Chapter 13: The debt
1203 Words
The morning air in The Quad always smelled like expensive laundry detergent and unearned privilege. I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment. Below me, the "commoners"—the students who didn't have mothers who viewed tuition as a tax write-off—were scurrying to 8:00 AM lectures with their heads down.
I took a slow sip of my coffee, black and bitter, just the way I’d seen Maya drink hers. It tasted like charcoal and regret.
My apartment was a graveyard of last night’s bad decisions. Empty bottles of top-shelf bourbon sat like headstones on the marble kitchen island, and the high-end sound system was still humming a low, electronic static that mirrored the buzzing in my skull.
I caught my reflection in the darkened screen of the TV. My hair was a mess, my jaw shadowed with stubble, and the black ink of the snakes on my forearms looked dull in the morning light.
I ran a hand through my hair, forcing the "King" back into my expression. I didn’t do ‘bruised ego.’ I did ‘calculated redirection.’
"You look like you’re contemplating a leap, or just really hate that tree down there," Jax’s voice drifted from the sunken living room. He was sprawled on my Italian leather sofa, scrolling through his phone, while Theo was busy trying to get the espresso machine to cooperate.
"The tree is fine," I said, my voice like gravel. "The view, however, is lacking."
"He’s brooding," Theo called out, finally winning a battle with a coffee pod. "He’s been standing there for ten minutes. That’s the 'Maya Autopsy' stare. I recognize it."
I turned, leaning my hip against the island, crossing my arms to hide the slight tremor in my fingers. "The St. James Special failed."
Jax actually dropped his phone. Theo froze with a steaming cup halfway to his mouth.
"The smirk? The lean? The 'I’m-too-broken-to-be-loved' eyes?" Jax asked, sounding genuinely concerned. "Cole, those are pillars of our civilization. If they failed, we’re looking at societal collapse."
"She didn’t just reject the move, Jax. She deconstructed it," I admitted, the truth tasting like ash. "She called me a cliché. Said I was playing a game she already knew the ending to."
Theo whistled low, taking a seat at the bar. "Ouch. She didn't just break the mask; she did a full chemical analysis on the plastic."
"So, what’s the move?" Jax asked, leaning forward, his eyes dancing with the kind of mischief that usually ended in a police report. "Do we go back to the ‘I don’t care’ routine? Or do we find a new target?"
"No," I said, a slow, sharp grin spreading across my face. It wasn't the shark grin, but something more dangerous. "If she wants to find the 'real' me, I’ll give her a map. I’ll just make sure the map leads to a dead end. I’ll leak just enough about the 'Old Man' to make her feel like she’s cracked the code."
Jax slowed his chewing, his eyes narrowing. "You’re going to use the 'Ghost Dad' story?"
"Exactly, I’ll let her think she’s saving me. I’ll let her think she’s the only person on this godforsaken campus who actually understands why I’m such an asshole."
Theo snorted. "And then what? Once she’s all soft and starry-eyed?"
"Then I hit it," I said, my voice hardening. "I remind her why I’m the one who holds the crown. And then I walk away before she can even finish taking notes on my 'reformation.'"
Jax sighed, standing up and grabbing his bag. "You’re obsessed. It’s officially weird. We’re out. Theo and I are hitting the gym. Try not to get your feelings hurt when she calls you a cliché again."
"She won't," I said to their retreating backs. "This time, I’m the one writing the ending."
I caught up to her at 4:15 PM.
The campus was thinning out, the late afternoon sun casting long, orange shadows across the brick walkways. Maya was walking alone, her head down, a heavy-looking bag slung over her shoulder. She looked clinical, focused, and entirely unimpressed by the world around her.
I stepped out from behind a pillar near the Humanities building, cutting off her path.
"You know, stalking is usually a sign of obsession, Cole," she said without looking up, her pace not faltering for a second. "I’d be flattered if it wasn't so predictable."
"Stalking requires effort," I said, falling into step beside her, keeping my hands in my pockets to maintain the 'casual' vibe. "I prefer the term 'fortuitous interception.' Besides, we have a debt to discuss." I flashed my most disarming smile—the one that usually made girls forget their own names. "Two truths and a lie, Rooftop. You won. I owe you a coffee. And as much as it pains you to believe, I don’t like being in the red. It’s bad for the brand."
Maya adjusted her glasses, her expression unimpressed. "It’s been over two weeks, Cole. The statue of limitations on coffee bets has surely passed. Besides, I’m busy."
"Busy doing what? Memorizing more ways to tell me I'm hollow?" I pushed off the pillar, stepping closer into her space. I could smell her—that scent of old paper and something faintly like jasmine. "Café Rosé. Tonight. 10:00 PM. I know it’s your favorite spot because it’s the only place quiet enough for you to judge everyone in peace. We settle the tab, and I stop being the guy who owes you something. It’s a win-win. Plus, I heard they have the best black coffee for people who hate joy."
She stared at me for a long, quiet beat. I could see the gears turning—the clinical curiosity clashing with her better judgment.
"10:00 PM," she finally said. "And don't bother with the dramatic entrance. I’m bringing a book, and I fully intend to read it if you start talking about yourself in the third person."
"Deal," I said, watching her walk away. I felt the familiar rush of the hunt. She thought she was being cautious.
She had no idea she’d just signed the warrant for her own downfall.
Café Rosé at 10 PM was a mood.
It was raining—a soft, rhythmic drumming against the glass that made the interior feel like a submarine submerged in amber light. The place was nearly empty, save for a tired-looking barista and a grad student buried in a mountain of papers.
I was already there, sitting in a corner booth, two coffees waiting.
The bell chimed at exactly 10:01 PM.
Maya walked in, shaking a translucent umbrella. She looked around, her eyes landing on me. She didn't smile, but she didn't look like she wanted to bolt, either. She slid into the booth, her movements precise. She looked tired, her eyes a little softer than they had been on the Quad.
"You're on time," she noted, looking at the cup in front of her.
- Writer
