Shh! (17 page)

Do you like living in town?

Has its advantages. Why? You thinking of moving out of college?

No reason. Just asking.

The food’s better. Company’s quieter. Works out a little cheaper, especially if you share.

That was a good point. I’d spent a bucket load of money lately—buying food to cook and eat in my room or eating out—when it was money I didn’t need to spend because the dorm fees covered my meals. Quietness was yet another great point. Sure we had a noise curfew at Oxley, but there was still always someone being loud in the courtyard or in the corridor, or knocking on my door. But those weren’t the main reasons I was thinking of moving out. With things the way they’d been lately, I didn’t exactly feel comfortable, and now that I knew those darn rumours were true, showing my face around Oxley wasn’t pleasant; even walking into my own hallway set my pulse racing, let alone into the dining hall. Maybe if I moved out, people would forget all about it, and I’d just slide into being ‘that girl who used to live here’, not ‘the finger-fuck girl’ or whatever crass name they’d thought of today. The rumours and memories would die down eventually.

My phone pinged again and oops, I hadn’t responded.

Wanna share? We’ve got a spare room.

I’m not moving into the ‘bach pad’.

Why not? We cook, clean, AND put our dirty underwear in the hamper.

Eeew, Logan.

A few minutes passed without a response, so I tossed my phone onto my bed and started unpacking. That last Thursday night at college had plagued my thoughts for the past few days. Even though evidence pointed toward everything being true there was a huge part of me that hoped maybe it was a coincidence. I plopped my laptop onto my desk and noticed a pink envelope. Slicing it open, I found a thick invitation inside. Bethanie’s wedding. The almost see-through paper was really pretty, but gee, she’d gotten in early. It was only April and the wedding wasn’t until October. I tossed it into my suitcase and continued unpacking my clothes. Once I’d finished, I glanced at my computer, but grabbed my tablet instead and lay down on the bed. Oh, this was divine. The beds at Oxley were pretty good, but nothing compared to the mattress I’d slept on every night for seventeen years. I turned the reader on and my phone buzzed.

Liv …

Yeah?

I miss you.

I couldn’t tell him I missed him too, or that his words made me smile. After what had happened on Central Night, I knew now more than before that Logan and I couldn’t happen. So instead, I typed out;

I’ve been gone less than a day, Stalker Boy. Get over it.

He sent back a simple,

:P

To which I replied with a cheeky smiley of my own.

I’d only been reading for about thirty minutes when footsteps sounded on the stairs. Precisely the reason I went for a book over researching masturbation while sleeping. The type of websites that search was sure to bring up would be tricky to explain.

“Well, if it isn’t my little girl.”

I shot up off the bed and threw my arms around Dad’s neck. He hugged me back with a simple, loose arm around my waist. “Your mother said to tell you that dinner’s ready.”

“Thanks.” I pulled away. “How was work?”

“Busy. I had to push through a lot to get out on time.”

Being home in time to eat with the family was a rarity, and the fact he’d managed it on my first night back made me feel all warm inside.

“See you downstairs.” Dad disappeared down the hall and I traipsed down to the dining room.

Neither of them were there yet, but the places were laid out, as were the heat mats for the hot dishes. A bottle of Pinot Noir marked the centre of our eight-seater table, and a vase overflowing with white tulips had been pushed down the unused end. I took a seat, spreading a napkin across my lap, and waited for my parents. Mum glided into the room with her oven mitts around a square dish which she set on one of the heat mats then disappeared into the kitchen, only to return with a second dish. Dad walked into the room just as she was taking a seat directly across from me.

“How’s uni?” he asked.

“It’s okay.”

“Are you keeping involved?”

“Of course.”

Mum passed me the bowl of rice, from which I scooped two heaped spoonfuls into my bowl before passing it on to my father. I piled the chicken sauce on top of that and started eating. The best thing about being home for the break was the food. Mum was a fabulous cook, and when at college I missed the hearty and healthy eating. If I moved out I could eat like this all the time.

“Your mother tells me that you didn’t make it onto the Student Representative Council. That’s a real shame, sweetheart.”

Bang
. There it was; that heavy feeling of guilt at being a disappointment. Thank goodness I had a mouthful of food to buy me a few moments. I nodded.

“Well, make sure you keep up with everything else. Not having the presidency on your CV will be a disadvantage.”

“Yes, I know.” I shovelled more food into my mouth, but it didn’t ward off the conversation. Dad was happy to let his dinner go cold while he grilled me.

“I trust you’re keeping up with sport, and dorm politics. Still attending the Law Society functions?”

I nodded again. Boy, nothing like cutting to the point. There was never any small talk at this table. I may as well air my moving out idea, since they knew about the presidency already. This could be the right time to float it, see what they thought. Maybe they’d warm to the concept by the time break was over.

“I’d like to move off campus.”

My mother’s wine glass clashed with the table as she set it down with too much force. “Absolutely not.”

Dad’s gaze bore into me. “Why? What benefit is there in that?”

I took a sip of the pale red to strengthen my courage. “The food is disgusting, so I’m spending a ton of money on decent snacks. Also, I can’t concentrate on my studies because of all the distractions, and Christian …” I couldn’t tell them about my social issues. The other reasons I gave were true too, but escaping the constant harassment was the only real reason I wanted out. And escaping that would help ease every other issue.

My mother shook her head. She’d started before I even began speaking. “No, Olivia. That is a ridiculous idea. You need to be in college to build relationships and if you’re not involved in campus politics, then you need to be involved with the politics of the dormitory.” She blew out a strained breath. “Both would have been better, but that’s out of the question.”

