DISCLAIMER:All of Worm and associated properties belong to John McCrae AKA Wildblow. I'm just doing this for fun. Yes, I did read Worm all the way to the finish and yes I did yell a lot about Bonesaw.

Trigger Warnings and spoilers beneath the cut:


TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR CHAPTER TWO: INCLUDES MAJOR SPOILERS

Questionable age gaps in relationships [[MAJOR SPOILER: 17-yo dating a 19-yo, turning 20 (current); a 23-yo sleeping with a 18-yo (past)]]; TA/student relationships (past); ableism; accidentally outing yourself as disabled to a crowd; someone attempting to take off another person's clothes unexpectedly (non-sexual context); ableism and ableist slurs ("cr*pple" used as an insult against a disabled person).


1.2 CHAPTER TWO: "RUNNING COMMENTARY"

I woke up in a borrowed room, wearing borrowed clothes, dreaming about borrowed time. I ran my hand along the cotton sheets and gathered the will to get out of bed.

Kicking the covers off, I swung my legs around, muscles protesting. The floor felt unfamiliar, cold and too hard. Soft light filtered in through the window blinds.

Despite her continued certainty I'd sign the lease, Lisa had made me promise to at least stay for lunch that afternoon. Unless she was trying to fatten me up for something, this probably meant she was serious about housing and not planning to sell me to human traffickers.

The walls and shelves were completely barren, except for my watch on the bedside table. It was 10:00am — impossibly late for me, but then again I'd gone to sleep around the time I usually woke up.

I scrubbed at my eyes. I felt antsy and exhausted all at once.

I looked around for my shoes. Lisa had left me a sweatshirt and a pair of baggy joggers that looked too big to be hers, along with a clean towel.

A quick check confirmed that my prosthetic was mostly intact. There was a short tear along the wrist breaking the vacuum seal so that it kept slipping off my arm, but I could probably jerryrig that with wide rubber band. No urgent reason to visit the prosthetist or order a new one, even if I could afford it without Dad's health insurance. I'd leave it off until I could scrounge up some spare office supplies, hopefully before I bumped into anyone else.

If I washed my clothes in the sink before lunch, I could probably go for a run and change into Lisa's stuff while I waited for them to dry. She hadn't lent me a bra, but my chest was too small to really need one for anything other than working out and my back was too sore for it anyway. My neck had seized up overnight, and it was a struggle to even turn my head to the side.

I rubbed at my shoulder. I didn't really want to think about last night.

My threadbare jeans hung short around my ankles. They weren't the best running gear, but I didn't want to sweat into someone else's laundry. I tugged my thick cable-knit sweater on over my head — I only had a t-shirt on underneath and I didn't like leaving my right arm exposed in public, even in a compression sock.

Clothes were definitely going to be a problem in the future.

My glasses were also still badly broken, but I was basically blind without them. Even with them twisted to sit as securely across my nose as possible, I really only had clear vision in one eye because of the damaged lens.

I tied my laces so tight they hurt and slipped out of the room as quietly as possible. Mine was the only open door downstairs, and I couldn't hear anyone else moving around upstairs, so I didn't think Lisa or her housemates were awake yet.

Lisa's house was unusually nice for a place shared by a bunch of college students. The room she had lent me was just off the living room, opposite the kitchen, both of which looked straight out of the pages of a vandalized interior design magazine. Showcase real estate where the pristine surfaces had suffered in the absence of supervising adults. The couch and carpet were a sleek modernist white, mostly unstained despite the pile of empty pizza boxes on the glass coffee table. Discarded dog toys and shoes riddled the floor. There was a flatscreen TV, surrounded by bookshelves stocked with gaming systems, textbooks, and more DVDs than I had ever seen in my life.

I definitely couldn't afford to live here.

I crept out the front door, making sure it clicked shut behind me. It was close to noon and Lisa lived in a newly gentrified part of town, so I didn't feel too bad about leaving it unlocked. I would only be gone for half an hour, anyway. I couldn't manage more than that with my neck the way it was.

I set off at a steady pace, planning to map the neighborhood. Lisa's house was just one on a block of identical prefab houses, and surprisingly not the only one with a set of ugly giant lawn chairs, possibly part of the furnishing package. They'd replaced the rundown but more affordable industrial housing that used to populate this area.

Lisa's did have the only unmarked white van on the street, which would've probably been concerning if she hadn't already kidnapped me.

