The true test would come next week when they had class together again. Elizabeth hadn’t shown up this week and he’d been relieved. His group presentation was now behind him, and he’d spent much too much time worrying about being in front of the class with her eyes on him as he argued for school uniforms. He didn’t think he could stand that so soon after the blowup. He needed the weekend to process and compartmentalize.
He needed to get his fucking life back together.
Will sighed and leaned back in his desk chair, scrubbing a hand down his face. He flicked a gaze to his phone, hoping for a notification light that would indicate an email or a text or—
Stop.
He gave his head a shake and turned his attention back to the blinking cursor awaiting his command on the document screen. With Elizabeth officially out of his life, he was determined to reapply his focus on schoolwork, which meant—in his world—getting a healthy start on the term paper due for his ethics course.
God, the semester was almost over, but not quite. He still had a few weeks of sitting next to Elizabeth to contend with. Of listening to her talk. Watching her present. Breathing her air.
Perhaps education was overrated.
Will dropped his face into his hands and released a long groan. This was ridiculous.
The air broke with the vibration of his phone. He jerked his head up and looked down, heart suddenly in his throat.
It was her. It had to be. She was going to tell him—
Georgiana: Hey big bro
Will swallowed, poisoned with disappointment. Never before had he had that reaction to seeing his sister’s name appear on his phone.
And the fact that he had made his insides burn with sudden fury because Georgiana was the one person in his life that actually mattered, and she rarely reached out unless she was struggling with something. The second he’d seen her name he should have been on high alert, not dejected.
Yes, it was good that things had gone the way they had with Elizabeth. Anyone who could incite that reaction was not someone he needed in his life.
He picked up the phone and fired back.
Will: Everything OK?
Georgiana: That’s a weird way to say hello
Will: You only text when you’re feeling off
Georgiana: I’m fine
Will: How about the truth?
Georgiana: Seriously, Will. Lighten up.
Will: Helps if you’re honest with me
There was a prolonged beat, and for a moment he thought he might have chased her off for the night. But a few seconds later, the little ellipses at the bottom of the screen started moving again.
Georgiana: Normal stuff
That was anticlimactic.
Will: Details are your friend
Another pause. Then the ellipses returned.
Georgiana: It’s getting to be that time of year is all
Shit. He hadn’t even thought about that. Though it was wholly fruitless, Will found himself glancing at the calendar he had pinned to the corkboard above his desk. Sure enough, they were nearing the anniversary of Georgiana’s flight from rehab. Made Thanksgiving an awkward time of year at the Darcy dinner table, but she’d been getting better steadily over the past few holidays.
Will: You know I’ll be home soon
Georgiana: Yeah. And I’m checking into group tonight to see if anyone’s around.
Will: Do you need me to come home now?
Georgiana: Again, this is why I don’t tell you things. You always overreact.
Will: You not telling me things causes me to overreact. Ever think of that?
Georgiana: You will not confuse me with your logic. How are things there?
Will stared at the screen for a moment. Loaded question, that, and there wasn’t much he could tell her. Modern though their family may be, the last thing she needed was to hear he was hung up on a girl who had seen him as little more than a vehicle for sexual gratification.
Especially now that Elizabeth might be out with Wickham.
Will squeezed the phone so hard it shot out of hand and onto the desk. Dammit. He had to stop thinking about her. Had to.
Will: Nothing exciting happening
Georgiana: Lies!
The response came so quick he didn’t know what to do with himself. Then, tentatively, he began typing a response.
Will: Explain?
Georgiana: Caroline says you have a girlfriend
A growl tickled the back of Will’s throat. He took a moment to return to the fantasy in which he strangled Caroline with her hair. The woman was nothing if not persistent—an admirable quality wasted on an unadmirable person.
Will: You won’t be surprised to learn that Caroline is full of shit
Georgiana: OMG NOW I KNOW THERE’S SOMEONE WHO IS SHE?
Will blinked at the screen, bemused.
Will: ??
Georgiana: Come ON! You never say anything like that to me. Even though I’ve been well-versed in the art of profanity for many moons
Will: There is no one. Goodnight
Georgiana: Will has a girlfriend, Will has a girlfriend. I’m chanting this. You can’t hear it, but that’s the effect I’m going for.
Will: Goodnight
Georgiana: You suck, you know that? BTW, Caroline hates this girl. I know, shock. But you might be careful about letting them talk.
Will: Just how much has Caroline told you?
Georgiana: Enough to know she hates this girl, wants you to bone her (her=Caroline) and thinks your GF isn’t good enough because she doesn’t come from money
Will: Please never refer to me boning anyone ever again
Georgiana: No promises, though I don’t need the word picture of you + Caroline
Will: You’re the one who said it
Georgiana: I know. I am my own worst enemy. But it sounds like this chick is awesome. I hope you guys are big with the PDA when Caroline’s around. That’ll learn her
Will: ‘That’ll learn her’? Who talks like this?
