Chapter 42

MILA

It feels empty,okay?

If you're wondering how I feel and how this entire thing feels right now.

It feels completely and totally empty.

And you're asking yourself what the hell is she talking about… the word is everything.

The morning comes and goes in a blur.

There's coffee. Some food. We all talk.

Everyone asks where Jax is.

Everyone seems to look at me when they ask it.

I have to play stupid and say I don't know either. Eventually I caved and said as I woke up he was leaving. Partially the truth.

When we get back on campus, things still feel empty.

It's hard to think about. I guess.

Mac's life is forever changed now. So is Violet's. There's a ton of questions that only Mac will find the answers to.

Honestly, that's the least of what's on my mind right now.

Without even thinking I find myself walking to Ward's dorm.

I have this insane vision of me catching him with someone else.

Really, Mila? That's the route you want here?

I don't even know why I'm going to see Ward.

From what I remember from our last conversation, I said what I had to say to him. I made it clear I could not do this thing with him any longer. Maybe he was drunk, hungover, or stuck somewhere between that… so maybe I'm on my way to talk to him to make sure thing are clear.

Guilt hits my stomach when I see his building.

My heart races.

There's a voice inside my head…

Think about it, Mila. You're really done with Ward? Over what? Because of him drinking too much?

Oh, that's ironic, huh?

Wasn't I the one who was drunk just last night…?

In a gazebo with a hockey player? Letting him touch me? Letting him kiss me?

My body shivers. My nipples perk up. My inner thighs ache for more of Jax.

And here I am just feet away from Ward's dorm.

I reach for the doorknob. Then I pause.

I knock instead.

I'm not sure if I'm allowed to just walk into the room right now or not.

I don't know what we are.

I don't know what he thinks we are.

I just…

I've managed to really mess things up without even really trying or realizing it until now.

"Give me a second!" Ward's voice booms. "Little under the weather here! Who is it?"

I swallow hard.

Under the weather.

That means… the obvious.

"It's me," I say. "It's Mila. I think we need to talk, Ward."

I swear I hear him groan.

It takes much longer than a second for the door to open.

Ward stands there with a towel around his neck. He looks pale. There are bags under his eyes that are a purplish color.

My brain instantly going into diagnose mode.

I don't say a word to him though.

It's obvious what's happening here. It's clear as day he's beyond hungover right now.

You're hungover right now too, Mila. Remember?

"How do you feel?" I ask.

What a dumb question to ask.

"What do you mean by that, Mila? Did you show up to pick on me or what?"

"No. I showed up to talk. You're hungover, Ward. A really bad one too."

"Yeah, okay, whatever. Smithy got some foreign liquor from his old man, okay? We were drinking it and it was really powerful stuff."

"You were puking again?"

"Don't say the word again like that."

"What if I told you I'm worried about you?"

"You're worried about me. Am I supposed to feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside?"

"Do you remember the last time we talked, Ward? The other night?"

"I don't remember much. You got pissed at me the next morning."

"Which was yesterday…"

"Was it? Really? Oh, shit. The funeral. That's why you're acting a little off right now. I'm sorry. That must have been intense. I hate funerals. Why don't you come in, Mila? Come relax for a bit. We'll crash in my bed and watch something. Okay? Anything you want to watch too. You want to put on some dumb chick-flick? Let's do it."

Ward reaches for me and I step back.

"Oh, fuck, what is this, Mila?"

Go inside. Go into the dorm room. Don't do this thing here.

I don't want to go into his dorm.

As I stare at Ward I realize of all things he's done and been… whatever history we have between us… he's always been the same guy. He hasn't changed one bit. That's why he acts the way he does right now.

The daily hangovers aren't new.

The nightly binge drinking isn't a shock.

This is what Ward has always been.

And, yes, there was a time when I leaned into it and didn't mind it all that much.

That was a different part of me. A different time.

Ward has his life placed right in front of him.

So do I.

"What is this, Mila?" Ward asks. "Just spill it. I'm not in the mood. I have a pounding headache and I think I'm going to throw up again. I'll never drink that foreign booze again."

"That's the plan? Not to drink just that stuff?"

"Oh, here we go. This is a good one. Tell me you weren't drunk last night, Mila. I see it in your eyes. They're tired and glossy. You're hungover too."

"Yeah, but-"

"So?"

"This isn't going to work, Ward. I said it before and I'm saying it again. I'm saying right now. Loud and clear. We're both sober enough to look at each other."

"Yeah, okay, Mila. This is you acting all perfect, right? You're going to be a doctor. Nobody around you can have any flaws. You crave perfection. It's what you need to survive. I get it. And I guess I'm not part of it."

There. He said the words for you. Now leave.

"I'm sorry, Ward," I whisper. "I shouldn't have let things go on like this with us. We both can feel the tension all the time. We're going in different directions. I don't want to hate you for that. I don't want you to hate me either."

"Too fucking late for that," Ward says.

He slams the door in my face.

I jump back.

I swallow hard.

A part of me wants to feel upset. Sad. Hurt. Lonely. Maybe even shed a tear or two.

Instead, I just stare at the door.

I don't know what to feel right now.

I just know what I want right now.