d a m s e l i n j i t t e r s

Things were beginning to fall apart. Now that the seventh round was over and Liam had fulfilled his promise, there was no knowing what the eighth round might hold. I had only Marcel to rely on. Although her status as a girlfriend kept her on Liam's (and, by extension, Corvus's) side, I knew I could trust her to get Miles out of fixes.

But we were now in too deep within the Hell Weeks. And if each round proved more dangerous than its predecessor, I hardly liked to see what the eighth, ninth and tenth round would bring.

I relayed my fears and frustration to Ean, who now seemed to be my only anchor amidst this mess. And he listened, although as a favour to him, I had to help him out at the shack despite Mum having given me a day off.

"Okay, let's get something straight here," he said, after I had told him what the seven rounds of initiation had entailed. "This sort of shit only happens at Riverton, right? Nowhere else?"

"Right."

"Oh, thank God," he exhaled dramatically. "I am never stepping foot into Riverton. You shouldn't, either."

I glanced up sharply. "Who said anything about attending Riverton?" I asked, but there was a ball of uneasiness I couldn't quench in my stomach.

"Weren't you and Marcel looking at Riverton brochures some months back? You two were talking about how exciting it'd be to room together and braid each other's hair and prance around campus with frilly pink tutus," he finished, his voice getting higher pitched in a ridiculous attempt to mimic us.

I rolled my eyes and continued arranging the packets of cookies on the shelf. "First of all, that's not how we sound like. Secondly, that was just fleeting enthusiasm - on my part, at least."

"Good thing it was just...hey, your phone's ringing."

Setting the carton of cookies down on the shelf, I headed over to him and he handed me my cell. "It's Miles," he muttered, eyebrows knitting together in curiosity.

After swiping the call button, I pressed the cell to my ear. "Miles?"

There was the sound of static on the other end of the line, and his voice sounded rather weak as he spoke. "Darcy?"

"Hey. Everything alright?"

"Sorry for calling. I-I just needed to hear your voice."

If this was a movie, then it'd be an incredibly cheesy moment filled with soft sighs from the captivated hearts of the audience. But it wasn't, and life had far more terrifying moments than it had cheesy ones. This was one of them.

And I knew at that moment that the eighth round of initiation had begun. My heart was racing as I gripped my phone tightly, shooting Ean a look that immediately sent him flipping the shack's sign to close.

"Miles? Where are you?"

I felt an uncanny sense of déjà vu as I waited for Miles to give an answer. It reminded me of the time when Marcel called and told me that Miles was going through the sixth round of initiation.

"Campus," he said, but his voice seemed rather unsteady, like he was having trouble breathing.

Even if I didn't have a first-hand experience at things like these, I knew without a doubt that something was terribly wrong. My first guess was that Miles was stuck in the eighth round of initiation, so I went with that hunch.

Taking the phone briefly away, I told Ean in a low voice, "call Marcel, ask her where Miles is." He did so without a word and I returned to my call with Miles. "What's the next round?"

"I-I'm not too sure," he let out a breathless, low laugh, but there was no masking the nervousness behind it, "they told me to - to get out of this...I have an hour, I think. But less. I-I've been here awhile..." he trailed off and I waited patiently, ears straining as I listened to the sounds of metal clinking and thumps in the background. Then he spoke again, "could you just - just keep talking? A-about anything?"

"I'll keep talking," I told him softly, "just listen to my voice, okay?"

"Y-yeah," he managed, after a slight pause.

"Good. So the other day, I actually went to the library. I know, unbelievable, right? When I told Mom I needed my library card she nearly had an aneurism."

Miles let out a weak chuckle and I continued, encouraged by his response.

"I wanted to borrow To Kill A Mockingbird, since you told me such good stuff about it, and I'd already read the Wikipedia synopsis and I know that the ending's good. I'm a sucker for good endings. At the library, I was looking for the book and asked a librarian for help and after she showed me where the book was, she was all 'you should read The Great Gatsby too, it's such a classic.' And I was like, 'okay, show me where it is'. Then when I got home I began reading it. Took me a couple of days and all, you know I'm a slow reader, but then when I finished it I was so mad! Like, Daisy, she practically did a hit-and-run and she didn't get punished for it? And did she even love Gatsby because it sure as hell seemed like she was more into money than anything. Anyway - hold on," I paused as Ean ended his call with Marcel.

He scribbled something on a slip of paper before pushing it at me. In his sloppiest handwriting, the note read -

8th round @ Riverton

Marcel says he's not allowed to tell you exactly where & she doesn't know either.

The note seemed so secretive, the information so sparse, that I couldn't help but worry even more. I exchanged a brief look with Ean, before heading over to the counter at the back, where my car keys were hanging on the rack where we hung the rest of the keys. "Miles? You still there?"

