Gaslighter

03

CHAPTER THREE

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2021

          I had to do something about the Marco situation.

          As much as I loved Ingrid and Savannah, I feared their gossipy tendencies. I wasn't that much better than them, not after three—nearly four—years at this university and didn't see myself as a goddamn saint, but we'd gotten in trouble over it before. Therefore, I had to handle Marco and my lie before they decided to take matters into their own hands and ruin everything; they could easily spread the word around, which would quickly reach his ears, and he'd expose me for the liar that I was.

          I had never meant for any of this to happen. How in the world had I gotten myself into such a mess, when all I ever wanted was Chase Steele?

          Chase Steele. PhD.

          The words from that very first lecture drilled into my skull, ricocheting off the walls of my brain, back when I didn't know what loving Chase Steele would entail. I should have listened to him—you need to stay away from me, Penelope. We need to stay away from each other. I could lose my job. You could be kicked out of school—but I'd always been known for being stubborn and refused to let go of the only person who had ever looked at me like I mattered.

          I didn't even know what to tell him. I didn't even know what to tell Marco.

          "Where's your head?" Chase questioned, as I finished putting on my sweater. Now that he was no longer touching me, the cold air of his bedroom had bit deep into my skin and I felt like I was standing in the middle of a blizzard. "You're somewhere far away. I can't seem to reach you."

          Two weeks had passed since he remembered I existed. We'd moved from his office back to his apartment, a change I gratefully welcomed, and I almost fooled myself into thinking we were slowly falling back into our old normal.

          I sighed. "Nothing. I've just had a lot on my mind lately."

          October was slowly coming to a close and I still hadn't declared an advisor. My parents had been pressuring me all week, reminding me that wasn't a decision I should make lightly, and I was desperate to give them a concrete answer, but it wasn't like I could explain what was going on.

          They knew about Chase, they knew he existed, but they were, hopefully, clueless about the true nature of our relationship and my feelings for him. Whenever I spoke about him, I tried to be as neutral as possible, keeping a cool distance, treating him like any other professor. There was always an involuntary affectionate sweetness to my voice whenever I mentioned him—Professor Steele, never Chase—and painted the most beautiful portrait of him at the dining table. They liked him, mostly thanks to Stephen Delaroux, who often called him one of the finest, most brilliant students he'd ever had.

          I lived for Stephen's stories, closer glimpses of Chase's life before we'd met. It was heartwarming to imagine him, fresh-faced and starry-eyed, fascinated by film and being taken under the wing of who would become his mentor later on. Then, years later, he'd share that same knowledge with me—he'd share his heart, his body, his soul.

          Somewhere along the way, things had changed. I could feel his distance now more than ever.

          "Have you made a decision yet?" I dared to ask. "About being my advisor?"

          He let out a deep sigh. "You know it's complicated. People will get suspicious."

          "Why?" I turned to face him. "Wouldn't people get suspicious if I chose Professor Bass to be my advisor? It'd be long hours of me spending time in his office"—his eyes briefly narrowed—"and it's not like I have the best of reputations in this place as is. Everyone thinks I only got to where I am because of my parents."