A Higher Education

by Rosalie Stanton

  Jane returned to the dorm a little after four that afternoon, a pint of mint chocolate chip and a plastic spoon in hand.

  “Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” she said by way of greeting.

  “Bless you,” Elizabeth replied. She’d been too overwrought to eat today, but ice cream was one of those things that the stomach learned to accept, even and especially when the soul felt ill.

  Jane handed it over, the smile on her face fading into a frown. “What’s wrong?”

  Elizabeth already had the top of her treat pried off and was stabbing the cold surface with her spoon. Harshly at first, then with more patience as she realized a broken spoon would do her no favors. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look worse than you did before I left.”

  She looked up at that, deadpanning, “How can I possibly take that the wrong way?”

  “What happened?”

  The surface of the mint chocolate chip finally gave way to the spoon’s endless prodding. Elizabeth stuck a healthy bite into her mouth, then did the whole body shiver that came with eating something so cold it made her teeth hurt. Jane must have found this at the very back of the freezer.

  “Lizzie, talk to me.”

  “Will emailed me.”

  Jane expelled a deep breath. “Oh boy.”

  “Yeah. That sums it up nicely.”

  “Was it… Do you want to talk about it?”

  Elizabeth considered this a moment, then braved another bite. It was still on the too-cold side, but not so much that she couldn’t taste the minty goodness. “No,” she said at last. “But kind of.”

  “All right.” Jane backed slowly to her bed. “I’ll just be over here if—”

  “I was wrong.”

  There were no more humbling three words in the English language, Elizabeth was sure. And hearing them aloud, having said them, feeling them, both calmed and intensified that sick sensation in her gut. On one hand, it was nice to admit as much to herself—there was some liberation in that much alone.

  On the other hand, being wrong was the pits.

  Jane seemed to know this, for she didn’t immediately demand an explanation. Another reason she was pretty much the best person on the planet who had already won friend of the year.

  Whose relationship had been torpedoed by misunderstanding and one mean rich girl. Of everything Elizabeth wanted to share with Jane, this was the most pressing, and likewise the hardest to swallow. But she wasn’t sure how Jane would react if she’d known that Charlie had broken up with her because he’d been convinced she didn’t care for him, or only cared for him insofar as where his connections could get her. Because that by itself was rather awful, especially considering Charlie hadn’t opted to talk with her about these things before cutting it off.

  Jane had already been heartbroken by Charlie once. She didn’t need to go through that again.

  “I have a date with George Wickham on Friday,” Elizabeth said at last, her stomach turning. Maybe this was a problem ice cream couldn’t solve after all. She placed the pint on her desk. “Did I tell you that earlier?”

  Jane hesitated, then shook her head. “Do you think that’s a good idea? You don’t seem to be in date mood.”

  A bitter laugh squeezed Elizabeth’s throat. “It’s a brilliant idea. Haven’t you heard? I’m just full of them. I know everything.”

  “Lizzie, whatever he said…you have to know it was coming from a place of hurt.”

  “Yeah.” She swallowed. “I’m going out with Wickham on Friday because I want to tell him to his face that he’s a… Well, I’ll come up with a suitable insult by then. My brain’s a little fried.”

  Jane looked downright worried now. She took a step forward. “Look, it’s okay. We all make mistakes. Look at me. I pushed away probably the greatest guy in the world because I was afraid of sex.”

  Elizabeth looked up. “Did…did he know?”

  “No.” She barked a short laugh. “That would have been easy, right? Tell the guy I’m mad about that I’m a little nervous about being alone with him because yes, I am the last virgin standing.” Jane hissed a long sigh, fixed her gaze on the wall behind Elizabeth’s head. “I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot today. About the Realis situation and Caroline and…” Another long beat, then Jane gave her head a shake and plastered on a smile. “But that’s not important. What did Will’s email say?”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together. “He said many somethings and most of them amount to I’m an asshole.”

  “I think you’re probably oversimplifying.”

  “I’m not. In this case, I am an asshole.” She shook her head. “I can’t tell you what the email said. I’m sorry.”

  There was no response. When she met Jane’s eyes again, she found them wide.

  “What?” she asked, wiggling.

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  “I can’t. There are things in there that aren’t my things to spread around.” Plus Will had asked her to not tell anyone, and there hadn’t been an asterisks and a BFF clause. Though he might have left her angry and confused, he had also confided something intensely personal and she didn’t want to betray that.

  “Wow.”

  Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Wow what?”

  “I think you might actually like him.”

  “What? Who?”

  Jane gestured emphatically. “Will.”

  Elizabeth swallowed but didn’t reply.

  “Wickham asked you to not tell anyone about the drug thing, and you told me. Hell, you told Mary too. I’d be surprised if Lydia and Kitty don’t know.”

  “Yes. What a wonderful choice that ended up being.”

  At least Jane had the good sense to look somewhat abashed. “I admit I was careless with that information…but don’t you kind of think that was exactly what Wickham wanted?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Though now that Jane said it, Elizabeth could see the clear path. Wickham shows up for college, finds the guy he got to bankroll his education is on campus and gets people to dislike him because of some made-up history pieced together by just enough truth to pass the smell test.