A slight pause, and then - "I'm still here, Darcy."

"Good. Okay, I'm just getting my car and then I'll go over to meet you. In the meantime, just breathe. Deep breaths. You're going to be fine."

Ean raised his eyebrows in surprise as he noticed the car keys in my hand. I seldom, if not never, drove. Driving made me nervous, I was jumpy and couldn't parallel park to save my life. But situations like these warranted one to step outside their comfort zone.

I shook my head at Ean as he made to follow me and motioned for him to stay instead. One of us needed to be manning the shack and it had to be him. I headed out of the shack through the back door and instead of going towards the direction of the bus stop like I normally would have, I took the route to the parking lot instead.

"I'm still here," I said into the phone. Miles' breathing on the other end was still ragged, but it was a lot steadier than it had been awhile ago. "I know you're not allowed to tell me where you are. But I'll be at the main gate waiting, alright?"

"Yeah - t-thanks, Darcy," came his reply as I got into the car, putting the phone on my dashboard and setting it to speakerphone instead.

"Just get out quickly and safely," my voice was loud amidst the silence in the car, and I wondered if he could hear the nervous tension in my tone. It seemed crystal clear to me. "Stay calm. I'll talk you through it."

And that was what I proceeded to do. After he described his surroundings to me, I got a pretty clear idea of what the eighth round of initiation entailed. Miles was trapped in a large box that was tied up from the outside. There were two holes where his arms could reach out to untie the series of knots that sealed the opening.

It seemed rather doable. If only Miles wasn't claustrophobic.

So it was rather difficult to keep calm during the drive to Riverton. A part of me was frustrated with the situation - it would've been so much easier if he knew exactly which part of the school he was at. I could get him out of there in a jiffy. But no - the frat members had blindfolded him before putting him in the box, and I guess the lack of sight must've terrified him even more.

But we worked through it all the same. Like all other tangles in life, this too was bound to become undone sooner or later. I arrived at Riverton within ten minutes or so and parked my car just outside the main gate. After locking the car door behind me, I held the phone to my ear again.

"Miles? Are you out yet?"

There was a pause. "Yeah - " came his reply, a while later, " - just, hold on, I-I need a moment."

I glanced at my watch. He didn't have a moment to spare. There were barely three minutes left on the clock, because he'd wasted quite a bit of time panicking at the beginning. On the one hand, I didn't want him to fail. We'd come so far, and he couldn't get out. Not now.

"You can do this," I told him, sounding far more confident than I felt, "I'm waiting right outside." I heard muffled scuffles in the background and all I could do was wait. It felt agonising. I was a generally impatient person by nature but this really topped it all.

Then I spotted a familiar figure in the distance. The relief I felt was tremendous, like a tidal wave that had built up over time and was now absolutely crushing.

It was then that I realised just how frightened I'd been for him. Worry was secondary. It was plain fear that I'd felt all the while - fear of not knowing what he was going through, fear of not being able to help him, fear of simply feeling so terribly helpless.

Miles came up. "Hey Darcy." He managed a weak smile, but I could see it perfectly - the past terror in his eyes, the sheen of sweat across his forehead and his staggered breathing.

It was all I could do not to break down there and then. I wished I could be strong enough for the both of us, but at times like these, it was difficult to. "Hey yourself," I murmured. And call it irrationality, call it impulsiveness, I didn't know what made me do it, but I found myself stepping up to him, my hands reaching up for his face. I felt his skin clammy beneath mine as I cupped his cheeks.

Then I pressed my lips against his.

And it was something else altogether. I supposed, somewhere in my subconscious, that this had been coming for awhile now and that I'd wanted to do it for equally as long. But it wasn't what I was expecting. It took my breath away yet kept me grounded all the same.

He was still against my lips, his inexperience showing clearly, but he was responsive. There was something undeniably thrilling about the prospect of kissing a boy who didn't know how to kiss. I heard the quick hitch of his breath, his fingers tightening their grip on my hips and felt the slow heat rising between us.

It was a brief kiss, and I quickly pulled away, blushing when I saw his eyelids flutter open. It meant we'd both had our eyes closed, just soaking in the simplicity of the moment.

Hardly wanting him to see my flushed cheeks, I hastily slid into his arms again, wrapping mine around his waist. "I'm so glad you're okay," I whispered against his chest and knew he heard me, if his arms tightening around me were any indication.

Odd. It felt like he was trying to shield me from the world, when it was in actuality the opposite.

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It was a short walk back to Miles's house, since it was right on campus. The afternoon air was stale in the summer heat and we were both quiet, walking off the awkwardness of the earlier kiss. It was the kind of awkward I knew neither of us were going to be addressing anytime soon, but not awkward enough to throw us completely away from each other's company anytime soon.

