Blythe Tatum expected her freshman year at university to be nerve-wracking, though nothing out of the ordinary. The beginning of her school year starts off as averagely as possible, though Blythe soon finds herself caught up in an unexpected and ine...
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My article is the talk of the school when the paper is released the following morning.
Nobody seems to be able to wrap their heads around the fact that star quarterback Jacob Beckham is capable of murder—that he had killed Naomi right here on campus, and no one had suspected a thing. To all of his peers, Jacob was nothing more than a likeable and fun guy—someone trustworthy and incapable of an act as heartless as murder. It seems as though only I knew the truth. Myself and Zachary d'Angelo, that is.
It is clear that I owe everyone around me an explanation. Naomi's story makes headlines, and I wake up to countless missed calls and texts from my mother—no doubt because she has seen Jacob's name all over the news (and for incredibly bad reasons). I call her back as soon as I am able to, reassuring her that I am okay and I will explain everything to her when I can. She asks if I will come home for a little while, and I agree. After all, a break from everything I have had going on sounds necessary for my mental health.
In the meantime, I take my usual seat at the campus café as I wait for Ivy and Ben to show up. They both want answers, and I feel as if they deserve to know the truth about everything—more details about the truth than what the article I published can offer.
Zach shows up first, just as I anticipated. He takes the seat next to me wordlessly, sliding an iced coffee my way across the table. I offer a small smile of thanks in return.
"Hey," Zach says gently.
"Hi," I murmur, matching his soft tone.
"How are you?" Zach questions. He tilts his head to the side as he studies me and awaits my answer, those piercing green eyes of his making me feel as if he can see right through to my soul. Somehow, the feeling has become comforting as time has gone on.
I open my mouth to respond, only to be cut off by Zach before I can utter a word.
"How are you really?" he asks, expression serious.
"I'm not okay," I admit after a moment, my voice scratchy due to all of the crying I've been doing over the past few hours. "But I will be, and that's all that really matters."
Zach nods, though he continues to study me carefully; as if he doesn't fully believe what I've told him. I can't blame him, because I don't exactly believe myself. I've gone through hell and back. I'm uncertain as to how long it will take me to fully recover from all that has happened.
"How are you?" I ask in return, awaiting Zach's response patiently.
He sits in thoughtful silence for a moment. "Relieved," he reveals, "and worried about you. I don't think I'll ever stop worrying about you."
"Because you care about me?" I hadn't meant to ask the question aloud. It seems too bold to put into the air at the moment—and yet I don't care. After all, bluntness has always been a Blythe Tatum specialty. It's somewhat nice to know that not everything about myself has changed after all I've had to endure. I'm not entirely broken—bits and pieces of my old self still linger within as I heal and allow myself to move past the hurt eating at me.
