smudge or scratch on it. So pristine, it seemed less like something anyone would use and more like a piece of art. The television mounted on the wall was wide and sleek, the kind of screen that radiated silence like it was made of something expensive, reminding me that whoever owned it didn’t have to choose between practicality and cost.
Everything was positioned just so, with intention, by someone...probably an interior designer who understood the difference between a space and a home, opting for the former without a second thought.
My gaze drifted toward the kitchen without meaning to, and the difference became even more pronounced. Marble countertops stretched across the space, long slabs of white looking almost unreal in the dim light, cool and immaculate, paired with stainless steel appliances that reflected everything around them in clean, warped surfaces.
The cabinets closed with nearly no sound, and the refrigerator hummed at a frequency so low it felt almost absent. The whole area had a quiet, curated perfection that had never seen a hurried meal eaten over the sink out of necessity.
And then I spotted the bedroom.
That’s when my brain finally stopped.
Two beds sat there, spaced generously apart, the distance feeling almost foreign, wider than anything I’d ever had in a shared space. Soft curtains hung above each, light and seemingly unnecessary in the most intentional way, turning what should have been just a sleeping area into something that belonged in a hotel brochure rather than any version of student housing I’d ever known.
The sheets were pressed perfectly flat, pillows arranged without a single dent.
Untouched.
As if living in them carelessly had never crossed anyone’s mind.
I lingered longer than I should have, duffel bag still in hand, my mind struggling to reconcile what I saw with any reality I could grasp.
So this was Preston Hall.
This was where people lived..And instinctively, my mind did what it always did when things felt out of reach.
This was heaven compared to the bunk beds that creaked and shifted at the slightest movement, the metal frame rattling every time someone turned over in the dark. Shared bathrooms at the end of echoing, damp hallways no matter the hour.
God, don’t even get me started in the toilets, those were on another level of horror stories to tell later on.
Walls with peeling paint no one bothered to fix because nobody expected perfection from such a place, or ever got it.
A constant background noise that never really stopped, even at night when the building was theoretically asleep—voices through thin walls, footsteps overhead, distant music seeping through a door that didn’t quite seal.
The conclusion forming in my mind was simple enough that I didn’t even need to say it out loud to know it was true.
There was no way I could have afforded this place.
Joey’s voice broke through my thoughts before I could sink too deep.
"Okay, so," he said quickly, stepping closer with that energy of someone who suddenly remembered they needed to be somewhere else. "I actually have to head out. It’s a long drive back home, and my parents are expecting me before I disappear into the semester and stop returning calls for three months."
I glanced at him briefly, still half in the moment.
"Of course they are," I replied.
He wisely chose to overlook that and continued with a bit more care than before.
"I’ll call you tomorrow," he added, already drifting toward the door. "Just settle in, try not to break anything. Or start fights. Or get yourself kicked out before the week’s up. Ideally, none of those things, but I’ll let you prioritize."
"Incredibly reassuring," I deadpanned.
He hesitated, his hand just shy of the door handle, scratching the back of his neck like he was weighing how honest to be about something he’d probably been keeping in for a while.
"Oh, right," he said suddenly, turning back to me like he’d just remembered something important, though I suspected it had been on his mind the whole time. "I should probably explain the whole roommate situation before I leave."
My eyes narrowed slightly.
"Now you decide to tell me?"