Chapter 5: Four

Nadia DuPont || Before

Still hungover and more sore than she thought possible, Nadia is glad when her final class ends.

The sharp ring of the bell is enough to stir her from her pain-addled haze. Everyone else has already stuffed their satchels and are in the midst of leaving as she comes back to. Etienne pats her shoulder as he passes, the touch setting her nerve endings on fire.

As per usual, she’s the last one in the room.

Professor Favreau looks up from her desk as she too packs up. She’s a monochrome woman: grey coat, black scarf, white hair. The brightest things about her are the chunky rings she wears, a rainbow of gems gleaming in the watery sunlight coming through the window behind her.

As Nadia rushes by, she clears her throat the way a stern parent does to start a lecture. On instinct, Nadia freezes, heart thudding as she regards the coin-sized ruby perched on Professor Favreau’s extended finger.

“Ms. DuPont, is everything okay?”

No, she wants to say. Everything in her body has screamed to go home since she opened her eyes this morning. No amount of willow bark tea or pain patches Etienne has crafted for her are enough to curb the sting. On the way to lunch, she debated the logistics of diving off the side of the mesa, if the fall would be enough to kill her or only disable her further. She’s so tired, she wants to say. So tired of having to consume Serenity to cope and ending up hungover. So tired of waiting for answers. So tired of the pathetic, pitying looks people give her, the same kind of pitying look Professor Favreau gives her now.

Admitting any of this would be enough to send her to the psychiatric wing, though, and going there means kissing graduation goodbye. She bites the sharp words back. Instead, thumbing through the books in her satchel, she says, “I’m just somewhat distracted today.”

“Clearly.” Reorganizing the books on her desk, Professor Favreau gestures to the empty chair before her. “Would you like to talk about it?”

If I sit down, I might not get up again. “Thank you for the offer, Professor. Really, though, I just didn’t sleep enough last night.”

Professor Favreau’s smile tightens. “And that’s all?”

“That’s all.”

She hums, lips a thin line, and returns to her notes. “Very well. In the future, it would behoove you to pay attention, sleep-deprived or not.”

Nadia thinks back through the class. The pain had obscured her memory in a dense, dissociative fog. What did she miss?

“You are dismissed, Ms. DuPont.”

Throat tight, she leaves the classroom as fast as she can without limping. Then, as soon as she’s out of sight, she slumps against the wall. She allows herself a moment to cry, hiccups muffled behind a palm, before she attempts to recollect herself once more. Then she shifts her satchel to her non-aching hip and resumes walking. The sooner she can get home and get high, the better.

Soft autumn wind catches her hair as she steps outside. Twin sycamore maples, trimmed to keep errant branches at bay, form a natural arbor over the class hall entrance. Stray leaves tinged with yellow spiral on the breeze, catching in her hair. Her knees are throbbing by the time she reaches the bottom of the staircase. It will be a miracle if she can make it to her room, elevators or not.

With a sigh, she adjusts her capelet and begins the trek back. Before long, the signature clicking of Etienne’s heels is the sole warning she gets before he falls into place beside her.

“Nat.”

“Don’t fucking say it.” Warmth blooms under her collar. She hopes he can’t see the smudged evidence of her tears. With a subtle swipe around her eyes, she maintains her offset stare and continues her awkward hobble.

“You really should go home,” he says after a pause.

“That was the plan.”

Etienne’s steps falter. Then, “Good.”

He means well, she knows, but that doesn’t stop the irritation bubbling under her skin, seeking a way free. She focuses on the sting of her nails in her palms to keep her tongue at bay.

“What did Professor Favreau want?”

Like hunting dogs set free, her agitation bursts forth. “What does it matter to you, anyhow?”

The heat of dozens of stares prickles along her back. It’s enough to make her want to slink into the nearest corner and sob anew. Instead, chin tipped in what she hopes is defiance, she stares Etienne down until he shrinks.

“Nat…” He holds both palms out in a universal placating gesture. Brows drawn into a thin line, he takes a step towards her, then another.

“I-is everything okay?”

Nadia stills. The voice is low and soft and, somehow, familiar in a way that makes her stomach warm to hear. It cuts through the overwhelming irritation running rampant in her veins. After a beat to glower at Etienne some more, she turns.

The stranger before her knocks the wind from her lungs with a single look. “You’re—“

Their hair is pulled into numerous small braids, all tied back with a leather cord. The capelet around their shoulders is cerulean—an Abjuration Major, then—and pulls apart enough to reveal their buttoned sweater underneath. With a slight pout, they look her over.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” they ask.