The neighborhood had been "revitalized" after a big name gene-editing corporation started making moves to switch its headquarters to Brockton Bay. Probably because the medical waste disposal laws were laxer here, courtesy of our local pharmaceutical conglomerate, Medhall. Only idiots and tourists actually went swimming in the Bay.

Of course, nobody cared about how Cauldron's imminent arrival just reinforced the north-south wealth divide that defined the city. Brockton was perfectly happy to keep pushing the growing homeless and low-income populations south towards the Docks where the gangs roamed wild.

The city council was happy, the contractors were happy, and Brockton Bay University, which used to sit right in the middle of a dangerous part of town, was very, very happy.

Which probably explained why BBU's PRT Honors Program dorm was built like a concrete prison complex. Apparently, Lisa only lived four blocks down from it, putting her a total of eight blocks from the edge of campus proper. Both much closer than where I'd been living, since my dad's house was all the way on the far south side of the Bay rim where the ferry used to run.

More than a good three and a half hour bike ride in distance, and I'd forgotten my mine in my rush to get away last night. No wonder my legs were sore.

I sped up anyway as I passed the PRT dorm, resisting the urge to spit at it. PRT "Wards" were the best of BBU's generally lackluster student populace, gifted with free housing, full-ride scholarships, and generous research stipends.

My rejection letter burnt a hole in my thigh, still crumpled in the back pocket of last night's jeans. Fuck Dr. Wallace and his prissy program and their stringent "safety standards." He wouldn't know real science if it bit him on the ass, which he was apparently convinced mine would.

It definitely wouldn't, but my dad didn't seem to believe that either, when he kicked me out and threatened to destroy my work. I definitely couldn't find anywhere affordable to move it by Monday. Which only made the lack of free housing sting even worse.

I focused on the pavement pounding beneath my feet and not on burning down the PRT complex. It was concrete, so it probably wouldn't catch well anyway. Maybe that was the point.

Just past it was Greek Street, where all the sororities and frats had bought and renovated old houses. They'd probably all be asleep until noon, but I turned around before I passed them anyway. I wasn't feeling up to catcalls today, even if my lackluster figure and missing hand usually drew more stares than double-entendres.

Everyone was still asleep when I got back to Lisa's place, but it was already 10:30 so I'd figured a shower was probably fine. Lisa had shown me the upstairs bathroom last night, the only other shower was in the master bedroom and therefore off-limits, although she didn't tell me whose it was.

I fought to get a brush through my wet tangles, hoping that they didn't frizz. Normally I'd blow dry my hair to keep it under control, but I didn't want to wake everyone up 'early' on a Saturday. I couldn't impinge anymore on Lisa's generosity. Still, I snagged a wide scrunchie from the liberal coating of them on the counter, rolling it over my left wrist for safe keeping. No one would miss it, and I'd return it as soon as I found a suitable rubber band.

The joggers Lisa laid out for me last night were a little long, which was unusual given my height, and I had to tie the drawstring double tight to keep them up. By contrast, Lisa's faded cartoon-detective sweatshirt basically fit me like a loose crop top. I futilely kept trying to tug it down over my stomach. At least it still covered most of my bruises from the roof, even if it left some of my old scarring exposed. So long as no one looked too closely, I could probably pass them off as weird full-body acne scars.

I swung the door open, damp towel wrapped around my shoulders, and came face to face with one of her housemates.

He was shorter than me, prettier than me, and, if his infuriatingly perfect bedhead was any indication, had better hair than me, too. My only consolation was that his skin was corpse white in a way that screamed vitamin-D deficiency more so than it did "classical sculpture".

Unblinking and dead-eyed, he stared at me, then glanced pointedly down at the sweatshirt I was wearing. My hand twitched around the towel and I resisted the urge to bolt. He raised his eyebrows slowly and deliberately.

Slipping past me into the bathroom, he told the air next to my shoulder, "She sure likes them tall."

The door snapped shut behind him.

I almost ran down the stairs, face hotter than the shower had left it. The half-empty end of the right sweatshirt sleeve flapped against my thigh, where the other pulled tight above my wrist. I furiously tucked the right sleeve into the pocket of the joggers, and hurried into the spare room Lisa lent me to pick up my prosthetic.

The scrunchy wasn't a perfect fix, but with the extra bulk of the compression sock it'd probably hold so long as I didn't wave my arm around too vigorously. Not a problem, since I planned to keep my hand in my pocket and safely away from Lisa's housemates.