  “That asswipe,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Literally no words for how much I am going to enjoy mopping the floor with his ass.”

  “Uhh…Lizzie?”

  She glanced up. “Don’t worry. It’ll be a figurative mop.” Maybe. She really couldn’t stand to be arrested for assault, no matter how cathartic pummeling his pretty-boy face would feel at the moment.

  Jane sighed. “Just be careful.”

  “I’m always careful.” Elizabeth reached for the ice cream pint again. It had melted a little, and the next spoonful came without a fight.

  “I don’t think you’ve had a careful day in your life.”

  “Probably not. But there’s no time like the present to give it a try.”

  “And…maybe don’t give up on Will so quickly?”

  Elizabeth swallowed a mouthful of minty goodness and arched an eyebrow. “Huh?”

  “I don’t know what all happened there,” Jane said, bringing up her hands. “I don’t know if I want to know. But I do think you like him.”

  “I—”

  “Just think about it.” She glanced down. “Will was always decent to me when I was over there. I admit, he can be a little…intense, and he’s said some things that are downright rude… But I think… I don’t know, Lizzie. But maybe just don’t write him off so fast.”

  It was lovely sentiment—really it was. She wondered how Jane would react if she knew that Will had been one of the voices behind Charlie’s decision to break things off. For a moment, she was tempted to tell her just that—get it all out there so that Jane would stop seeing the good in everyone for five seconds and realize that some people were just dicks.

  But if Jane had been avoiding Charlie out of her intimacy fears all the while blabbering to Ca
roline about how much she wanted in the Realis Society…

  Well, Elizabeth didn’t want to take Will’s side or sympathize with Will’s side or even acknowledge that his side existed. But she could see it.

  “I need to move,” she said, kicking her legs over the edge of the mattress. “I need to shower like something awful, email my professors, eat something with protein and start scripting how thoroughly I’m going to dump Wickham’s ass on Friday.”

  Jane nodded but didn’t reply. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “I need many things, but I don’t think you can help.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I know you will and I love you for it.”

  Elizabeth sought out some clean clothes, grabbed a towel, and made her way to the hall.

  The first step toward feeling human again was a shower. And if she got lucky, she’d have a game plan in place by the time she emerged.

  * * *

  Friday night arrived after days of hellish classes. Elizabeth ended up skipping her Ethics course for the rest of the week—she couldn’t handle seeing Will just yet. Thankfully, Professor Greenfield was good enough to buy her excuse of sickness and send her the reading, as well as a reminder that her class presentation was coming up.

  Just more to worry about, but she couldn’t afford to pause. Not with the Wickham confrontation still on the horizon.

  Wickham, who had been texting her like mad all week. She’d replied here and there, confirming her address and the day and time, but not taking the bait for any of his flirty messages. Anything she sent him was curt and to the point. Either he didn’t notice or noticed and didn’t care.

  As the countdown narrowed to Wickham’s arrival, Elizabeth worried that Jane might linger to watch the fireworks, but thankfully, her roommate announced that she had a study group at the library and would be there for a few hours.

  This only served to remind Elizabeth of the mountain of work that she had waiting for her. The assignments she needed to make up, the reading she had to do, and making sure the presentation was ready.

  Except she couldn’t seem to stop ruminating over Will’s email. She hadn’t been able to reread it since the day it hit her inbox, hoping her shame would fade with time. But that was a tall order—she didn’t know if she’d ever forgive herself for being such a blind idiot.

  Finally, at a quarter till seven, a knock sounded at the door.

  Elizabeth stilled, closed the book she’d been trying to read, and rose to her feet. She paused long enough to give her hair a good fluff and admire the outfit she’d chosen for Operation Castration. A sleek black skirt with a matching camisole—minus a bra, thank you—and a pair of heels. Not big heels, she wasn’t into those—just enough to give her an extra inch or so.

  Yes, she did look particularly fabulous, if she dared say so herself.

  And when she opened the door and Wickham’s eyes immediately roved her body, she knew her mirror wasn’t lying.

  “Wow,” he said, rubbing his jaw and grinning like men did when they thought they were going to get lucky. “You look…smoking hot. Is that too forward? You know what? I don’t care. Smoking hot.”

  Elizabeth smiled, hitching her purse higher on her shoulder. “Thanks.”

  He met her eyes, nodding. “So…everything all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Well, when a girl seems about as excited to go on a date with you as she would for a root canal, you think things.”

  “And we wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

  He blinked at her, confused, then apparently decided she was poking fun at him and grinned again. “Right. So…are you ready to go?”

  “Oh. I am. But not with you.”

  It took a second for him to process that. Then he gave another chuckle. “Just proves you have good taste. I wouldn’t go anywhere with me, either.”

  “Too bad you’re stuck with you. I get the option of leaving at least.”

  Wickham stared at her a moment longer, the smile at last fading. “What’s going on? Are you—”

  “Disgusted with myself for being had by a guy who redefines the word asshole? Yeah. I am.” Elizabeth took a step forward, right into his personal space, and shut the door behind her. She saw anger flash across those eyes, combined with confusion and a healthy amount of pure want that made her skin crawl. “You know what the kicker is? Woe-is-me bullshit has never been my thing. But you know how to work it.”

