༻ Rose's POV ༺
It was a week ago that Matt caught me outside the exam hall and asked to talk. A part of me wished I'd broken out into a run to escape that conversation. And I wasn't a runner.
Another part of me could breathe a little easier having spoken to him. He told me he didn't hate me and he said it with such sincerity that I believed him. He even seemed to understand why we couldn't be together, although, when he told me he would always love me, my chest ached. I'd told him I was too scared to let myself fall in love with him, that if I did, I wouldn't be able to walk away.
But the truth was, I was already in love with him. I'd already fallen.
It was how I knew that I couldn't trust myself to walk away when things got hard. I'd fallen fast for Matt. A lot had happened in the short time we'd been together, but the truth was, it was a short time. We'd known each other for less than four months and we'd only officially been dating for less than that. There was still so much to learn about each other and so much to experience as a couple, but that didn't matter.
I was head over heels in love with him.
And being apart from him was breaking my heart.
But I kept reminding myself that if this is how I feel now, after a few months, how would I ever be able to walk away after a few years? A few decades? If I started to plan our future together, if we lived together, got married, had kids? How would I ever have the strength to walk away from him if things started to change.
Anyone can become an alcoholic. There're no requirements, no exclusions. Anyone can have a drink to take the edge off one day, and then another, and then another. And one day can become two, and then a week, and then suddenly, you can't go a day without it.
And Matt has a temper. There's no denying that. Even if it's never been directed at me, I've seen it. I've seen him snap and lash out, seen him throw a punch first and then think it through later. With alcohol clouding his judgement, it would only be a matter of time.
I also knew that our relationship would always be imbalanced. I was already living in an apartment his father had given us. I was already living in a fancy building his family owned, with doormen loyal to him, paying a reduced rent to his family. I could see us further down the line, living in a house he paid for, living off his money. No matter how hard I worked, I would never have the kind of money he has at his fingertips. It would be like living with my father all over again, completely under his control. If I walked away, I'd be left with nothing.
And even worse, his family owned this town. He could stop me from getting a job, he could stop me from going to the police, he could stop me from seeing my own children. He had the power and the connections to do whatever he wanted with me.
I couldn't willingly put myself back in that position.
No matter how much I wanted him.
So, I spent the week sulking. I ignored his messages, despite the ache to respond, if only to have someone to talk to. Mom was always gone by the time I woke up and she often didn't come home until late, having gone out after work with her new friends. When she did come home and I tried to spend time with her, it usually ended in her lecturing me about not putting in the effort with anyone at school.
Tears welled in my eyes every time she told me I was the only one to blame for having no friends. As though I hadn't spent years hiding from everyone in the hopes that they wouldn't notice what was going on at home. As though she herself hadn't told me to end things with Matt out of fear that he'd find out about my dad. I'd been forced to isolate myself for years and now it was too late to start making friends a month before the end of my senior year.
She seemed to forget that she had a fresh start. Nobody knew her at her new job. She was able to make a good first impression and go from there. I, on the other hand, was the loser who had hidden away in the library and run away from any attempt at conversation until out of the blue I was dating the most popular guy in school. I was the idiot that broke up with the football quarterback. I was the freak whose dad was arrested for beating me up. I was the unlovable, unapproachable bitch who broke the heart of the popular, nice guy.
Nobody wanted to be my friend.
I held onto the hope that once I went off to college, I would have that fresh start that she'd been given. Nobody would know about me. Nobody would know about my dad. Nobody would know about Matt. I could be whoever I wanted to be.
But other than my desire for a fresh start, college had started losing its appeal. As my acceptance letters started rolling in, I couldn't muster up any enthusiasm. Even when I received my letter from Stanford this morning, I felt dread curdle in my stomach at the thought. Deep down, I had to wonder if a fresh start would really make any difference. Would people really like me if they didn't know about my life back at home? And could I really make genuine friends by pretending to be someone or something I'm not?
I shook the doubts away as I knocked on the door to the principal's office. My stomach twisted with dread when he called me inside.
I'd received a call this morning explaining that he wanted to speak to me. I'd never met the man before, never had a conversation with him, let alone got called to see him. I couldn't think of a single thing that I'd done to warrant being called in but that didn't stop nausea to roll through my stomach in waves as I pushed the door open.
The office was large, with carpeted floors and white washed walls. There was a large fireplace to the left and an enormous oak desk to the right. Behind it sat Principal Wells. He was probably in his fifties, with greying hair that was rapidly receding, crinkles around his eyes and creases in his forehead. But he was kind looking. His eyes were a soft brown colour, tucked behind a pair of reading glasses and his lips tilted up into a friendly smile.