I couldn't see anywhere to hang the towel to dry without risking water damage, so I left it around my shoulders, dampening the sweatshirt.

The kitchen was just across the living room from the room I'd stayed in. Sleek countertops and a flush suite of up-to-date appliances, more expensive than I thought any group of college students should be able to afford. Bursting with food, too, none of which was for me, no matter what Lisa said.

It was also, unfortunately, occupied.

A young black girl sat on the counter, bare legs dangling from an oversized camo print t-shirt that declared 'I'm invisible!' in bright pink glittering letters. I assumed it was supposed to be funny, but I didn't know why. Her hair haloed loosely around her head, bouncing out every direction. Her face was turned away from me, but I could see the baby fat on her cheeks as she stared intently at the rainbow star-patterned rice cooker next to her. It seemed out of place next to the ultra-modern stainless steel toaster.

I crept over to the sink, feeling like an intruder. She barely glanced at me, engrossed in the rice cooker.

"Want some oatmeal?" she offered, staring at the countdown timer. Unlike Lisa, her south-Brockton accent was even thicker than my own.

I eyed the steaming rice cooker nervously. "No, thanks." I studied the cabinets for the one most likely to hold water glasses.

"You sure?" she asked, turning to me. "It's good. Best way to make oatmeal." I shook my head and opened up a second cupboard full of plates. Who needed this many serving platters?

She gave me a once over, double-taking when she saw the sweatshirt. She leered. I pulled the towel tighter around myself and thoroughly searched the empty dishwasher for cups without bending my neck, the back of which felt hot and clammy.

"Where'd you get that hoodie?" she asked, kicking the cabinet next to my ear. I jumped, knocking my head on the countertop. My neck screamed in protest.

I fumbled for words, rubbing my bruised scalp. I tugged the sleeve down taught over my fingers and opened up a drawer full of souvenir coffee mugs.

"Lisa," I finally admitted, picking a random mug. Good enough.

The girl grinned wider, revealing a slight gap in her front teeth. "You know she's taken even when she's single, right? It doesn't matter if they're on break, her datemate would eat you alive."

My knuckles went white around the orange 'Aloha!' mug. I turned back to the sink.

"I'm taken too, in case you were wondering," she added. I wasn't. She barely looked old enough to be a freshman. They got younger and younger every year. I stood the mug in the sink and turned the faucet on, waiting for the water to cool down.

"So's my brother," she continued, on a roll. I increased the flow to a low roar, but she only spoke louder. "And my boyfriend, obviously. Actually, if your type isn't short, surly, and dogs, you're pretty much shit out of luck in this house."

I picked the mug up again and stuck it in the spray, water splashing over the edges of the cup so fast barely any of it stayed inside no matter how hard I glared. In the reflection on the shiny sink tap, I could see Lisa's housemate opening her mouth again, smile widening in preparation.

The rice cooker chirped happily, and I whirled around, spilling the rest of my freezing drink all over my front.

"Oh look," I said, dripping. "Your food is ready."

She stared at me. I set the mug down on the counter and turned off the tap. Her grin got even broader. I pulled the towel from around my neck and crouched down to wipe off the wet kitchen tiles, trying to hide my burning cheeks.

When I stood up, Lisa's housemate shoved two bowls into my chest. "Here," she commanded. "Hold these." I fumbled them one-handed before balancing one in the crook of my elbow, almost losing my grip on them both, right arm jerking against the pocket lining as I fought to stay steady.

"Hey," I protested, completely ignored.

Lisa's housemate bustled around the kitchen, humming to herself as she gathered spoons and various sugary substances that I guessed were part of breakfast. Every time she found something she liked, she tossed it on top of the growing tower of condiments and utensils against my chest. If I didn't exhale, I could almost keep it all balanced.

"Hey," I repeated, trying to get her to stop. Maintaining this with only one arm was practically impossible, but I didn't want to take my right hand out of my pocket and risk her spotting my prosthetic for what it was.

"Goddamn you," someone behind me spat. I jumped about a half foot in the air and it was only dumb luck that kept everything from hitting the floor. My hand spasmed around the brown sugar bag, almost dropping the whipped cream, and I fought to get my heartbeat under control so that it didn't disturb the cereal boxes.

