Change Of Season (51 page)

"Guilty."  He groaned as she retaliated, daring to suck hard and leave a mark.  "Hey, lower!"

Autumn reluctantly obeyed, longing to mark him as hers.  To create, not destroy.  Satisfied with the small purple oval and his ragged breathing, she leaned back with a smile.

"Something wrong?" she teased.

"Not enough privacy, or hours in the day," Andrew answered quietly.

"I know," she lamented.

His hand cradled her cheek, pulling her in for a light kiss.  "I do have to finish this stupid editing, but you’re far more appealing.  What to do?"

"Finish quickly and make out as a reward?"

With an exaggerated sigh, he nodded.  "I guess.  One more kiss?"

She obliged, lingering in his embrace.  She never felt caged in his arms, as she had with Chris.  She wasn’t his prey.  For all of the tension between them, Andrew never touched her anywhere intimate, although she’d noticed several false starts in heated moments.  He had the restraint of a saint.

You’re worth waiting for
.  His words still rang true.

Reluctantly she rose, letting him off the couch to resume work.  She pretended not to notice the bulge in his jeans, acutely aware of how her own body ached at the loss of his touch, longed for him to abandon his computer.  Film was his passion, and her hormonal surges could wait.  No sense making the choice more difficult for him.

"Whew!"  Andrew stretched overhead, flexing his fingers.  "Alright, concentration.  It’s a skill I used to have."

"I didn’t mean to be so distracting," she demurred.

"Like I really mind."

The clattering of keys resumed and Autumn reached for her bag, digging out her copy of Margaret Atwood’s
Alias Grace
, the first assigned reading in Contemporary Literature.  It was a boon for her: she’d already read it twice before, and could skim now to refresh herself.  Professor St. James had an eclectic list of readings in the syllabus, and she looked forward to him connecting the dots between the myriad of plots. 

She had scanned her way to the second chapter by the time Andrew shoved the mouse noisily across the desk and hit the power button on the monitor.  With a bemused expression, she watched him cram books and notes into his disaster zone of a backpack.

"Done?"

He rolled his eyes.  "I love Gretchen, I do, but editing together clips of various god-awful Seth Rogen films?  Child abuse.  The stupidity is burning."

"I take it you’re not one of the 90% of men who find
Superbad
hilarious?" she teased, packing up her belongings.

"I would rather willingly watch
Son Of The Mask
.  At least that movie has Alan Cumming in it."

"Ouch!  That’s on par with choosing to watch Halle Berry as
Catwoman
!"

Andrew shuddered, reaching for her hand.  "Don’t get me started on poor Catwoman.  How do you go from Michelle Pfeiffer to Halle Berry to Anne Hathaway?  Michelle is still gorgeous!  Cast her!  It’s not like Bale’s a spring chicken."

They walked out together, fingers interlaced, trading thoughts on horrible casting choices across Hollywood’s major franchises.  Pop culture fury was their specialty, and their laughter drew several eyes as they crossed the quad.  By the time they reached Ashbury, it had become a battle over Lindsay Lohan’s talent, or lack thereof.

"Oh come on!  You can’t possibly hate
Mean Girls
!" Autumn countered.

"Everyone gets lucky.  Even Megan Fox is tolerable in
Jennifer’s Body
," Andrew said.

"
Freaky Friday
? She had great chemistry with Jamie Lee Curtis."

Andrew sighed.  "Maybe.  But you can’t possibly defend drivel like
Labor Pains
or
I Know Who Killed Me
."

"Okay, that baby movie blew, no doubt," Autumn conceded.  "But I will make a grand case for
I Know Who Killed Me
any day."

"Who are you, and what have you done with my usually intelligent girlfriend?" Andrew asked, his disbelief apparent.

Autumn smiled, well aware of this reaction to a movie that likely offended any student of Film’s good taste.  "In the right hands, the kernel of the story could have been handled far better, first of all.  I can see the diamond in the dog crap.  Next, the alternate ending?  Much more interesting and again, proof that it had potential to work.  Three, no matter how awful you think it is, the film gave the world the joy of stripper Lindsay and her robo-leg and hand, and those laughs are priceless, sweetheart.  And hey, I kinda liked the blue glass shots."

"So you’re basically saying it has the same merits of
Avatar
:  the colour blue, a script in need of massive doctoring, and laughter at technology."

"Only
Avatar
stole the plot from
FernGully: The Last Rainforest
and
I Know Who Killed Me
is a special creature all its own."

Andrew laughed, rocking back on his heels.  "You just ranked one of the most panned films of all time above one of the most successful ones.  You’re incredible."

"And correct, too.  Oh, and cherry on top: 
Machete
.  Lindsay’s in that stroke of genius.  I win!"

"If I let you win, can we make out for the whopping four minutes we have left?"

Autumn answered him with a kiss, the winter winds a little less ferocious nestled in his arms.  Little moments of joy were her stepping stones between hours of fear and confusion, and Andrew often featured in these brief reprieves.  Had she not given in, had she not taken a chance last month, how would she be coping?

Miserably
, she thought. 

"What’s the plan for tomorrow night?" he asked quietly.  "Are you going home for the weekend?"

"No, not until Saturday.  Veronica and I have plans."

"Girls only?"  Andrew frowned.  "I suppose I’ll live.  Movie night?"