  Any trace of a smile had completely abandoned Wickham’s face. The look he was giving her now was, she assumed, courtesy of the man behind the curtain.

  “So you and Will have been getting extra cozy?”

  “This isn’t about Will,” Elizabeth replied. “Though you’d love it to be.”

  “I knew it,” he muttered, breaking away from her. “I knew there was something going on there.”

  “Oh please—”

  “Don’t oh please me. The second he walked into the Meryton Mudhouse that day, I knew it. You had that look. The same, sick look everyone gets over Will fucking Darcy.” Wickham shook his head. “What is it? The money? It has to be that. And what, you think you’re different? You have any idea how many sluts throw themselves at him just to be used up and—”

  “Is lying compulsory for you? I mean, do you realize you’re doing it?”

  “So you believe Will?”

  “No, jackass.” She reached into her purse, never taking her eyes off the human turd, and withdrew a printed copy of the PDF Will had sent her containing Wickham’s account of what he had done to Georgiana Darcy. “As it turns out, I do believe you. Just not the you that you want me to believe.”

  It was a bittersweet victory, watching Wickham pale as he realized what she had. What she’d seen. He snatched the sheet away and held it up, his throat working. After a long moment, he lowered it, his jaw hard and his eyes cold. “You can’t prove this is me. That I really wrote this.”

  “Well, as much fun as it would be hiring a handwriting specialist, I don’t need to prove shit,” she replied. “All I need to do is make about five hundred copies of this bad boy and post it all over campus. Sure, you can deny, deny, deny, but them’s your words. And while a few loyal friends might stand by you, I’m gonna guess most of them won’t.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” But from the look on his face, she could see he wasn’t certain. He waved the sheet, crinkling it. “You know as well as I do that Darcy doesn’t want this out.”

  “Yeah. I thought of that, and I think I have a solution via some top-notch tech that can help mask the identities of the victims. It’s called a marker.”

  “I’d tell. You go public with this and I’ll let everyone know just what a little fucking cocktease slut Darcy’s sister really is.”

  Elizabeth felt something inside her go cold. “You do that, and I’d cut off your balls and shove them down your throat.”

  At last his face twisted into something truly ugly, the sheen of white chased away by blotchy red. He seized her by the shoulders and thrust her against the wall hard enough that her spine whined in pain. “You just try, you fucking cunt,” he growled, his breath hot on her face. “Just fucking try.”

  A rush of fear shot through her veins, but she forced herself to swallow it. He would not see her blink, dammit. “Okay,” she replied coolly, right before smashing her knee into his family jewels.

  The pressure at her shoulders vanished as Wickham doubled over, sucking in deep, heaving breaths that rattled through the air like an audible bruise. The now wrinkled sheet containing his confession tumbled from his fingers as they rushed to cup his testicles. Elizabeth caught it easily and stuffed it back in her purse.

  “Whoops,” she said. “That didn’t quite cut them off, but hey, if at first you don’t succeed…”

  Wickham growled—yes folks, he growled—and reached for her with one of those meaty paws of his. Elizabeth kicked him away, turned around to close and lock up her dorm. Then she delic
ately stepped over the lump that was Wickham and began making her way down the hall.

  “You…” he half moaned, half screamed. “You…fucking…cunt.”

  Elizabeth turned, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, you said that already. How stunningly original.”

  “Crazy bitch. You’re a crazy motherfucking bitch.”

  She snorted. “You come near me, near Jane—hell, anyone in Longbourn, and I will make your life a living hell. You keep spreading lies about Will? Go near him at all? You’ll see just what this crazy bitch is capable of.”

  Then she turned and strolled down the hall, serenaded by a slew of half-coherent insults interspersed here and there with a pitiful moan.

  24

  Will stopped refreshing his inbox eventually. By Friday, he resigned himself to the reality that if Elizabeth planned to respond, she would have done so by now. And honestly, he hadn’t really expected to hear from her. Hell, he’d be marginally lucky if she hadn’t deleted the email upon seeing it was from him just on principle.

  But he didn’t think that was the case. Elizabeth might be a hothead, but she was too damn curious to ignore something like that.

  For the millionth time, he found himself guessing at her reaction. And for the millionth time, he found himself wishing he’d never set eyes, hand, or mouth on her to spare him the empty feeling now consuming his chest and throat and entire goddamn existence.

  He had forced himself not to reread the email after hitting send, but just barely. The brief read through he’d given it before making the decision not to delete it and forget the whole thing had been painful enough. The mind had a way of pulling the worst experiences from the past without struggle, so that when a certain time period was revisited, it came with more than just a memory. The ghost of that helplessness, that despair, that pure rage had resurfaced. Just looking at the words made him burn.

  And it was all he could do to keep from sending her an email to see if she had decided to go through with her date or not. To see if she believed him. If she was sorry at all for the things she’d said.

  Or if Wickham was touching her now the way Will had just a few days ago.