Lisa stepped out into the kitchen. She looked different in the daytime, less ethereal. She was prettier than I expected, although her face was still a little unusual, mostly flat planes with surprisingly pointy edges. I guessed she was around my age, even if she looked more composed just wearing pajamas than I did in business casual. Her hair was blonde, not grey or white, and there were freckles scattered across her sharp nose and cheeks. Her eyes were naturally tilted up at the edges, but hard with anger. In the morning light, they were a cold sea bottle green.

I really hoped I wasn't the target of that glare.

"Goddamn you, Aisha," she repeated, pointing at the kitchen's third occupant. "You made oatmeal in my rice cooker, again."

Lisa stalked forward. I stayed very, very still, pulse fluttering wildly. Her focus was lasered in on 'Aisha'.

"Do you know how long it takes to clean it after you do this?" Lisa hissed. "Do you realize just how much you are making my life harder? I don't think you do."

For a second, I thought I was back in high school, watching myself and Emma, or, more recently, myself and Dad. It was like a slow motion nature documentary, stuck looping the part where the panther jumps out the tree and suddenly every bird in the forest knows better than to breathe. A complete reversal of the Lisa from last night.

"No, of course you don't," Lisa ranted. "You never think about anyone but yourself. It's always the same with you, anything to get attention. You're incapable of internalizing that anything in this house is off-limits."

Aisha looked like she was about to cry.

I shuddered, and the spoons clanged together against the side of one of the bowls. Lisa startled, glancing around. She grimaced, eyes landing on me, and then Aisha.

"Look," Lisa said, running her fingers through her hair. "I care about one, maybe two, things in this kitchen. The rest is up for grabs. But I swear to god if you touch my rice cooker again, you won't get that hand back." She glanced at me and winced again. "Metaphorically." I studied the floor tiles.

Aisha rolled her eyes, rallying like she hadn't just been on the verge of tears. "I know. Like you'd ever have the balls to do it yourself," she scoffed. "You'd probably get slimmer shady over here to chop it off for you."

Lisa ignored her, and turned to me. "Good morning, Taylor." I glanced up. She smiled softly and started peeling pieces off my pile, ferrying them over to the kitchen table. "Did you sleep well?"

Aisha watched intently from the counter. I tried to come up with an adequate answer. Speaking to new people always made my stomach leap into my throat, especially groups.

"Yeah, pretty well. Nice bed," I forced out. I rolled my shoulders, arm suddenly free. "Thanks for letting me stay." I felt obligated to say it, even if I hadn't had a choice.

"Of course! I hope you liked the room. Have you thought any more about the lease?"

"Wait," Aisha demanded, cutting in between us to grab a bowl. I flinched at the sudden closeness. "You had a one night stand and you're already asking her to move in? I've heard of U-Hauling, but this is beyond—"

"Taylor," Lisa said loudly, handing her a serving spoon, "is going to be our new tenant."

"Well, actually—" I started, shoulders hunching.

"Lisa!" Aisha yelled, fishing a lump of oatmeal out of the rice cooker. "You can't just keep adding your flings to the lease! It's in the roommate contract! We already tolerate one of your S.O.'s hanging around, I don't think I could handle a second."

"Taylor and I are not dating," Lisa insisted. My face flushed. "She's needs a place to stay, and I mentioned that we have an empty room. Plus, Rachel and I are barely even friends, she was just—"

"Another smelly stray huddled around a Christmas trashcan fire on the cold, dark winter streets, we know," Aisha finished for her, dropping the full bowl on the table in front of Lisa. "I wasn't talking about Rachel."

Lisa turned an ugly red. "Oh."

"Yeah, them," Aisha parroted, grabbing another bowl. I straightened up a bit, intrigued despite myself. "Your life partner back in who knows where bumfuck California."

"They're in Canberra right now, actually," Lisa corrected her. "Business trip."

"I don't care," Aisha said, sliding a full bowl onto the placemat closest to me and plopping a spoon down in it. The oatmeal looked light and fluffy, and smelled supremely tempting, even plain. "I just think you should probably tell your hookups about them before you ask strangers to move in with you and inevitably get murdered when The Devil Wears Prada comes back to visit."

Aisha sat down at the the table, setting a third bowl in front of her. Lisa slid into the seat across from her and carefully started peeling a banana. I hovered awkwardly beside an empty chair, not sure what to do with myself.

"My partner is actually very friendly," Lisa told me, cutting up the fruit and pushing it into her oatmeal. "They just have kind of a bad rap around here."