"Miss Wakefield," he greeted. He swept a hand across the desk to the chair opposite him. "Please, take a seat."
I nodded and shuffled into the room. Despite his warm demeanour, I was incredibly nervous. I wiped my sweaty palms along my thighs as I lowered into the chair and forced a smile that I'm sure was entirely unconvincing. "Now," he started, gathering some papers on his desk and organising them into a neat pile, "I wanted to speak to you about your acceptance to Stanford," he said.
I swallowed and nodded again. I knew if I tried to speak, my voice would break from how dry my throat was.
He glanced up from his papers and offered me a nod. "Congratulations, by the way."
A wheezy laugh slipped from my lips. "Thank you."
"I'm sure you must be thrilled," he continued. My stomach twisted into knots. Not really. I should be thrilled, I should be jumping around squealing like everyone else has been this past week. I should be planning and packing and preparing and dreaming about my future, but all I feel is this crushing feeling in my chest. It feels entirely too similar to grief, but I'm not sure what I'm grieving exactly.
My father? My old life? My relationship?
"However, I do have some unfortunate news. The Dean called me yesterday to discuss your application." My stomach started somersaulting again. That couldn't be good. "He's thrilled you'll be joining them in the fall, however, they've rejected your request for financial aid."
I nearly threw up all over his desk.
My entire future had always been riding on the fact I needed financial aid. I worked so hard in every subject because I needed perfect grades across the board in order to receive a scholarship. I devoted all of my time and energy to make sure that I could get into Stanford, but without financial aid, there was absolutely no way I could afford it.
I blinked at Principal Wells while sympathy shone in his eyes. "What-why?"
He sighed. "Unfortunately, we updated our systems with your new address and this information is required to be up to date on college applications so we had to forward it to them. And you now live in a very expensive residence in a very wealthy part of town. They believe that there are other students that are more deserving of financial help."
The crushing weight that had been sitting on my chest since I woke up the hospital got a little bit heavier. Others that deserved it more? Now that really was a joke. And apparently, I was the punchline.
"But- we're paying reduced rates for that apartment," I stammered, "We- we could never afford it and I could never afford college without that financial aid."
He nodded in understanding. "Which is why I've investigated some alternative routes. The school has a donor who offers a full scholarship to two students of my choosing each year. I'd already selected the two students earlier in the year, as neither of them were eligible for financial aid. However, I made a call this morning and he's kindly agreed to pay a third scholarship this year, which means that your college education will be paid, in full, and you won't be required to pay a single penny back."
I blinked at him. Once. Twice. Three times. And then, I started to rapidly blink in any attempt to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. "Thank you," I said, voice wavering as I did.
Whether or not I was excited about college, it meant a lot to me to have someone give me a break from all the crap that had been dumped on me lately. Losing my future because of everything happening with my father would've been the final straw for me. I'd lost so much already, I couldn't lose the one thread of hope I'd clung to for years too. So, to know that someone was protecting my future was the most comfort I'd felt in a long time.
His smile widened. "You're welcome. I'll need you to complete these forms so we can get everything set up. You'll need to make sure than you note down your final choice for college, as the donor will go ahead and set up the funding with the respective college directly. It also includes a small fee into you account each month that should be enough to live off so you'll be required to put you account details here-," he continued to talk, gesturing to the form on the desk and the different boxes.
But I was no longer listening. I was stuck on the part about picking the college I'd go to. My final choice. Stanford had always been my only choice. It was far away. It was a good school. That had been all I cared about. I'd applied to some others, some in the area and some equally as far away, as backups, but I'd never really considered them. But now I needed to make the decision, I was wavering. Did I really want Stanford? Did I really want to go somewhere completely unfamiliar? Did I really want to pack up and move across the country alone?
I no longer knew what I wanted.
"I'll take these with me and bring them back to you when I've completed them," I stated, interrupting Principal Wells and gathering up the papers.
"Excellent," he said, eyes narrowing in my direction. "The sooner you return them to me, the sooner I can give them to Mr Sternato and we can start setting everything up."
I was halfway to my feet, ready to get out of here, when I froze. I dropped back into my chair. "Sorry? Mr Sternato?"
His brows dipped. "Yes, that's the donor."
Of course it was.
"Thank you, Principal Wells," I muttered before stuffing the papers into my bag and darting from the room.