Collide Series Box Set

by J. C. Hannigan

We were watching a movie—something with Ryan Gosling in it, naturally—and hanging out. Wine was involved: Jenna’s idea. I’d barely touched mine while both Jenna and Crimson were on their second glass.

  I’d mostly been quiet, leaving the talking up to Crimson and Jenna. I sort of felt out of place, and my mind was still twisted over the strange encounter in my Creative Writing class. I’d listened quietly while Jenna talked about her incredible weekend with Kyle, Crimson eating up the details like a starving child. Crimson was every bit as obsessed with Autumn Fields as Jenna. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous over their easy companionship.

  “No, Crimson is right. Something’s up with you. What is it?” Jenna said, siding with Crimson. They both stared at me, waiting for me to speak.

  “Really? You’re teaming up on me now?” I sighed, rolling my eyes. Jenna and Crimson exchanged a look with each other, grinning. “Fine. I had to see Iain again today.”

  “Where?” Jenna demanded, her expression hardening.

  “In my Creative Writing class. I guess my professor is friends with Iain and invited him in to talk to us about his book—which we have to read, by the way.” I glowered, crossing my arms across my chest sullenly. I still wasn’t excited about our latest project.

  “You’re kidding,” Jenna said, sounding anything but amused.

  “Nope.” I frowned, shaking my head. “I have to read his book to participate in the discussion.”

  “What’s wrong with reading his book?” Crimson looked momentarily confused.

  “Because it’s about Harlow, and she doesn’t want to revisit the past,” Jenna responded automatically, giving me a comforting look. As angry as she still was about the whole secret thing, she knew how much this was affecting me too. She knew I hurt too.

  “Oh,” Crimson said. “Well, can’t you just tell your professor that you don’t want to read the book?”

  “If I don’t participate, I don’t get the grade and I am not ruining my average over him,” I declared stubbornly.

  “Did he notice you?” Jenna asked, taking a sip of wine. It was like she needed something to do with her hands. She wrinkled her nose, as if the wine left a bitter aftertaste. I knew that wasn’t the wine. Iain left a bitter aftertaste. The subject definitely wasn’t an easy one between us, especially not anymore.

  “Not until the very end of class when I tried to sneak out and Professor Sharpe called me over to introduce us.”

  Jenna winced, imagining the massive amount of discomfort I’d been in. “So you had to deal with Professor Suave and Iain. Nice.” She shook her head. “Why is he stalking you?”

  “I don’t think he is,” I rushed to explain. “Iain looked shocked to see me there.”

  “Doesn’t he always?” Jenna mumbled quietly. I could barely hear her, and I knew Crimson definitely didn’t. I rolled my eyes at her and she pursed her lips.

  “Does Jax know?” Crimson questioned, peering up at me with wide, innocent eyes.

  “About Iain? Yes. That I saw him again today and have to read his book? No.” I pulled my hair behind my neck, feeling flushed. “I’ll tell him when I see him next. But that’s not even the craziest part.”

  “What’s the craziest part?” Jenna set her now empty wine glass down, fixing me with a penetrating gaze. I think she expected me to confess my undying love for Iain.

  That was not going to happen. While I still had a small amount of love for Iain, it wasn’t like that…not anymore. It was just an affection of sorts; I honestly wished him well. I honestly wished him happiness and success. I didn’t want harm to come to him, and I didn’t want to be at odds with him.

  “Professor Sharpe wanted Iain to be my mentor.” I snorted as if I found the whole thing absurd. And I did. “He wanted Iain to mentor me in the ways of getting traditionally published or something.”

  “That is weird.” Jenna frowned. “And you’re sure this wasn’t…prearranged?” she added, carefully filling up her glass again.

  I thought back to the look of surprise on Iain’s face. “Definitely not. Besides, Iain basically said he couldn’t. He’s apparently flying out to LA to appear on the Margo Morning Show.”

  “Holy shit, that’s huge!” Crimson declared, her eyes going wide. “She only interviews people who are going to make it big! She has an eye for that, you know.”

