Damage

Chapter 12

"Are you coming to the party?" Emily rests one her hand on the doorframe, her makeup bag in the other.

I'm swamped with work after just my first week and although I have the rest of the weekend to complete it, it would be nice to finish it by tonight. But still, something in me toys with the idea of going out again despite what happened last time.

"Whose party?"

"Luke Hemmings. But it's not at his place, I think."

The image of the jaded and callous 21-year old that I only met a week ago flashes in my mind with a cigarette between his lips and I immediately feel a bitter taste in the back of my throat.

"Just don't come to my parties anymore. You don't belong there, anyway."

I shake the memory from my mind. Either way, I'm busy enough as it is.

"I'm alright, I have a lot to do," I say, pulling a stray piece of hair behind my ear and tapping my highlighter against my enormous anthropology textbook, smiling ruefully.

"Well, the offer always stands," she responds brightly. "There'll always be parties."

"How does he manage to throw a party nearly every weekend, by the way?" I ask, furrowing my brows.

"It's not usually premeditated like this one," she laughs. "At this point, people just show up. There's always booze and drugs at his place. When you're loaded like he is, you can afford it."

"Well, you have fun," I sigh and Emily heads to the bathrooms.

My phone buzzes and I pick it up, declining Cal's similar invitation before hovering my finger over the button for voicemail. My mother and Jake, my little brother, called me multiple times during the week and I ignored every one.

I feel bad for not responding, but it's too soon and I don't know if I could take hearing their voices. It makes me too sad and guilty and makes me miss being back home when I desperately don't want to. Especially after what happened.

Once I'm sure Emily is gone, I sit down on the dark blue blanket on my bed and play through my inbox. The first message is from my mother. Her voice is cold and harsh, with hurt laced behind every word. I don't blame her.

The second one is from Jake, whispering into the home phone. He's angry and he deserves to be, he's only 8 and he doesn't understand what's happening or why everyone is sad or why I left so suddenly.

"You promised me."

When it happened, we all had to find different ways to cope. For Jake it was anger, confusion and crying. For my mother it was silence. I still can't figure out what I'm doing. 

The third one is from him again and I'm almost expecting another message where he basically tells me (as best an 8 year old can) how selfish I was for leaving and how I let him down. 

But when all I hear from the other end is a minute of muffled sobbing, all I can do is lean back against the pillows and take a shaky breath, desperately trying not to cry along with him.

"You sure you don't want to come?" Emily interrupts, calling out from outside our dorm and I quickly wipe away the few silent and betraying tears that have escaped my eyelids before she can see me.

She peeps her head back in, raising one eyebrow. "Mia, it'd be fun! You never have fun. All you do is study." Her smile is mischievous and by now, I know that I've already pretty much lost this battle. Besides, after listening through my voicemail I need cheering up and a party will (hopefully) do just that.

"Fine, fine, fine," I groan, closing my book and setting down my pen. I can find a way to avoid Luke and I bought a new dress anyway. "But that's not true, I do fun stuff!" I protest, laughing for what feels like the first time in a while and pulling my hair out of its ponytail.