Georgiana: Oh go back to macking on your girlfriend or whatever you’re doing. I’m cool
Will: I can tell when you’re lying
Georgiana: Then you need to get that superpower checked because I am Fine with a capital F (as you can see). Later, bro
Will fired off another goodnight, but didn’t get anything back. He wasn’t surprised. Once Georgiana announced her intention to stop talking, it was impossible to get that door open again.
And though he worried about her—always would—hearing from her had done something for him. It had reminded him why he was here.
And why it was a good thing that his relationship with Elizabeth had fizzled out before it began. In the long run, this hurt would transform into the best thing that could have happened to him, because it would have gotten him back on track where he needed to be.
Will inhaled deeply, eyeing the mountain of coursework that he could be doing. Then his gaze wandered to the Google Chrome icon on his desktop screen. A dangerous impulse buried itself in his gut, and before he could talk himself out of it, he seized the mouse and clicked the browser open.
“This is a bad idea, Will,” he muttered, pulling up his seldom-used Facebook account.
Yes, it was a bad idea. But it was one of those bad ideas tied to a compulsion so strong he felt he might physically ache if he didn’t give in. So, being the masochist he was, Will went to the search bar and typed in Elizabeth’s name. He paused, then hit the enter key, and there she was. Right at the top of the list.
Courtesy of mutual friend Charlie Bingley.
Charlie was Elizabeth’s Facebook friend. Will didn’t know why this surprised him, but it did. Or perhaps it was another nail in the coffin that was their nonexistent relationship. She’d connected with Charlie over social media, but not him. She hadn’t mentioned it once.
Will swallowed hard and forced his gaze to her profile picture itself.
And he couldn’t keep from smiling.
&nb
sp; Elizabeth stood in front of a mirror in a bathroom, he presumed, her phone stretched in front of her, her hip cocked at an exaggerated, almost painful angle, and her head craned so far back it looked like it was trying to escape her body. She had the goofiest look on her face—eyes wide, cheeks puffed out, nostrils flared. Honestly, she couldn’t look more unattractive if she tried, but he knew her well enough to know that was the point.
So confident was he that, when he clicked her picture and it opened into a new window, he wasn’t surprised to see the text that accompanied it.
Fine. I cave, world. You win. Here’s my inaugural selfie. #NailedIt
Will barked an actual laugh at that, then that pang came back and chased the smile from his face.
The profile picture hadn’t been updated in more than three years. He thought that might mean she wasn’t active on Facebook—active enough to friend Charlie, granted—but maybe she just hopped on once in a blue moon the way he did.
He went to her page. Just to check. Because apparently he had a sickness.
Except there wasn’t much there to see. She was among the Facebook users smart enough to make their profile private. Aside from some photos she’d been tagged in—most notably by Lydia and Kitty—her page was closed to him. The photos themselves didn’t yield any more information, either. Most were of Lydia and Kitty, with an occasional blurry Elizabeth in the background.
The pang struck him again, hard enough to make his bones vibrate. And though it seemed to last forever, it didn’t—a few seconds had it calming, though it morphed quickly into something almost as ugly.
What the hell was he doing, stalking Elizabeth’s page? Was he really this pathetic?
Will gave his head a shake and moved to x-out of the browser when another, impossibly worse idea occurred to him.
And like before, he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t even pretend to try. Instead, he went back to his main feed, to the search bar, and typed in the name George Wickham.
The asshole’s face was there. Will released a steady breath and flexed his hand into a fist, then relaxed again. He hesitated, hating himself, and clicked on the name despite the very urgent voice in his head screaming at him not to.
Unlike Elizabeth’s page, Wickham’s didn’t have the same privacy settings, for the first thing that popped up was a status posted not fifteen minutes earlier.
Elizabeth Bennet is one nasty bitch, boys. Into some REAL SICK SHIT. Fuck but she does love the D.
At first, Will could only stare.
Then a pulse of anger pounded through him. Adrenaline spiked and his temples began to throb.
If that wasn’t enough, there were comments. Already the thread looked to be rather popular. Now completely ignoring the piercing wail of his better angels, Will couldn’t click fast enough.
The thread consisted of Wickham’s friends chiming in on psychotic, dick-starved women and asking for details on the “sick shit” Elizabeth was into. Details Wickham was all too happy to provide.
After the shock wore off, Will sat back in his chair, staring blankly at the computer screen, his breaths coming easier.
He couldn’t believe it. Except, no, he could, because that was who Wickham was. This was all he was. A guy who lashed out when cornered—who did whatever he could to bring pain to others. And in his view, women were easy to humiliate. Say anything about them sexually and the job was done.
This, at the very least, did settle one question mark in Will’s mind. And despite the fury pulsing through him, he couldn’t deny there was a modicum of relief as well.
Wickham lashed out when wounded. Which meant Elizabeth had wounded him.
Which meant she believed him—believed Will.
And that victory, small as it was, was a sweet one.
25
Elizabeth had known Will would keep his word, but she couldn’t deny being disappointed that he didn’t so much as look at her that first class they had following his email. And maybe if she hadn’t been such a chicken-shit, she could have done something about it. But she was a chicken-shit—a big one—and being that this was new territory for her, she wasn’t sure how to go about addressing it. If there was even a way to do it.
Hell, if there was anything to salvage there at all.