Autumn hesitated, debating how much to tell him.  Instinctively she’d left him off the invite list for Tunnel Walk 2012 the night before, and that still seemed wisest.  He hadn’t taken the whole haunted dorm scenario well, abruptly changing the subject whenever able. 

"Um, yeah.  Talk, candy, Netflix.  Nothing major."

"So there isn’t a tunnel exploration on tap?  That’s good, because given the state of things around here, it’s probably not safe."

Autumn winced. 
Did I not tell Veronica to keep it quiet
?  Andrew was very, very pissed off from his tone.  She glanced down at his watch and sighed. 
This is not a two-minute discussion
.

"Andrew, it’s no big deal."

"Good.  If it’s not important, you can do me a favour and leave it alone, then."

"You know I can’t do that," she mumbled.

He kicked the wall angrily beside them, startling her.  "Why not?  Why do you keep poking around in this?"

"Nikki won’t let me leave it alone!  You can’t possibly understand why this isn’t a choice for me.  You don’t live with her."

"Neither do you!"

A fault line emerged, splitting the common ground she thought they shared.  "You think I’m crazy."

"No!  But Autumn-"

She pushed him backwards, avoiding his touch of consolation.  This wasn’t something that could be remedied with a pat on the arm or a kiss. 
He thinks I’m crazy.  He thinks it’s all in my head.  Paranoia
.

"You need to go," she said firmly, feeling her knees shudder.  "Goodnight."

"Autumn, wait!"

With a swipe of her FOB, she was secured within the warm fortress of her dorm.  Untouchable. 
Crazy might be catching, Andrew.  Better be careful
.  Her stomach turned and lurched as she stomped up the stairs, melted snowflakes leaving a slushy trail behind her.  Breadcrumbs for the beasts in her head. 

She scarcely made it to her room before emptying her stomach, spitting in disgust as her mouth swelled with bile.  So this was it:  Andrew’s breaking point for the chaos that was her life.  She had to give credit where it was due, in spite of the large tears welling up.  He’d tolerated an awful lot.

Brushing her teeth, she kicked off her boots, leaving them beside the desk chair moved beneath her ceiling fan – again. 
Maybe I’m doing that myself, right Andrew?  Crazy girl tricks
?  Her phone beeped once, twice, three times as she sobbed into her pillow, the darkness a welcome friend.  Maybe Nikki would let her sleep tonight out of pity.  Maybe her plans would appease the angry demanding girl.

Plugging her phone in to charge, she scanned the texts.  Two from Andrew, rapid-fire after their parting:

I didn’t mean it like that, I swear.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to hurt you.

Autumn, please talk to me.  Tomorrow?

The third was from Veronica, and it was apparent that Andrew had taken the step of pulling her friend into the mess.

Hey doll, what happened?  Are you two in a fight?  Should I sneak up there?

With a sigh, she replied to Veronica, not wanting her solo pity party disturbed: 
Tomorrow.  Breakfast in my room.  Avoiding the dining hall for obvious reasons
.

She had History first thing with Veronica before her appointment with Emma.  If she was lucky, she could avoid him altogether.  Do him a favour.  What was that saying about loving and letting go? 

She sobbed loudly, considering this thought. 
Why did I let myself fall in love with him? 
All of her plans had gone so very astray here.  Where was her isolation, her aloof stance?  It was all a mistake, and now she was dragging these wonderful people into the flames of her personal hell. 
Selfish
.

Her phone vibrated loudly, shuddering against the window ledge.  He was calling now?  This was ridiculous, and could very well get her locked down on campus.

Maybe that’s the goal
.

Enraged at this manipulation, she answered the call quickly.  "Andrew, what the hell do you think you’re doing?"

Breathing.  Steady, rhythmic.  It echoed in her skull.

"Andrew, talk or I hang up."

Inhale.  Exhale.  It was all she could hear.  Glancing at the display, she dropped the phone on her lap. 
Unknown Number
.  It wasn’t Andrew.  It couldn’t be him.  Why would he block his number? 

Even from here, she could hear the caller’s breathing.  Intentionally heavy and loud, meant to terrify.  If it wasn’t Andrew, then who-

Chris.  Fiona’s calls.
 

Hanging up quickly, she flipped from vibrate to silent, whimpering.  It had to be Chris.  He was sending a message to her. 
And now he knows about Andrew
.  How stupid of her to just assume and answer the phone!  She’d handed him a weapon, a sharpened dagger for her frantic heart. 

Had he seen him at Christmas and understood how important he was to her?  Did Chris know where she was now?

Suddenly, avoiding Andrew took on a whole other meaning.  It might be a matter of life or death now.  Memories of Fiona in her bedroom morphed until it was Andrew in a leg cast, pale and emaciated.  Andrew, speaking in hushed tones about the colour of a truck.  Andrew’s face struck the dash, not her own, and she was powerless to save him. 

Unless she let him go.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Oakville; January 6th, 2012

"So, let’s keep you on the Ativan for now, but half as much.  Sound okay?"

Autumn nodded absently at her therapist.  "Sure.  Fine."

She absently toyed with the strap of her bag, finger and thumb sliding along the canvas strap until it hurt.  Friction burn.  It seemed a metaphor for the different parts of her life colliding within her skull.  Crowded, chaotic heart.  Innocent people on fire.

"Is there something wrong?" Emma asked softly.