I needed release and warmth. I needed Vance after that small rejection from Callum Finch.
The payphone outside the student union smelled like stale rain and gum. I pressed the receiver to my ear, listening to the long, rhythmic rings. My fingers were trembling as I twisted the phone cord around my wrist, tighter and tighter until it turned my skin white.
"Yeah?" Vance's voice was blunt. He sounded like he was in the middle of something.
"Vance," I whispered, my voice immediately going high and thin. "Can I come over? I'm already near the bar. I can wait in the back room until you're done with the shift."
"No," he said. There was no hesitation. "Not tonight, Blythe."
"Why?" I felt that familiar, hot sting in the back of my throat. I hated the way I sounded, small and desperate, but I couldn't stop it. "I'll be quiet. I won't even talk. I just want to sit on the bed and wait for you."
"I said no," Vance grunted. I heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. "I've got a family dinner. My sister is in town. I don't need to be seen with a teenager on my arm tonight. It's not the time."
"But I'm eighteen," I whined, my voice cracking. I was practically begging now, my chest tight. "You said I was your nuisance. You said you missed me last night. Please, Vance. Just for an hour?"
"Go home, Blythe. Do your homework or something. I'll call you later."
The line went dead.
I stood there with the dial tone buzzing in my ear like a swarm of angry bees. He didn't want to be seen with me. He was ashamed of me. To him, I was just a secret he kept in the dark, something that didn't fit into his real life with his real family.
I hung up the phone with a sharp slam. My heart was racing, but the sadness was quickly being replaced by a cold, sharp anger. It was the kind of feeling that made me want to break something, or someone.
If Vance didn't want me, I'd find someone who would. Someone who thought I was "brilliant" and "insightful."
I looked toward the faculty building. It was late, but the lights in the office windows were still glowing. I thought about Callum Finch and his silver watch and his mature, steady voice. He thought he could just dismiss me.
He thought I was just a student he could help during office hours.
He had no idea how much I needed to be seen.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand, smearing my eyeliner until I looked like a ghost again. I didn't head for the bus stop. Instead, I started walking toward the stairs of the Literature wing.
Vance wanted me to go home and be a good girl. But I wasn't a good girl. I was a problem. And since Vance wasn't around to handle me, I was going to make it Callum Finch's problem instead.
I reached the door to office 302. Through the frosted glass, I could see the shadow of a man sitting at a desk. I straightened my pigtails, took a deep breath, and didn't knock. I just turned the handle and walked in.