  “It’s true.” Jenna nodded thoughtfully, her eyes glazing over with pride. “She interviewed Autumn Fields, and they are skyrocketing right now.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m happy he’s found success. I just didn’t want to read the book, and now I have to.” I sighed. “But I’d rather not talk about it—or him—anymore. What’s going on with you, Crimson? How are things with Cole?”

  “Non-existent,” Crimson replied sadly. “I think we’re over. I can’t wait forever…” She took a shaky breath. “He won’t even talk to me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but if Cole can’t see past his own troubles to see how incredible you are, someone else definitely will,” I told her, and Jenna nodded.

  Crimson gave a tiny smile, distractedly picking at her sweater. “Yeah, I guess…” she said without conviction. “I just…I want someone that makes me feel…” she trailed off, flushing a deep shade of red.

  “Makes you feel what?” Jenna pressed gently, giving her an encouraging smile.

  “Wanted, I guess.” Crimson blushed deeper. “Everyone around me has someone they can’t get enough of and someone that can’t get enough of them…then there’s me. I feel like I’m trapped in a terrible eighties movie.”

  “Molly Ringwald always got the guy,” I pointed out.

  Crimson laughed. “I guess that’s true, but I haven’t even met anybody...”

  “You will,” Jenna said with confidence.

  “Yeah.” Crimson still didn’t sound convinced. Her smile wavered on her lips, and she tucked her hair behind her ears. I watched her touch the hearing aid, her smile fading even more.

  “Okay, it’s time for Ben & Jerry to make an appearance,” Jenna declared, pushing up from the couch. She disappeared into the kitchen to grab the carton, three bowls and spoons. She returned, handing us our empty bowls.

  I was more interested in the ice cream than I’d been in the wine, so I eagerly dove in. Peanut Butter Chocolate Chunk was definitely what I needed after today. We were silent for a little bit, enjoying the flavor and absently watching the movie.

  “So…Harlow,” Crimson finally broke the silence. “How’s Jax’s new place? It’s so cool that he found an apartment right here in this building! I bet you’ll be seeing a lot more of each other now.”

  “Especially once she moves out,” Jenna interjected, nudging me playfully with her shoulder.

  “Yeah,” I said, my voice sounding hollow. “It’s great…it is.”

  Jenna’s smile faded as she assessed me. “Don’t you want to move in with Jax?”

  Tears welled up in my eyes, a reaction I couldn’t have anticipated or prevented. I nodded, letting my hair fall in front of my face, an attempt to shield myself. Some women cry over everything; they cry when they’re happy, when they’re scared, when they’re angry and when they’re sad. Jenna was one of those people—she cried easily, and didn’t bother trying to hide her tears. Not me, I rarely cried and when I did, I did my best to hide it from the world. For when someone who doesn’t cry often, it’s a major deal.

  “Are you crying? Harlow?” I heard Jenna’s bowl clink against the coffee table, and suddenly she was wrapping her arms around me. “Why are you crying?”

  “It’s nothing.” I sniffled, fighting for control. My brow furrowed with concentration as I forced the tears to ebb.

  “It doesn’t seem like nothing,” Jenna said. “I thought you wanted to move in with Jax.”

  “I do, it’s not that.” My shoulders shook as I dragged in a ragged breath. “I guess I’m just…scared. It’s scary.”

  I felt so stupid for admitting it. Crimson and Jenna were si
lent, listening to me. “Of course it’s scary. It’s a big step,” Jenna told me, her hand massaging my back. “If you aren’t ready for it, you don’t have to move. There’s no time limit.”

  “But Crimson wants out of student housing,” I said.

  “Oh please.” Crimson waved her hand, brushing off my words. “I can stay at student housing for a bit. No big deal. I’m not forcing you out of your room. If worse comes to worse, I could just find a different apartment. Or maybe I’ll move in with Jax,” she joked, winking at me.

  I snorted with laughter, remembering Crimson’s comment the first day that we’d met. She’d joined me under a tree on Tabaret Lawn, when Jax had come up to us and I’d asked him to stop stalking me. She’d stared at him in a daze and said “You can stalk me” aloud.

  “I want to move in with Jax,” I said. “I just…I don’t want to move when things between us aren’t…right,” I added, looking at Jenna.

