Gaslighter

26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

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2019

          Now that it was settled that Savannah, Ingrid, and I would be moving in together before the start of our sophomore year of college, they decided it would be wise to start moving stuff into the apartment in our free time so we wouldn't be caught by surprise later on. The lease had already been signed, courtesy of Ingrid's parents, and they had even supplied a considerable amount of the extra furniture we'd need to make the place look accommodating, not just basic appliances.

          To a normal person, this would be okay and completely reasonable behavior. 

          However, I didn't feel like a normal person, and enjoyed my routines far too much to be pleased by how fast things were moving along. I was perfectly content with staying stagnant and going with the flow, letting people make decisions in my place (see: delegating the most important choices regarding my relationship with Chase to him, as he was the one who had the most to lose in case it went sour or was discovered), so I wasn't thrilled to be rushed and shoved from building to building.

          I'd started by moving clothes and personal items I was less likely to need and miss, but the way Savannah wrinkled her nose as she watched me push heavy boxes into my designated bedroom made me rethink every decision I'd made up until that point. Part of me didn't want to care—surely she had better things to worry about than what I was bringing to an apartment I wouldn't immediately be moving into—but I couldn't quite ignore the gnawing sensation that I was doing something wrong.

          I was too big of a coward to confront her about it, anyway. It was more comfortable, safer, even, to avoid confrontation with someone who would soon be my housemate, and I didn't want to be the spark to fuel another conflict between her and Ingrid. Somehow, they'd been getting along considerably well, and I'd welcomed the change as long as it wasn't at my expense.

          "Have you changed your mind?" she eventually questioned, standing in the doorway as I finished unboxing a small container of candles. They were vanilla candles, my least favorite candle scent and my mother's favorite, so I'd figured they'd be better off in this apartment than wasting away in my precious loft, but I wasn't much of a fan of the way they looked against the dark mahogany wood of my dresser.

          I straightened my back, trying to massage the muscle between my shoulder and neck, aching from being so unused to this much physical effort. Like my parents enjoyed reminding me, you could pay people to do these things for you, but Ingrid refused the help with smaller furniture one wouldn't need to assemble. My parents would appreciate the hustle—after all, they had always wanted me to be more ambitious than I actually was—but they also saw her for what she was: someone who was fueled by stubbornness and spite. Ingrid did things just to prove to everyone that she could do them, regardless of whether they were dangerous or not, and I was finally starting to slowly remove her from the pedestal I'd placed her on.

          "What do you mean?"

          "Do you regret having said yes to . . ." She vaguely gestured around the nearly empty bedroom. I was probably the most interesting thing in there, which spoke volumes about how much effort I'd been putting into decorating it. "You know. All of this. Moving in with us."

          "Well, to be fair, no one has moved into this apartment yet, so regretting something that has yet to happen makes no sense."

          "I know, but . . ." She stood up straight, after standing with her arms firmly crossed and a shoulder leaning against the doorframe to support her weight. Even while wearing high-heeled ankle boots, she was still so tiny, so fragile my first instinct was to wrap her in a cocoon and protect her from any world horrors that could ever threaten her, but I'd been doing such a lousy job at protecting myself from said horrors that I feared being responsible for someone else. I didn't fully trust her to be responsible enough, either; even though that disastrous frat party had faded into a distant memory, one I could watch on a screen as though it had happened to someone that wasn't me, the effects of it had yet to subside. "I've had this lingering feeling that you don't actually want to move in with us ever since you agreed to get a tour of the place. If you don't want to stay, I promise we won't be offended. I'd rather not have you here if it will make you uncomfortable. So many friendships have been ruined over people having a miserable time living together, and I'd really hate to see that happen to us."