"Because they're a fucking screamer," the boy from before added, stumbling into the kitchen with a yawn. I startled. "I don't know how someone can scream that loud when they're not having sex, but they fucking manage it."

"Alec!" Aisha exclaimed, popping up out of her seat to peck him on the lips. I scrambled to get out of the way, pressing myself back against the counter. "Have some oatmeal."

"It's throat-singing," Lisa said to the air in my general direction. "They're a professional throat-singer."

Alec glanced over at the counter, ignoring Lisa's protests. "Rice cooker oatmeal? Mmmm, thick. With two c's."

Aisha waggled her eyebrows at him. Lisa slammed her hands against the table, rattling the bowls. "Buy your own fucking rice cooker, you heathens!"

"It's so much more convenient to use yours, though," Alec complained, shuffling over with his bowl to sit down beside Aisha. He plucked the ketchup off the table and started mixing it into his breakfast. He and Lisa continued bickering, Lisa getting increasingly angry while Alec looked completely unphased. I tried to make myself as small as possible.

I tried to tune them out, overwhelmed, but couldn't help listening. Alec's rounded vowels marked him as another out-of-towner, maybe from northern Maine or across the border in Canada. Probably not Canada, there weren't many international students students here.

Aisha kept casually adding things to her breakfast, as if she hadn't started the whole thing. I huddled next to the sink and watched whipped cream, soy sauce, and a packet of goat cheese disappear into her bowl.

"I hope you choke," Lisa swore at Alec. I wondered how rude it would be if I just got my clothes and left.

"Well?" Aisha demanded dumping half a box of cereal into her oatmeal. I jumped. The whole table was staring at me. "You going to eat or what?"

I peeled myself off the counter and gingerly sat down in the empty chair in front of the bowl Aisha had deposited earlier, apparently for me. I hesitated, then picked up the spoon.

"My god," Aisha complained. My grip on the utensil tightened defensively. "Is this how you got so skinny? Eat! It's the best possible oatmeal, made by yours truly, the best possible oatmeal chef! You're not allowed to live in this house if you refuse to eat my oatmeal."

"It's true, you can't," Alec said through a mouth full of red mush. "There's also a dress code, but you'll have to ask Brian about that. Anyway, Lisa, isn't this moving little fast? Even for you." The metal of the spoon cut into my palm.

"Taylor and I are not having sex—" Lisa started.

"Well, obviously," Alec snorted. Aisha high-fived him without looking away from her oatmeal. I stabbed my oatmeal with more force than necessary.

"—she is just a person I know who is in need of a bed for sleep. Which we happen to have available," Lisa continued, undaunted. I concentrated on scooping up a spoonful as silently as possible.

Alec shrugged. "How'd you meet?" he asked. I gave up and shoveled the whole thing into my mouth at lightning speed.

"At the library," Lisa said, staring him down. I started chewing my oatmeal very thoroughly.

Aisha looked at me, raising her eyebrows. I nodded vigorously, still swirling the mush between my molars. It was surprisingly good oatmeal.

"I read," Lisa added. "Taylor works there. She's my favorite librarian and recently lost her housing, so I offered to help. Isn't that right, Taylor?"

Lisa looked meaningfully at me. Aisha smiled, showing too many teeth. I swallowed hard, gagging a little. "She likes mystery novels," I offered, voice hoarse. Clearing my throat, I stood up and stepped over to the counter to retrieve the orange mug of water I'd never gotten to drink.

My shoulder blades prickled. I could practically feel Aisha's grin widening. The table felt too close.

"Even if I did accept that bald-faced lie — which I don't, by the way," Aisha declared behind me. I focused on the mug, 'Aloha,' it said, over and over, "it still wouldn't explain why you want her on the lease so bad. Hey, Taylor!" she hollered at my back. I gulped down water so fast I nearly choked. "What's your credit score?"

I was saved by the sudden addition of stomping boots to the kitchen and almost cried in relief. "Why," the newcomer demanded, "are you yelling?"

I turned around, mug halfway from my lips. She stood in the doorway, glowering, about as tall as Lisa, but somehow infinitely more imposing. Her shoulders were broad and well-defined, filling up the space, and I could see the bulge of her biceps even inside her baggy weather-beaten jacket. Her auburn hair was cropped short against her sun-hardened brown skin, and her nose had obviously been broken at least once and set wrong. Two dogs, just as scarred and sturdy as she was, hovered around her feet.

