When I came to Palm South, all that changed.
With a snap of my fingers, I altered that past and became a new me — the me I’d always felt like I was inside. I embraced my sass, my courage, my fearlessness and channeled it into being the girl I’d always known was simmering there under the surface.
With my sisters in Kappa Kappa Beta always around, and practically every boy on Greek Row begging for my time, I never had another lonely day.
Until this summer.
How I could have lived in such a blissful heaven for a full year only to tumble down from the clouds and slam into the dirt is beyond me.
Kip felt like the safest, most sure thing in the world.
Now, I don’t know him at all.
The Kip I love wouldn’t have forgotten our one-year anniversary, or the date he’d planned. The Kip I love wouldn’t have had his hands on another girl’s hips while she was naked in a shower, whether it was for work or not. The Kip I love would have listened to me, would have understood my anger and hurt.
And more than anything, the Kip I know would have found a way to make it right.
It wasn’t that he didn’t try, I suppose. He called. He texted. He came by the house. When I finally did decide I was ready to see him and hear him out, he apologized.
But not for what he did.
For how he’d made me feel.
It was a monstrous slap to the face. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” as if I was being irrational, as if he still stood firm in his delusion that he was right and I was wrong. I knew I wasn’t a saint. I knew I could have handled that situation better than I did.
But he couldn’t even see it, couldn’t see Natalia for the games she played, couldn’t see how him putting her and the show before our anniversary killed me.
The show about our love.
How ironic.
He went right back to filming, editing, producing — like everything was fine. It wasn’t until he showed up one evening and tried to kiss me and I pulled away that I think he realized a simple apology wasn’t going to be enough.
“I need some time,” I’d told him. “And some space.”
I could close my eyes now and still see the hurt in his eyes, the deflation of his shoulders, could still feel the way his lips pressed against my temple at the same time one lone tear slipped down my cheek.
That was the last time I saw him, almost two months ago.
I threw myself into recruitment, into my last semester as president, into making damn sure I leave this sorority in even better shape than I found it. Spending time with the girls helped, too, and now that we’re in the thick of Rush week, I’m distracted.
Distracted, but lonely.
Even in a house full of my sisters.
Even at night when Cassie and I curl up in my bed and talk and laugh and reminisce.
Every minute I’m awake, every second I’m alive — I’m lonely.
Because my other half, that person who completed me and made me feel whole for the first time in my life is gone.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever have that piece of me again.
“Sky,” a voice says, shaking me from my haze as I filter through the profile binders of the potential new members coming through the house tonight. It’s the last night before we make our bids and hope they pick us for their top choice, in return.
I turn in my chair, finding Ava, our recruitment chair, with an apologetic grimace on her beautiful face.
“Sorry to bother,” she says instantly. “But, um… you have a visitor.”
I frown. “Is it one of the other presidents?”
“It’s Kip.”
All the blood drains from my face, my stomach roiling violently.
I clear my throat. “Be right down.”
She nods, her eyes sympathetic as she closes the door and leaves me alone.
I take a moment to check my reflection in the mirror, smoothing my hands over my elegant, short black dress. It’s a halter top with thin straps and a body that hugs all my slim curves. My favorite accent is the slit that accents my toned thigh, and the strappy high heels I paired with it. My hair is pulled back in a delicate braid, my makeup applied to perfection, natural and light, but with enough precision to stun.
Pref night is perhaps the most important of all of Rush week. It’s our final chance to convince the girls we want that this should be their home for the next four years.
It’s also the most emotional night for the seniors, as they realize their time here is coming to an end, and a new chapter is beginning.
Without them.
I blow out a soft breath, succumbing to numbness as my feet carry me blindly down the hall, the stairs, and out to the front porch where Kip is leaning against one of the tall columns, his hands in his pockets, eyes on the cement ground.