No More Waiting for You

"Are you even paying attention to me, Eve?"

William Ashford’s voice carried that distinct, low-timbered Ivy League entitlement.

I gripped the edge of my quilt. Outside my Harvard dorm window, the late autumn wind whipped through Cambridge, tearing gold sycamore leaves from their branches and sending them spiraling toward the gray waters of the Charles River.

"I'm listening, Will," I said, forcing a smile.

He adjusted his webcam. The harsh desk lamp illuminated his sharp jawline and the expensive cashmere sweater he wore. He possessed that effortless, old-money Boston arrogance.

"Because you look a million miles away," he noted.

"Just tired. Midterms are brutal."

"You worry too much. You always have." He leaned back in his leather chair. "Since we were fifteen, you’ve been stressing over grades while I actually live."

"Someone has to keep you grounded."

"That’s why I keep you around, Eve."

The words stung, wrapping around my ribs like a tight wire. Ten years of friendship. Ten years of me quietly memorizing his habits, his moods, the exact shade of his hazel eyes.

The bathroom door unlocked with a loud click.

"Eve, did you steal my good moisturizer again?"

Victoria Cross stepped into the main room. She carried the scent of jasmine body wash and damp heat.

William stopped talking. His eyes darted from the center of his screen to the upper right corner, tracking the movement in my background.

"Who is that?" he asked. The casual boredom vanished from his tone entirely.

I peered over the safety rail of my top bunk. Victoria stood by her closet. The Mediterranean sun seemed embedded in her olive skin, a stark contrast to the dreary Boston weather outside. A crimson silk robe clung tightly to her wet figure. Dark, wet curls stuck to her collarbone.

"My roommate," I answered. "Victoria."

"Turn the camera."

My fingers hovered over the trackpad. "What?"

"Move the laptop, Eve. Let me see her."

I swallowed hard. "She just got out of the shower, Will."

"I don't care. Just angle it."

"No. That's weird."

"Eve." His voice dropped. It was that low, restrained register he used when he expected reality to bend to his will. "Do it."

I hated myself for hesitating. I hated myself even more when I nudged the screen an inch to the left.

Victoria rummaged through her top drawer, humming a faint Italian pop song, completely unaware of the digital audience analyzing her every curve.

William exhaled sharply.

I watched his face on my screen. His eyes widened slightly, tracking Victoria as she bent down to grab a pair of socks. The hunger in his expression terrified me. It was a raw, consuming fire.

He had never looked at me like that. Not at the Yale freshman mixer last year when I wore the dress he picked out. Not ever.

"God," he murmured.

"Will, stop staring," I whispered, pulling the laptop back toward my face.

He ignored my reprimand. His gaze remained fixed on the space where Victoria had just been visible.

"Where is she from?" he demanded.

"Italy. She's an art major."

"She’s incredible."

My chest tightened until I could barely draw breath. "She's just a girl, Will."

"No." He finally looked directly at my webcam. "Eve, I have never wanted someone like this."

The air in the dorm room turned to ice.

"You don't even know her," I argued, my voice trembling slightly.

"I want to know her."

"She's not your type. You date finance girls. Girls from the country club."

"I date who bores me the least," he countered. "This girl? She wouldn't bore me."

"So what do you expect me to do about it?"

"Help me."

He didn't beg. Ashfords didn't plead; they negotiated from a position of power, or they simply expected the world to realign itself to their comfort.

He delivered the words with absolute certainty, fully expecting my immediate compliance. Because I always complied. I was the reliable best friend. The loyal shadow who fixed his mistakes and organized his life.

"Help you?" I repeated, feeling numb.

"Introduce us. Set up a dinner. Bring her to my fraternity party this weekend."

"Will, I refuse to just serve her up to you on a silver platter."

"Why not?"

"Because she's my roommate!"

"And I'm your best friend." He leaned closer to the screen, his tone softening into a weaponized gentleness. "Come on, Eve. You owe me for covering for you with your parents last Thanksgiving. Do this for me."

He was cashing in his chips. Using our shared history to buy his way into another girl's bed.

I stared at the pixelated image of the boy I had loved for a decade. The boy who was currently asking me to dig my own grave.

"Please," he added. The closest thing to a plea he would ever offer.

"Okay," I said. My voice sounded hollow, belonging to a stranger.

"I knew I could count on you. You're the best, Eve."

"Yeah."

"I'll text you the details for Friday night. Make sure she comes."

Before I could respond, the call disconnected. The screen went black, reflecting my pale, tired face.

I closed the laptop gently.

"Was that your boyfriend?" Victoria asked.

I flinched. She was standing at the foot of the bunk ladder, drying her hair with a towel.

"No," I replied, climbing down the wooden rungs. My bare feet hit the freezing tile floor. "Just a friend."

"He sounded intense. And demanding."

"He usually is."

Victoria shrugged, tossing her towel onto her desk chair. "If a guy ever spoke to me with that tone, I'd block his number."

She disappeared back into the bathroom to finish her skincare routine.

I sank to the floor, resting my spine against the cold metal of the bed frame.

Outside, a police siren wailed, the pitch rising and falling as it sped down Massachusetts Avenue. The flashing red and blue lights briefly painted my ceiling before vanishing into the dark.

I pulled my knees to my chest. The cold seeped through my sweatpants, but I lacked the energy to stand up.

Ten years.

Every shared smile, every lingering touch I had overanalyzed, every secret hope I had quietly nurtured in the dark. All of it felt like physical flesh being carved from my ribs.

Ripped out. Tossed into the Charles River.

I sat on the icy tiles as the shadows stretched across the room, turning the gray afternoon into a pitch-black night.

My phone vibrated on the desk above me. The screen lit up the dark corner of the room.

I reached up blindly and grabbed the device.

A text from William.

*Don't forget. Friday at eight. Make sure she wears that red robe.*

My thumb hovered over the keyboard. I could tell him no. I could finally end this torture.

Then a second message popped up.

*If you don't bring her, I'll just come to your dorm and introduce myself.*