She turned on me. My spine straightened, grip tightening on the mug handle. "Who the fuck are you?" she demanded, scowling.

I swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Oatmeal crusted in the back of my throat. "Taylor," I croaked.

She grunted. My stomach flipped. "Keep it down, Kaylen" she told me, whistling to her dogs. Close enough. "You'll wake up Angelica. Judas, Brutus, come."

She stormed out, dogs following close at her heels. I stood still, watching her. That explained all the chew toys in the living room, but not whether 'Angelica' was a human or another pet. Then again, Brutus and Judas were also weird names for dogs.

"Wow," Aisha gasped. I glanced over my shoulder at her. "Is that your type? It is!"

I scowled, turning on the faucet as loud as it would go and topping off my water. Not about to show weakness, I reclaimed my seat at the table, chair-legs scraping on the kitchen tiles. I snatched up the spoon and bitterly bit into the oatmeal. Aisha was right about the rice cooker, not that I'd ever admit it.

"So, you've met Rachel," Lisa chirped as I started tucking back into my breakfast.

"And she didn't even sic her dogs on you," Alec drawled. "Truly, love at first sight." I paused mid-swallow. Had that been a real possibility?

"Rachel doesn't like strangers in the house," Lisa explained. Not reassuring. I gulped, forcing the mouthful down. "But she's used to it by now, with all the traffic coming through on the weekends. We'll tell her you're moving in later, when she's not busy and maybe a little drunk." What?

"Anyway, you've met her," Lisa repeated, "and the terrible twosome. Now all that's left is Brian, and then we can negotiate the housing contract."

I stared at her. There was no way I was signing that lease.

"Rent is really very reasonable here," Lisa said. "It's the best offer you're going to get."

Aisha scoffed. "Pfft, yeah, because Lisa's sugar daddy subsidizes everything." I carefully set down my spoon.

"Boss," Lisa corrected her. "He's our boss. He has hired us, to do investigative work for him, in exchange for incredibly reasonable rent on this very nice house."

"Investigate his dick," Alec chanted, lowering his voice dramatically on the last word. Aisha high-fived him again. I picked the spoon up again, then decided better and put it back down.

"I'm a forensic accountant," Lisa explained, looking at me.

My hand stilled. "You said you were a psych major," I muttered.

"I can do more than one thing," Lisa snapped. I flinched. She pinched her nose, then looked back at me, smiling forcibly. "Brian and I are partners. We run a small firm on the side, investigating tax fraud and embezzlement, stuff like that. He crunches the numbers, I handle the computers. Sometimes we get hired by banks, or private contractors." Oh.

"My brother is a boring-ass business school drone," Aisha lamented. I twitched. I knew a Brian who was getting his Masters in business.

He was also black, but that didn't mean they were related. BBU was demographically majority minority white. Besides, it was a pretty common name. I turned back to my oatmeal.

"Lisa, did you get the records?" a sleep roughened voice yelled from the living room. I froze, every muscle in my body clenching. "I know last night was short notice, but we're working on a bit of a timeline here." No way.

Lisa's smile turned strained. "No, Brian, I was a little busy getting the place ready for our unexpected houseguest."

Brian rounded the corner. I nearly choked on my own spit.

"Taylor?" he yelped.

He looked exactly how I remembered him. All dark lean muscle, spilling out of his loose white tank top. Tall, with the perfect posture of a long-time CEO but softened by a boyish smile accenting his chiseled jawline. His hair was pulled back into intricate cornrows and tied up in a loose bun. Looking at him and Aisha in the same room, I could see the resemblance, but barely. It made sense that they'd grown up separately, since they sounded nothing alike, which fit with what little I knew about their family. Brian had used the clipped tones of the uptown business sector as long as I'd known him.

He was just as beautiful as ever. I, on the other hand, was definitely not looking my best. I wasn't sure if that made me angrier at him or myself.

I wondered if he thought about me as often as I did him.

I coughed violently, thumping at my chest. Lisa looked at me in concern. Brian stared like he was watching a ghost or maybe a live tiger eat breakfast in his kitchen.

"H-hi Brian," I stammered, waving weakly at him.

Brian eyed the kitchen door, ready to bolt. Aisha's gaze darted between us, lips parted in shocked delight.