  She bit her lip. “Things with us are fine, Harlow,” she insisted. “I love you, you’re my best friend…the closest thing to a sister I’ve ever had. Sisters get mad at each other, don’t they?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t have any siblings,” I pointed out with a small smile.

  “I do, and yes…they definitely do.” Crimson’s eyes were wide. “Like, all the time.”

  “See? So it’s fine. We’re fine. I promise. With that said, if you truly aren’t ready, don’t move out. I’m serious, Harlow. You don’t want to jump the gun. Besides, have you even told your mom you’re thinking about it?”

  “No.” I frowned. “Why would I?”

  “Because it’s a big deal.” Jenna shrugged. “Maybe they won’t even want you to do it.”

  “Frankly, I don’t care what they want,” I responded, crossing my arms again. “I’m a big girl; I can make my own decisions.”

  Jenna smirked, amused. “So make them, and don’t worry about us—or about Crimson. We’ll figure that out!”

  My bag felt a thousand times heavier with Iain’s book inside, and I felt the weight the entire time I walked home from the bookstore. I headed to my bedroom, thankful that the apartment was vacant. Jenna was out somewhere; she’d messaged me, saying she wouldn’t be home until later.

  Pulling the door closed behind me, I set my bag down on my messy bed, staring at it as if it contained a poisonous snake.

  What if it’s not harmless? I thought. What if it’s the opposite of harmless? What if it destroys me all over again?

  Sighing, trying to push my own thoughts away. The book certainly wasn’t going to read itself, as much as I wished it would. I needed this grade, and I’d put off reading it for as long as I could. Mr. Sharpe had given us three weeks to read the book and compile some notes on it for our class discussion, and I had four days left.

  I opened my bag, pulling the book out. My hands glided across the glossy cover, my eyes focusing on the dark haired girl walking off to an unknown future. I swallowed hard, steeling myself. I wisely decided to skip the acknowledgements, diving straight in to the first chapter. I lowered myself onto my bed, my eyes never breaking from the page, my heart thudding in my chest to a nervous tempo of anticipation.

  I didn’t know what I expected. Maybe that Iain would paint the student as a harlot that endlessly persuaded the teacher until his will was worn completely down, but that wasn’t what I got.

  I was sucked in from the first word; I saw things from Iain’s perspective—even if he’d written this book as a fictional novel. I could hear him in it; I could see him in the character of the teacher. There was no denying that I was the student. She was every bit as broken, lonely and stubborn as I’d been. Convinced she knew what she wanted, what she needed.

  I read until the light faded from my bedroom, and then continued to read once my arm absently shot out to turn on my bedside lamp. I read until my eyes were strained and sore, absorbing each and every word and scene and twist. I’d never read anything so quickly before; and I was an avid reader.

  I didn’t know if the ease of the words came from knowing them in my heart – from having lived this story – or talent. It was clear that Iain had plenty of talent.

  When my fingers turned the last page and I read the last words, I held the book and blinked back tears. Reading it caused me to revisit the past, and those old feelings I’d felt so strongly once for him. Reading it tore my heart out and placed it in front of me to assess.

  Iain had given his characters a happier ending. The teacher never went to jail, but he didn’t end up with the girl. She’d walked off into the sunset, sent away by him to find out what she truly wanted. In the epilogue, they met again years down the line. They had the same intense chemistry that they possessed all those years before. It was one of those open-ended books, up to the reader to decide what happened.

  I heard the sound of the apartment door opening and closing, and I frantically wiped away my tears. Footfalls sounded as Jenna made her way down the hallway. She paused by my bedroom door, seeing the light spill from the cracks.

  “Harlow? Are you still up?” she whispered. I closed my eyes, feigning sleep, my heart and mind too numb to talk to anybody. She opened my bedroom door and saw me lying in bed with my eyes closed. She walked over quietly to turn off my lamp and disappeared, closing the door softly behind her.

  I remained where I was for several hours, thinking about the book and my relationship with Iain. I thought about the part of me that missed being with him—because I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t. There was, and I wasn’t sure how long that would linger. As I’d told Jax, Iain was the first person I allowed myself to form a connection like that with.