“She has no control over that now, Susan. Let it go.” I could have thanked my father, but I knew his words would have no effect. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, sweetheart. You need to live on campus where it’s close to the library and the lecture halls. If you move into town, the temptation to skip classes will be too great. All it takes is a missed bus; you can’t just walk to your lectures. It will only take that to happen a few times for you to fall behind, and most people who fall too far behind wind up dropping out. So no, it’s not going to happen.”

“I won’t, Dad. You know how studious I am. I’ve never missed a class in my life and I don’t intend to start skipping now.” The tips of my ears burned and I shook my hair down to cover it. It was almost true—I’d only ever skipped that one time with Logan, then again for the meeting with student welfare, but never before that.

My mother started stacking dishes. “You are not moving out of college while we pay for your keep.”

“Fine. I’ll get a job.”

The glare she turned on me was final. “You will do no such thing. You have no time for work when you should be studying and building your CV. That is the end of this conversation.”

I threw my napkin onto the table and stood. I was done with this crap anyway. I was nineteen and I wasn’t a child.

****

Alone time wasn’t easy to come by those first few days. I was itching to research my affliction, but had to wait. Instead I checked my email several times a day for exam results, but they still hadn’t arrived. Maybe I had my dates messed up and they weren’t due yet anyway. I couldn’t remember if past me had opted to receive them in email form rather than via text. Today, three days into break, when I clicked my mail open there was a message from Student Services. I assumed that was what it would be.

It was just a student newsletter.

A second email was under the first, sent from my Torts professor. It would be results for the group assignment, no doubt about it. My tummy churned as I clicked to open and scanned the body of the email, but what I was looking for wasn’t there. Attachments; there were two of them. I clicked on the one that had the word results in the title. A strange feeling came over me; this wasn’t going to be good. We’d failed, I just knew it.

I glanced toward my phone, thinking about texting Logan, then decided better of it and drew a deep breath to steel against whatever was inside the attachment. I focused on the screen.
Fifty-two per cent.

We’d passed, but only just.

That meant my average had dropped for that class and I was in danger of falling below a credit. Not good when I was trying to raise my all my grade averages to HDs.

This was why group assignments should be done as a group. Ella had stuffed something up pretty majorly to get us such a low mark, and if we were all working on it that would never have happened.

I pushed my chair back and jogged out of my room and downstairs. Keeping my grades up was getting harder all the time. What if I dropped below a pass? I pushed that thought away; it couldn’t happen. It wasn’t even a possibility.

After a few laps around the house, I realised how aimless it was and ducked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Some days it felt like tea made everything better. With the steaming cup in hand, I retreated back to my room.

Checking my email had become an obsession, and it didn’t matter how often I looked there was always a message from Logan. I’d never admit it to him, but now that I was home for term break, I missed him like crazy. Our emails were to counter the texts which had slowed down since my mother started asking questions. Last thing I needed was for her to think I wanted to move out because of him. And god help me if she should cotton on and ask about him in particular. Logan was sure as hell the type of guy she wouldn’t approve of; with the long hair and vintage style he was more mess than neat and tidy. Plus I was certain he wasn’t what she’d call
of pedigree
. Not like Christian, whose parents were both surgeons.

I logged into my email and sure enough, there was a message from my Stalker Boy.

You been thinking about how good it would be to live with me and Jordan? Here are some points for the list I know you’re making:

PROS

1. I have a car = free ride to and from classes

2. We have a spare room = your own space

3. Jordan brings home free pizza

4. I’m an excellent cook (when there’s no pizza)

5. Living with two guys = inbuilt security team

6. You’ll get to see me every day. I’m fun

CONS

1. Jordan eats all the food

I smiled as I typed out a quick reply which pretty much amounted to no. Even though the thought of moving out appealed more than ever—I was certain Ella had stuffed that assignment up on purpose, regardless of what it meant for her own grades, and distancing myself from living right on top of people like that was tempting—I wasn’t moving in with Logan. That was a guaranteed friendship ruining recipe, not to mention the other problem I had.

I opened up my Internet browser. Both of my parents were at work and it finally felt safe to research ‘masturbation while sleeping’ without the fear of someone walking in. I was a little concerned with what sort of images would pop up, and I didn’t want to have to explain it to them.

With restless energy making my knees bounce, I punched the words into the search engine. I swear my insides quivered while waiting for the results to display, and it would have only been a few seconds, but it felt like the screen stayed blank for a full hour. The first few results were questions posted to forums. Things like, ‘I masturbate while I sleep. Is this normal?’ My gaze skimmed over those. I needed something more concrete and reliable. Near the bottom of the screen was an article titled, ‘Sexomnia: More Common Than You Might Think.’

“Could be,” I mumbled to myself.

As I read through the explanation, my chest tightened. It was exactly like me … well, like what I’d heard about me. I still wasn’t certain that was what was happening though. It seemed crazy that I could be doing that all night and have no memory of it. According to the webpage,
sexomniacs have sex while they’re sleeping. They masturbate, fondle, initiate sex or just produce loud, sexual moaning sounds.
My stomach felt as if it were about to empty itself on my lap. This was a real thing. It happened, and the people it happened to had absolutely no recollection.

Holy cow.

I didn’t want to keep reading. I’d read more than enough to make me feel like climbing under the covers to never come out again. Sure as heck, to never return to college, but it was like watching a horrific accident unfold, I had to know every tiny detail, so I kept reading.
The sexomniac has no control over her nocturnal actions, leaving some feeling guilty, confused or ashamed over the behaviour.
The more I read, the sicker I felt. This could be my reality. Christian could have been telling the truth, and so could have Ella.