At first she’d thought to give him the time he needed, somewhat convinced that after a couple weeks, he would end the silent treatment and ask if they could talk. So she turned up for class, listened to the other groups’ presentations, took her notes and made arrangements with Lydia and Mary to work on theirs, all waiting for Will to catch her eye or indicate he wanted a word with her. But that time never came, and it became apparent to her that if any part of their relationship was worth salvaging, it would be up to her to make the first move. Will had proven to be a man of his word; he’d said he wouldn’t talk to her again and he was determined to not be called a liar.
But Elizabeth couldn’t let it rest at that. Just couldn’t. The more time that lapsed between receiving that email and kneeing Wickham in the balls, the more she found herself desperate to talk to Will. To apologize, at the very least, for some of the things she’d said.
Or, you know, all of them.
Except Elizabeth was becoming increasingly convinced that Will wouldn’t be interested in anything she had to say. Particularly with the way he’d signed off. How he had been flummoxed that she could have slept with him while thinking the worst about him, and—though he hadn’t said it directly—what that meant for the sort of person she was.
This would alternatively piss her off and make her feel like shit, and neither was something she cared to experience longer than necessary. She would tell herself she’d been nothing but forthright with him from the get-go, but then wonder if that was actually true or if she’d done a good job of convincing herself. Then she would swell with indignation that anyone would judge her by her sex-life while, at the same time, asking herself that very question. It wasn’t like it was a new one.
So Elizabeth decided to do the decent thing—leave him alone.
Which was how she found herself going through the motions in ways she hadn’t since well before the dissolution of her parents’ marriage. The hysterical calls from her mother had gone from every day to infrequent and were now almost nonexistent, which any other version of herself would have seen as a massive win. For Elizabeth, the lack of crisis only made the rest of her life look tame.
And kinda dull.
Which was a horrible thought, but without fires to put out, Elizabeth’s world fell into a quiet she honestly hadn’t thought possible. She buried herself in schoolwork, telling herself she should be grateful for the lack of distractions. Random annoyances were bound to happen. The project she was working on for her ethics course required a lot of QT with Lydia and Mary, which left her with little time to do anything but work.
And obsess over the fact that since it was a presentation, Will would have no excuse but to look at her, something he’d gold medaled in avoiding since the email.
When the day of the presentation arrived, Elizabeth ended up doing most of the talking by virtue of the fact that she was prepared—unlike Lydia—and not shy, unlike Mary. At least, she wasn’t shy normally. Though she told herself not to so much as sniff in his direction, Elizabeth couldn’t keep her eyes from connecting with Will’s every few seconds, it seemed. And each time they locked gazes, she felt a pulse of heat zip through her body—a mini-endorphin boost that she found herself starting to crave.
“Reducing the frequency of abortion is a noble cause, but time and again, we have seen pro-life proponents dismiss and even vehemently campaign against the best ways to keep abortion rates low,” Elizabeth was saying. “That is, easy access to affordable birth control and comprehensive sex education. What do pro-life advocates want? Abstinence-only education. More specifically, and I promise this is a phrase you’ll find if you troll any internet comment section on the topic, for women to keep their legs closed.”
At tha
t, someone snickered from the back of the class. “And we know that’d be a real problem for you.”
Elizabeth paused. She hadn’t caught the speaker, but something told her it was the same guy—Zelner or whoever—who had previously been booted from Professor Greenfield’s class. Still, she was determined to keep her head high and continue, interruptions be damned.
“If you have a rebuttal for Miss Bennet’s argument,” Professor Greenfield said, her face contorted with irritation, “or anything else her group presents, you’re more than welcome to share with us your side when it’s your turn to present. Do I make myself clear?”
The answer came in a silence so pronounced Elizabeth was certain she could have heard a mouse fart.
When she was satisfied, Professor Greenfield leaned back in her seat and gave a stiff nod. “You may continue, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard, flicked her gaze to Will, then away again as soon as their eyes connected.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “abstinence-only education has faced the same test time and time again. And time and time again, it’s failed that test. In their comprehensive study, Kathrin Stanger-Hall and David Hall draw a concise correlation between the lack of comprehensive sex education and the increase in teen pregnancy. If the ultimate goal of the pro-life movement is to eliminate abortion across the board, they are ignoring the one thing guaranteed to help prevent unwanted babies from being conceived in the first place. Yet it isn’t enough for these groups and their supporters to see a decrease in abortion—women continued to be policed, judged, and punished for their sexual decisions in ways our male counterparts cannot begin to fathom. The usage of birth control—”
“Just admit it,” came the same voice, startling her out of her talk. “You decided to use this assignment to justify the fact that you’re a whore.”
At that, Elizabeth felt herself go both red hot and bitter cold. “I’m sorry?”
Professor Greenfield released an exasperated sigh and rose to her feet. “All right, Mr. Zelner, I’ve had it. Out of my class.”
Something had seized Elizabeth by the insides and shook hard. Behind her, Lydia had melted into what sounded like feverish giggles, which was pretty much the largest contribution she’d made to this project, so that was something. Mary was stone silent.
A Higher Education Page 27