  My connection to Jax was different, deeper. More stable. I’d chosen Jax, and I didn’t regret that decision in the slightest. I wanted to be with Jax; I wanted to have a future with him. What future could I have had with Iain? Our relationship had been formed in secrecy. Our relationship was forbidden and yes, exciting. But once the forbidden factor was removed, I wasn’t entirely sure a functional relationship was possible.

  I knew it was possible with Jax. I knew it was possible because I lived it. He fit into my life now; that was the important part.

  Now I just had to figure out how to move on with the present and the future, when the past still kept knocking, demanding to be heard.

  * * *

  For the first time since the term began, I dreaded Creative Writing. I dreaded sitting in class, discussing and possibly dissecting Iain’s novel. Still, I showed up, my notes clutched in my hands. I sat between two people I didn’t know, hoping to avoid having to be near Delilah. Still, she managed to snag a seat in front of me.

  Before the lecture began, she turned around to face me, giving me one of her malevolent smiles. The vulnerability I’d seen in her expression several days before was gone, replaced with a calculating coldness that instantly chilled my blood.

  “You know, Harlow…the character in this book, Leah? She reminded me an awful lot of you,” Delilah said, her hazel eyes fixed on me, watching my reaction. I willed myself to be impassive, but I could still feel the colour draining from my face. “Everything from how her physical appearance is described, to how she behaves…”

  My eyes narrowed. “I think your obsession with me is rather unsettling. Do you spend a lot of time following me around and comparing me to fictional characters, Delilah?” I inquired, tilting my head and returning her stony gaze. The students around us were watching the exchange with interested eyes.

  Delilah smirked. “I just thought it was very interesting, considering you seem to know Iain Bentley a little…too well, shall we say?”

  “Just what are you insinuating?” I hissed at her, my anger flaring. My heart thudded in my chest, and I could feel the heat of my boiling blood beneath my skin. I felt hot and trapped.

  “Don’t play coy, Harlow. Anybody with half-decent research skills and access to the Internet can find out exactly what I’m ‘insinuating’.” Delilah’s eyes were
almost slits, and the corners of her lips were curled up in a sneer.

  I knew my instinct about her was right. She was a bitch; a petty one at that. I opened my mouth, about to light into her. My reply was cut short by the appearance of Professor Sharpe.

  Delilah gave me another calculating look before she turned around to face the front. I resisted the urge to knock her upside the head with my hardback copy of Iain’s book as Professor Sharpe entered the room and approached the podium with his usual confident demeanor.

  “Good afternoon, class,” he greeted us, setting Iain’s book on top of the podium stand. “I trust you all read and completed the notes on Iain Bentley’s Circumstance?” The room buzzed with the murmurings of students’ answers, all of them yes. “We’ll be doing a class discussion today. In the last twenty minutes of class, Iain Bentley will be here to answer any questions you may have. I encourage you to not go easy on him—even if this is his first novel. You are here to learn, to question. You’ll get extra points towards credit for participation in the discussion, and the question segment as well.”

  The colour once again drained from my face as Delilah glanced at me over her shoulder. She winked, her lips snaking upwards in a deliberate smile.

  I wasn’t counting on Iain being here today. Hell, I wasn’t counting on Delilah being a nosy little bitch and finding out about the events of North Bay either, and I had no doubt that she did know. She wouldn’t have made comments if she didn’t know, and she was right. Although Larry had worked hard to protect my name, it wasn’t difficult for people to draw the same conclusion after facing the facts.

  Iain Bentley wrote a book about a student teacher relationship after serving time in jail for one. Delilah knew that we knew each other—she’d been there the day Professor Sharpe had introduced us. She’d seen Iain’s reaction to me, and likely, my reaction to him. And she had read the book. She was right, the student in the novel could easily be interpreted as me.

  I couldn’t focus on the discussion. I couldn’t even participate. My mouth felt sewn shut; my tongue was impossibly dry. I wanted to escape, to run away, but I was sandwiched between several students and there was no way for me to leave without drawing attention to myself.