[completed] Nova Carter knows exactly what the next few years of her life will look like: she will work harder than anyone else (as she didn't get into New York University to slack off); she'll be keeping her head down and prioritizing getting her a...
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Chapter Thirty-three | Fade Into You ♫Fade Into You by Mazzy Star
The best part of sleeping all day is sleeping all day.
The worst part of sleeping all day is being wide awake at night.
I feel this heavily as I lie across from Olivia. My eyes have even adjusted to the darkness in the room. I can make out the faint shapes of our wardrobes, our desks, and the door to the bathroom. There seems to be no way for me to fall asleep. When I tap on the screen of my phone, it's a little past midnight.
Impulsively, I push my bed sheets off of me and slip out of bed. I wear the first pair of sneakers I can find (my Converses, which don't fit my leg braces inside), and pull a sweatshirt over the plain, long-sleeved tee I usually sleep in. The air of the night is cold when I end up outside, shivering even underneath all of my layers, clutching my phone in one hand and having my other balled into an involuntary fist.
Sometimes, my nights look like this: standing on the sidewalk in the dark, staring into traffic and sticking to the wall of my dormitory. My Dad used to say a breath of fresh air helps you sleep afterwards. It was his excuse for dragging me outside to walk the dog late at night, when what I really wanted was to be unconscious in my bedroom.
Back then, I thought college would be liberating in the way a young, naïve high-schooler tends to. I thought I'd do whatever I wanted. I thought I'd never see nights as dark as those evenings were. I thought I'd at least take care of myself that way.
As it turns out, taking care of myself is hard and exhausting.
Someone catches my eye across the street. He walks slowly, keeping his eyes on the ground. Then, after a short moment of pausing in his step, he pulls out his phone, taps the screen a few times and holds it to his ear.
I pick up on the first ring. "Hey."
"Hi," Milo says, softly. He pulls at the string of his hoodie, unaware of my eyes on him. "Did I wake you?"
"No. I couldn't sleep."
"Me, neither." He starts to walk again. One slow foot after the other. "Maybe I should've texted you. Or, talked to you tomorrow. It's late."
"I'm glad you called me," I say, regretting the words the minute they escape my mouth.
"Yeah?"
"I was bored, anyway."
I can see a hint of a smile pass over his face, but it disappears just as quick. I consider his clothes, and the fact that he's all the way in Manhattan when he lives in Chelsea, the fatigue slowing his words and dragging at the tone of his voice.