"No," she whispered. "It can't be. You're that Taylor. Fresh Meat Taylor. Existential Crisis Taylor!"

Existential crisis? I didn't know whether that made me feel better or worse about the fact that he'd ghosted me after a four word email.

I'd had so many speeches planned, and an embarrassing number of apologies, but now that he was actually here I couldn't remember any of them. I stared at him, not sure what to say.

'It's been a year, how are you?' 'Did you know you're the first person I ever had sex with?' 'How come you would only kiss me when the lights were off?' 'Is this why you never let me stay over?' 'What did I do wrong?'

"Are you still TA'ing Econ One?" I blurted out.

Aisha was practically vibrating with glee. Alec hooted. I tried to sink into the floor. Brian looked like he'd chew off his own foot if that meant he could leave the kitchen quicker, and I felt vaguely vindicated by that.

"She was your student?" Aisha crowed. My shoulders crawled up to my earlobes. "Have you no shame?"

Brian flushed. "It was at Bonesaw's art awards afterparty — the 'Groom' one. I was not at my best, okay?"

I slouched deeper in my seat. I sort of remembered being drunkenly fascinated by the huge hyper-realistic installation piece that dominated the Slaughterhouse Nine co-op's living room last fall. A sculptural dissection of a man who looked a eerily like my super nice and handsome TA, Brian, crucified in the corner of the ceiling with his organs strewn throughout the room like display pieces.

Of course, then Brian himself had shown up and the night took a more dramatic turn.

I glanced at him, before I could stop myself. He was still so handsome, towering over his roommates, chiseled jaw set in a defiant glare. I don't know what he'd ever seen in me.

My heels slid against the floor, catching on the too-long hems of the joggers Lisa lent me. I felt my face heat up. I was probably wearing Brian's pants right now.

Lisa was squinting at Brian and me like we were a particularly interesting logic problem. Alec beamed, the first time I'd seen him smile. It was not a pretty smile.

"Still an ethics violation," Alec trilled. "You scoundrel, you should be fired. Banned from teaching freshman seminars forevermore!"

"Like you're one to talk," Brian snapped, waving angrily at him and Aisha. I curled into myself.

"Technically legal," Alec sang, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Aisha smiled beautifically at him.

Brian's expression turned murderous. "Only for another month."

"Now, now, brother dearest," Aisha declared, voice faux-soothing. I tried to make myself as small as possible. "This isn't about me. We were talking about you, taking advantage of a sweet, innocent, baby freshman — who was apparently also your student — and using her for sex to make yourself feel better."

I fiddled with the bottom edge of Lisa's sweatshirt, staring hard at my spoon. I would not have put it that way.

"It was a moment of weakness!" Brian blustered. I flinched. That was hurtful, and inaccurate.

I glared up at him, opening my mouth, just in time to catch Aisha launching herself across the table, too fast for anyone to intercept. She barreled into my chest, almost knocking us both out of the chair, dishes rattling. I scrambled to steady myself and her, while she wriggled an arm around me and yanked the back of Lisa's sweatshirt up over my head, craning around to poke at my exposed shoulder blades. She pointed, twisting me around and pushing at my bruises. My right shoulder protested the motion, arm still trapped in Brian's pants.

"Objection!" Aisha shouted. I thrashed wildly, straining against her limpet grip. My right arm popped out of the pocket of the joggers, leaving behind my hand. I thumped her with my bare forearm anyway, but she held on, undeterred. "I recognize this mole, your honor! It was at least two, maybe three moments of weakness!"

Heaving, I pried her off and shoved her out of the chair, breathing hard. Kicking away from the table, I pulled the bunched fabric back down over my shoulders and stood up, chair clattering to the floor. My hand fell out of Brian's joggers and hit the tiles with a hollow thud. Aisha sat silently next to it on the floor, stunned. Lisa and Brian went pale. Alec's eyebrows hiked up.

"Taylor—" Brian started, before choking down his words. I stared at him until he looked away. Alec studied me, smirking, and I glared at him too.

"Wow, Lisa," Alec quipped undeterred, leaning back in his seat. "Giving the cripple your Inspector Gadget sweatshirt was pretty tasteless."

Then everyone started yelling at once and I bolted, slamming the front door behind me.


Next up, "The Final Straw".

A/N: Bonus points if you can guess the content of Brian's break-up email (he couldn't even text her, because Taylor doesn't have a cell phone).

Also, no, Lisa's partner is not an OC.