Sweet Little Nothing

Today, though, the sun is peeking through those clouds, and I plan on taking full advantage of the sunlight. So to speak.

The inside of the dorm building is every bit as luxurious in the lobby as the outside suggests. From the slate flooring and comfy couches in the lounge area, to the exposed wooden beams overhead, this place looks more like a coveted vacation spot than a college dorm.

I follow Abigail’s directions to the elevator, though I could have found it regardless; it is a straight shot down the wide hallway.

Worry over meeting my roommate sets in as the car climbs to the third floor. What if she’s like the girls back home?

Mean, petty, and black-hearted.

Even worse… what if she’s nice? What if she sees through my mask, straight down to my broken core? What if she pulls at the thread holding all of my secrets inside me? What if she wants to try to fix me up, like I’m some old dilapidated house?

My soul is far too tarnished for a little TLC to make it shine.

It’s black. Rotten, through no fault of my own. Not because I’m bad, but because of bad done to me. The kind of bad that leaves a mark so dark, sometimes I wonder if I don’t wear it like a beacon.

The elevator dings and then the doors part, chasing away the rumble of thunder in my mind.

Anticipation thrums heavy in my chest as I approach my suite door. My heart feels as if it might actually beat clear out of my chest as I slide my key into the lock.

I inhale deeply and hold my breath as I swing the heavy, wooden door open.

Except, when I step inside, I’m alone. I’m only half relieved; if I’m being honest, I would have preferred to get the meet-and-greet out of the way.

The main living space is cozy in a generic sort of way, with a deep navy couch and a low-sitting coffee table. There’s a modest-sized flat screen television mounted on the wall over a console table. And in the kitchen, there’s even a small eat-in table with two chairs.

Undoubtedly, my mother would turn up her nose at these accommodations, but me? I’d take them a million times over the shiny mansion she calls home. That place is nothing more than a polished facade hiding poisonous lies and treacherous memories.

I check out the bathroom before peeking my head into the bedroom on the left. Judging by the fluffy purple duvet covering the bed, pictures on the walls, and string lights going from one side to the other, this room is claimed. Unfortunately, nothing about the room gives me any hints about its occupant.

Please God, let her be a nice, normal girl.

Unlike my suitemate’s room, which is full of life and somehow already looks lived in, mine is bare bones. A complete blank canvas... a fresh start.

I place both of my bags at the foot of the bed and then fish my phone from my back pocket. I unlock the screen with my thumb and pull up my text messages. Only, I don’t have anyone to text. There’s no one waiting to hear from me. I doubt mommy dearest even cares if I made it here okay.

Lord knows, she didn’t bother to even check on me once over the past two days I spent driving here from Texas.

Sighing, I lock the screen and repocket the device.

For a moment, I sit here in total silence, letting the calm of the room wash over me. I’m sure it makes me foolish to put so much hope in this place being the turning point for me, but it’s like the old saying goes, if not now, when?

If things don’t get better—if I don’t get better—I’m not sure what I’ll do. I’m hoping, since I’ve already experienced rock bottom, that up is my only option.

Then again, I know better than most just how unfair life can be. Sometimes, it seems like the universe actually takes joy in kicking people while they’re down.

I know it did for me.

The sound of the door unlatching snaps me out of my pity party. Instantly, I’m on high alert, my breaths sawing in and out of my lungs and my heart ricocheting around in my chest like a wayward bullet.

Please be nice. Please be nice. Please, please, please.

“You must be Emmalyn.”

I force my eyes open and look toward the voice. My suitemate is striking, with long sandy hair, pale blue eyes, and bronzed skin.

“Um, Em-Emmy is fine.”

“Nice to meet you, Emmy.” Her eyes crinkle as she smiles. “I’m Stella.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I croak, feeling more self-conscious than ever. You only get one chance to make a good first impression and knowing my luck, this girl is going to think I’m a capital ‘L’ loser.