Despite the aching in her knees, despite Etienne, despite everything, Nadia feels a wave of warmth consume her. The ghostly remains of their hand on her thigh comes to mind. She bites her lip, scanning her scattered brain for a name she can match to them.

“We, uh, met once,” she says as she thinks. “On a field trip.”

The ring on their thumb rattles as they snap their fingers. “Right! A few days ago when we saw the diorama of Latuka, right?”

For half a second, she thinks they’ll continue, that they’ll remind her of how they had fucked her against the trees. She can’t decide if the thought of being exposed embarrasses her or not.

But they don’t. Instead, they arch a thick brow, head cocked as they wait for her response.

She jerks at Etienne’s elbow lodging into her ribs. “Right,” she says.

Etienne remains glued to her side. “A friend of yours?”

“More like a wayward ship,” the stranger replies. “Two stars crossing in the night.”

The quote is familiar to her, but she can’t place where it’s from. Instead, she nods. “Right,” she says again.

“Is everything okay?”

The crowd around them has continued, to Nadia’s relief. The three of them are at the epicenter of an ever-moving whirlwind. No matter her response, it’s unlikely anyone will eavesdrop on her. “An unruly conversation,” she says. “Nothing more.”

Before they can respond, the stranger’s stare shifts past her. “Ah, I should get going,” they say, tossing a cluster of their braids over their shoulder. “I’m glad to see you again, though. Nadia, was it?”

Flinching, her cheeks turn warm again. How the fuck did they remember her name? Better yet, why can’t she remember theirs?

“Yes. And you were…?”

They chuckle, smothering the sound behind a sepia-toned hand. “Simone. Until we next meet.”

She can’t help but admire the sway of their hips as they walk away. What she wouldn’t give to have their legs wrapped around her head, to have them pulling her hair and telling her—

“Are you even listening?”

She snaps back to with a gasp. Etienne waves a hand over her eyes, forehead wrinkled in a way she knows he’ll complain about later. Shaking herself free of her lust-addled daze, she sighs. “I’m sorry, Etienne. What were you saying?”

“Nothing.”

Now it’s her turn to frown. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” The sigh he gives deflates him. Eyes downcast, he takes her hand and starts for the dorms. “Let’s get you home.”

#

“You know, you didn’t answer my question earlier.”

Nadia bundles up tighter in her blankets, listening as Etienne shuffles about in the other room. “Which one?”

“About Professor Favreau. After class, you were, well…”

She waits for him to fill in the silence, but nothing comes. The itching of her irritation resumes under her skin, so deep-seated she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to claw it out. Still, she fights the urge to act on it and instead replies, “She wanted to talk about my attendance.”

The roar of a dust sweeper in the plaza outside fills the silence. Her thoughts flick back to Simone.

Simone. Why had she never seen them before now? And why, after a single, sweaty afternoon, are they all she can think about?

“Somehow, I doubt that’s the whole truth.”

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Her jaw sets. With every last shred of her control, she chokes down a bitter response. Instead, she strains an ear to the sound of ceramic clinking together.

“I think our professors would understand by now your predicament,” he continues before the sputter of her sink faucet drowns him out.

Nadia waits for the noise to die out before speaking. “You would be surprised.” Despite her efforts, barbs cling to the edge of her words.

Etienne says nothing. The silence between them stretches impossibly thin, interrupted by their individual shuffling and nothing else. For a few minutes, she’s almost convinced he’s left her to stew in her own toxicity. But then, as her eyelids begin to shutter closed, he enters her room with two steaming cups. He balances one on her knee, keeping the other to his chest.

“Thank you,” she says as she brings her cup closer. The ceramic does little against the searing heat, but she refuses to let go.

Etienne remains silent save for his soft breaths. It’s not until he’s halfway through his cup that he speaks.

“Are we okay?”

It’s the most uncertain she’s ever heard him. They’ve fought before, and for worse reasons. Nothing has ever made him sound like he does now, like he’s a mouse she’s cornered and is about to trap.

Nadia thinks his words over. A mouthful of tea, bitter and watery, swishes between her teeth and goes down with a harsh gulp.

“Of course we are,” she says at last.

“Then why…” He stops to set his cup aside. Raking through his mop of brown curls, he tries again. “Why were you so at my throat this afternoon?”

Is that all this is about? Nadia would laugh if he were anyone else. She grips his chin and forces him to meet her gaze. “I didn’t mean to.”