I could live with that. The neither here nor there, the maybe we will or maybe we won't.

It seemed a whole lot easier than having to deal with answers to questions I could hardly figure out.

When we got to his house, Miles seemed a little uncomfortable as he led me into the living room, shutting the door gently behind me. It made me wonder if his discomfort could be attributed to him having never brought home a girl before. This probably was the case.

Miles disappeared into the kitchen. Hardly wanting to follow him, I wandered around the living room, eyes lazily scanning the place, noting how there weren't any photographs of his family. Instead, the walls were littered with framed certificates of achievements - first place at a science fair, first place for a competition and so many more, hardly anything less.

It seemed a massive contrast to what I had back at home, where the walls had framed pictures of my family through the years. The wall between mine and Ean's room was peppered with spray paint, a hobby Ean picked up when he was a kid and Mom hardly wanted to repaint over what she called 'art'.

The more sensible of us, like my Dad and I, called it vandalism.

"Make yourself comfortable," Miles told me, coming out of the kitchen with two cups in his hands. He handed one to me and I took it, settling down on the couch. He sat next to me but was careful to put a fair bit of distance between us. His fingers gripped his cup tightly, his other hand curling awkwardly around the armrest next to him.

Wanting to put him at ease, I asked lightly, "where's your housekeeper?" Miles looked at me in surprise and I smiled. "Been here before, remember? I came with Ean and had a nice little chat with your Dad."

He visibly winced at that. "Sorry - "

"Not your fault."

" - anyway, she's here on weekends, mostly to keep the place clean. Dad and I don't need her everyday."

"So you spend afternoons at home alone most of the time."

"Most of the time, yes."

"I'd kill for a bit of silence," I mused, setting my cup down on the coffee table in front of me. "It's pretty much noise, noise and more noise back home. Hardly ever get any time to myself too, since we don't usually close the doors and we yell at each other through the walls."

He smiled. It was a wistful smile that made something in my heart tug. "Trade lives with me," he demanded playfully. I wasn't a keen person by nature, but even I couldn't miss the subtle essence of truth in his otherwise teasing statement.

"I'd like to keep mine, thanks. And you should too; I wouldn't want you any other way," I returned simply.

He stayed silent and I reached for the remote on the table, turning the television on. After mindlessly tapping through a couple channels, I found a rerun of The Big Bang Theory airing, and kept it at that channel, knowing he'd probably enjoy it.

And just like that first afternoon I'd watched him watch Jeopardy, I fell asleep to the muffled sounds of The Big Bang Theory characters playful jesting in the background, with Miles's attention completely riveted on the screen, his lips curled in a contented tilt that made me feel at ease.

It was a far too comfortable feeling that I was fast getting attached to.

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I supposed I must've fallen asleep, because when I woke, Miles's spot on the couch had been vacated, our cups no longer on the coffee table. The television was still on, a commercial was playing but it had been muted.

But if the living room was silent, other places of the house weren't. I could hear muffled, soft voices coming from the sitting room, the one Ean and I had been to when we had first visited Miles's house. Figuring that Miles was probably in there, I got up, pushing aside a cushion that I hadn't realised was placed under my head. Miles had probably done that.

The door to the room was ajar, and I caught a brief glimpse of Miles and his father before slinking back behind the shelf, not wanting to be spotted. It was hardly in my nature to peep or pry, but as the voices grew louder, I could hardly help myself. And in the silence of the late afternoon and amidst the tense conversation they were having, I learnt two things:

One, that my suspicions had never been too far off - Miles liked me.

Two, that his father didn't.

Neither was particularly surprising, although the first did send an odd flutter in my chest, like I could literally feel my heart skip a beat. The second didn't faze me at all, I knew that his father had an aversion to me the moment we met and that wasn't going to change anytime soon.

I smiled wryly as I overheard his Dad call me unambitious and "far too unbothered to have a decent future" before dismissing Miles out of his study altogether. I was hardly offended, but clearly Miles was, because a second later, he was storming out of the room.

His eyes held an unfamiliar shade of emotion that I hadn't ever seen before. A mix of emotion and rebellion, which surprised me and I found myself taking a step back. But he spotted me immediately, and then his expression was soft. He stretched out a hand briefly before realising and letting it fall back to his side.

"Hey, you're up," he smiled, but I did not miss the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

I gazed at him searchingly, but his expression was shuttered and I hated it. One of the reasons why I liked Miles was that he was an open book, plain and clear for all to see. But his defences had gone up, and it felt like I was staring at a stranger.

"Walk me out?" I asked hesitantly. Our positions had been reversed; I was now the skittish one, and he was instilled with an unexpectedly strong side to his character I hadn't seen before.

He nodded and I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding.