Chapter 3
584 Words
After that Sunday, I thought my answer that night had bought me some peace.
I was wrong.
If anything, refusing to choose made them more desperate to force my hand.
Sloane started finding new ways to make me say her name. One morning, she got up early and stood beside my bed before leaving. "Vivienne, I'm heading out. You're not going to say goodbye?"
I opened my eyes. "Goodbye."
"Use my name. Just saying goodbye is so cold."
I rolled over and said nothing more. She stood there talking at me for a while, and I let every word wash past me. Eventually, she gave up and left.
At lunch, she smiled pleasantly and asked, "Vivienne, it's been so long since school started, and you've never once called me by name. Do you think it's beneath you?"
"No."
"Then why won't you?"
I met her eyes and turned the question back on her. "If we're close, why does it have to involve names?"
She held my gaze for three seconds, then suddenly laughed. "You know what, you're right. Being close doesn't require names."
Celeste was more direct about it.
One afternoon when there were no classes, she was lying on the upper bunk scrolling through her phone and suddenly called out, "Vivienne, hand me the power bank on my desk."
I got it and held it out to her.
She didn't take it. She looked at me. "Say my name first, then I'll take it."
"If you don't want it, I'll put it back."
I made as if to set it down, and she snatched it from my hand before I could.
Iris was never like that.
She never pushed me to say her name. She just waited, quietly. Every time I walked into the room, she'd glance up at me. Every time I left for class, she'd walk about three paces behind me. When I stood in line at the dining hall, she'd appear right behind me. No words, no pressure, no demands.
But every one of those small gestures said the same thing: she was waiting.
That kind of silence was harder to breathe through than any direct demand, because with Sloane and Celeste, I could simply refuse.
In mid-October, the department organized a fall outing.
On the bus, Sloane insisted on sitting next to me and kept me laughing the whole way there.
When we got off, Celeste walked over and, in front of the entire class, asked me, "Vivienne, who do you know better, me or Sloane?"
Every eye turned to me.
I smiled. "Both pretty well. We're in the same dorm, after all."
Celeste stared at me for three seconds, then turned and walked away.
Sloane leaned in close and murmured, "Look at her. Acts like the whole world owes her something."
I didn't respond.
That evening, back at the dorm, I pushed open the door. All three were there. Sloane sat at her desk spinning a pen. Celeste lay on the upper bunk on her phone. Iris read in the corner.
Everything looked normal.
But I caught one small detail.
Sloane's pen slipped and fell to the floor. As she bent to pick it up, she and Celeste exchanged a glance.
I had seen that look before.
In the first life, it was the exact look Celeste gave Sloane just before she arranged to have me killed. Not the look of an alliance. The look of a confirmation: making sure the other one wouldn't get in the way.
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