sign {h.s.}

κεφάλαιο είκοσι*

n. i gave u horny babies what u wanted bc that is just the type of person that i am

WHEN I LEFT, I had no idea where I was going. There was no particular destination in mind. There was a sort of rage that was fueling my movements, each step expelling the negativity and the resentment that my roommate's interpreter had—yet again—inserted himself in a conversation where he did not belong.

I'm not so naïve as to think that I am innocent in all this. I've egged him on; I've encouraged his behavior. Though, my behavior does not equate or excuse his. He is still his own person, independent of my reactions to him. He still chooses to act in the way that he does and no matter how many times I puzzle it over, I can't figure out what he stands to gain from it.

An empty bench is a couple paces off. Hidden beneath the shadow of a large tree, it faces the pond in a slightly secluded spot. I make my way over to it eager to have a concrete place to sit and think. Think about when things got so messy—a question that I've spent the entirety of my unmapped walk trying to figure out.

Beneath me, the bench is stiff and cold. "Damn it," I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. I'd left in such a hurry that I'd not stopped to take the time to put on clothes to protect me from the cold. Now, I find myself too willing to dig my heels into the dirt; too angry to risk going back with my tail between my legs and having to face both Harry and Lola.

Lola, my sweet roommate who asked for none of this. My roommate who likely is very confused as to the majority of what just transpired. My own level of ASL is not yet strong enough to understand what he had delivered to her of our conversation. Whether he made me look like the bad guy, or whether he had explained it as it had happened.

Guilt churns my stomach and I can't refrain myself a moment longer. I pull out my phone to send her a message of apology.

But, as my hand reaches in my pocket to pull out the device, I come up empty. In my rush to get out of the room, I'd forgotten my phone. Panic begins to set in as I reach in my other pocket, looking to procure either my phone or my key. Empty. I groan, my head falling back, "fuck," I hiss, thoroughly annoyed with myself. Knocking on the door asking for Lola to let me in is not exactly the most realistic possibility.

In fact, the most realistic possibility—barring from using my one, free lockout this early in the semester—is locating the only other person who has a key to my room. "Shit," I smack my hand down against the arm of the bench as a physical manifestation of my unyielding frustration.

I tap my foot anxiously against the ground, weighing all other options that I have. Perhaps using one of my lockouts wouldn't be the end of the world. This is the first time I've ever left home without both my key and my phone. The chances of something like this happening again are entirely slim. I could risk it. On the other hand, there is a voice in the back of my head reminding me of everything that could go wrong: losing my phone and wallet at a party, going out and my phone dying before I get home and Lola can't hear me again, and any other number of impossible scenarios rendering me useless.

My eyes focus on the beauty in front of me.

The reality of my situation is too pressing; too daunting. Instead, I ignore it. I ignore everything but the setting sun reflecting in the pond and the autumnal leaves visible in the waterline as well.

I opt to stay until the sun sets. When that finally happens, I've no doubt that the cold will officially begin to set in. Then, I'll really be in a hurry to find a way back inside. Then, and only then, will I have the courage to make my way to Harry's apartment with retired pride and a plea that otherwise could be very easily ignored.