“And what about with that person? In the courtyard? It was like I didn’t exist to you.”

She squirms with the heat building in her stomach. “I… we’ve met before.”

His green eyes are hardened chips of emerald. He says nothing, but his brow quirks.

She understands the implied question at once. “Gods damn it, Etienne.” Her face warms. Releasing him, she sets her cup aside. “That’s the person I met a few days ago.”

“From the field trip?”

“From the field trip.”

Etienne throws his head back with a sharp, hawkish laugh. “Ah, no wonder.”

At once, the wall of ice between them melts. Nadia feels it in the ease of Etienne’s smile, in the way he rubs her knuckles with a soft thumb. How stupid of him to think anything could tear them apart.

“I’m sorry,” she says, to further ease the tension. In truth, she thinks his persistence and her aggravation had justified her reactions, but it’s not worth fighting with him now.

“I’m sorry, too.” His brows furrow. “We’ve had a rough couple of days, so I was beginning to worry and—“

“Favreau reprimanded me for being sick.”

His jaw remains open. The lump at his throat bobs. After a pause, he shuts his mouth.

“Rather,” Nadia says, “she was upset I wasn’t paying attention. Because I’ve been feeling so sick.”

“And because you won’t do coursework.”

Her gaze flicks to the satchel she abandoned at the base of her bed. Now that Etienne’s tea has started its course through her, she debates grabbing the bag, just to prove a point. The moment her foot touches the floor, she decides against it. The pain is ever-present nowadays, reduced now to a dull hum.

“Perhaps you are right.”

“Still, it was cruel of her to point out.”

“It was.” Her body trembles as she sighs. “And I guess I then took it out on you, so… I’m sorry.”

Etienne takes her hand again. “It’s already forgiven.”

#

They’re leaving from Harding Hall when she sees them.

”Simone!” she calls before she can stop herself. In this moment, it doesn’t matter that dozens of their peers are glaring at her. It doesn’t matter Simone freezes like a spotted deer. In a way, that’s all the better.

She crosses the courtyard in the blink of an eye. Simone’s shocked gaze melts into something warmer.

“Hey, Nadia.”

The way they say her name makes her want to shove their tongue down her throat, but she refrains. Even their first meeting had started with manners.

“It’s nice to see you again,” she says. At once, she wants to kick herself. What kind of line is that?

Their smile is all sunlight. “Of course! It’s nice to see you as well.” They motion for the door. “Were you coming in?”

She can’t stop staring at their mouth, at the delicate bow of their top lip. More than anything, she wants to suck on the soft flesh like an orange slice. A blush creeps onto her cheeks at the thought.

“No,” she says after a moment to recollect herself. “I, um… I was looking for you.”

Which isn’t a lie. Between pacing by the phone or attending classes (or pretending to), she’s found herself drifting through the courtyard like a wayward ghost. Perhaps it is by divine design she has found them today.

Simone stills. This close, their wide eyes are two disks of red obsidian. “You were?”

Her throat is too dry, so she nods instead. Her stomach flutters at the slight smile on their face.

They step out of the doorway and lean against the railing. “Sure. What did you need?”

Make me feel alive again, she wants to say, but the words are caught between her teeth. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. A clumsy collection of sounds tumble free.

Simone laughs at her sputtering, the sound like the ringing of a dozen bells. They flip a cluster of braided hair over their shoulder before running their fingers through it.

“Go out with me?”

Their hand stops. A soft gust of wind blows through them both, carrying with it the scent of Simone’s skin—orange and pine and a soft vanilla undercurrent.

Still they say nothing.

Fuck. Nadia’s skin crawls under the heat of their gaze. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I—“

“When?”

Their cheeks are as bright as Nadia’s feel, their smile overwhelmingly radiant. Nadia eyes the leagues of distance between their hands.

“I…” Didn’t think I would get this far. “What are you doing tonight?”

A softer, deeper chuckle. Simone sweeps closer and brushes against her hand. “With any luck, you.”

By the Gods. Her legs turn to gelatin.

“Your apartment,” they continue, seemingly unaware of her shock. “Right?”

“Third floor of the Diviner’s tower,” she replies. “The plainest door in the hall.”

“See you then.”

She follows them across the courtyard with her eyes. Her breath comes out in fluttering gasps. With a hand on the railing to support herself, she slumps down and watches them enter Harding Hall. Then they are gone. Her breath catches with the closing of the doors.

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