Page 53 of Lost and Bound

I stand outside after he disappears down the path, enjoying the sights and sounds as twilight paints the sky indigo, as I avoid what waits for me inside. It’s not due to fear; I’m simply at my limit and don’t want to rage tonight.

I indulge in one more big breath, blowing it out slowly while my inner voice repeats, “I am safe.” Deciding it’s now or never, I turn to go inside when there are a series of beeps.

A golf cart is coming in fast, and the students seated inside it are laughing and waving me over. They bring with them malicious energy. I don’t catch what they’re saying, just the gist of it as they zoom past me. Nor do I catch the package they lob. It happens so quickly; I don’t get the chance to move out of the way. The paper bag splits on impact, covering me in food.

Their boisterous laughter fuels my humiliation. They complete an abrupt U-turn and drive back past, one of them holding up their camera. I’m rooted to the spot, staring down at the sticky mess at my feet, bracing for the sneer on the professor’s face when he sees what’s happened to his house. It’s the only thing that pushes me into action.

Squatting, I open the paper bag my food was in and scoop up as much of the slop as I can. Just in time, because none other than the big bad wolf himself comes out. For a change, his eyes aren’t on me, they’re glaring at the now empty path.

“Students know not to come here. Who was that?”

I turn slightly, using the fading light to my advantage to hide the evidence of their visit. “A couple of the students doing food drop-off.”

I point to the package now tucked under my arm as I try to move past him. His hand snaps out and catches my wrist. It should hurt, but he’s so careful, it feels like a ring of daisies.

“What happened?”

All thought disappears when I lock onto the fact that Professor Cane smells like fertility. He smells like warm earth and dew-kissed spruce saplings in springtime. The scent is uniquely him; it’s primal, musky, all growly and shit, with hints of sunbaked rock and sweet, damp soil.

He snarls under his breath when I don’t answer, and the vibration shakes me to my senses. “What happened? You’re covered in food.”

I take a step back, turning slightly, and force his grip on my wrist to fall away.

His anger is palpable, and I’m not entirely sure where it’s directed. “Tell me who it was. I want names.”

“I don’t know them.”

“What?” he barks.

“It’s true. No one has taken the time to introduce themselves, or their friends. Including you, Professor. Now, as you so eloquently said, I don’t have time for this. If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”

Perhaps being so direct is out of line, but when you’re basically tipsy on petrichor, and you’ve got wet rice stuck to your face, delivering a dose of truth to said professor doesn’t seem that big of a deal.

I have a plan in mind—get past him, avoid the vampire, grab everything I’ve left upstairs. Then I’ll shower and mentally unpack all that’s happened since I woke up. Oh, and cram in some studying.

Cane lets me leave, probably caught up in ruminating over our most recent exchange. The capricious vampire is also absent when I race through their house. My plan nearly derails when I realize all my stuff is missing. I freak out because if Cane sees what’s actually in my disguised tea chests, I’m pretty sure he’ll lock me away somewhere until he gets the answer to why I have ancient tomes, weapons, and clothing. Considering I don’t even know the reason I’ve got the things I do; I’ll be there for a very long time while he waits for an explanation. It’s a mocking, gurgling croak that pulls me from having a final, and very epic, meltdown. Bugby’s laughter is a sign all is okay, and I latch on to it enthusiastically.

I scamper down the stairs, being chased by my vivid imagination. I know there’s nothing behind me, except because my hearing is heightened by my stress, I hear something faintly after each step I take. Which suggests something is, in fact, behind me.

I stop and press myself against the wall before turning silently. As soon as I see the source of the noise, I’m both relieved and ashamed. Not that I should be, but that parts of my dinner now decorate every tread is an awful reminder of what happened.

I know there wasn’t a lot I could have done to avoid the situation, or my run-in with Cane afterward, but both things feed the nasally voice in my mind that whispers all my shortcomings. That damn voice only appeared after grief painted my future with bleakness.

I didn’t lose the battle then, and I’m definitely not going to now. I take a huge, noisy inhale, blowing out all the gathering self-deprecating bs, and force myself to see that life goes on. Being at Thales in clothes that are not mine, having a new feathery friend, and facing off with the professor are all proof of that. The fresh air helps too; no longer infused with the stirring, heady notes of petrichor. Although there is a hint of mustiness in the air, I’m mostly sure that’s more to do with my basement room.

I shut down my woe is me moment and jump off the last few steps, smiling softly when I find my boxes and belongings placed in my room, talking out loud to myself and to Bugby.

“I need to clean up that mess and to take a shower. And then let’s get our space organized, smash out these assignments so I don’t fail, and in the process probably piss off more supernatural beings. Life goals, am I right?”

It takes a couple of tries for the latch to budge on the first dormer window. I shed more rice in the process, but Bugby makes a game of catching the grains. When I shove at the frame, it makes an almighty crack before opening a couple of inches. The cool breeze is definitely worth the effort, and Bugby agrees. He flaps over to the second window, and once I open it, he strolls right out the gap, doing that swagger walk he does that makes me smile.

The shadows of the night gobble him up, and there’s a sudden dip in my mood as I wonder if he’s going to come back. I get that it’s probably my loneliness talking, but I’d still take it to heart if he disappeared, especially considering how we came to be acquaintances. I swear, abandonment is such a trigger for me, and it probably is a big reason I hit a barrier when getting to know people.

“Jesus, stop, Maya. You’re losing your freaking marbles. Clean the steps, shower, study, sleep—in that order. No more psychoanalyzing or wishing anything was different.”

It’s a necessary pep talk. In the blink of an eye, I switch from lamenting to routine. After clearing the stairs of the stray grains of rice and placing them in the bin, I search through the boxes to find my toiletries and something to wear afterward. Of course, my towel is at the bottom, but I unpack everything and leave it in neat piles, which is a task I was going to do later anyway. At the door, I pop my head out, making sure no one is using the gym area. With the coast clear, I make a break for the bathroom, right across the hallway.

Compared to the bathroom at Nom House, this one is palatial. The showerhead is to die for. Hot water pummels against my shoulders and the back of my neck, feeling like a massage. The only reason I finally switch the faucet off is that I know what creatures live on the floor above.