A/N: Thanks, as always, for being awesome. And thanks, as ever, to HollettLA, the very definition of the word. xo
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EPOV
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March 1, 2013 – Word Prompt: Slander. Plot Generator—Phrase Catch: The coast is clear.
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My mind is a whirlwind of legalese, my media law text open in front of me, its words swimming before my eyes. If someone were to ask now what made me opt to pursue a law degree in this field, I'd have a hard time coming up with an answer. I don't really care about privacy and censorship, nor do I lose much sleep over freedom of information or libel and slander. The only arm of my degree that holds some measure of interest for me is intellectual property and copyrights, and that's only really because the idea of someone trying to steal another person's work doesn't sit right with me.
When my phone chimes, I welcome the interruption.
"Tell me you're not studying on a Saturday night." It's Emmett.
"I'm not studying on a Saturday night," I echo in monotone, even as I push my thumb and forefinger into my aching eyes.
"Nerd."
"Aren't older siblings supposed to encourage responsibility in their younger ones?"
"Beats the hell outta me. Listen, the coast is clear: Rose is getting her nails done with her girlfriends. Wings and beer and football in half an hour."
Wings and beer and football aren't really my things. But my brother is one of my things, and the opportunities I have to spend with him and him alone are growing fewer and farther between as the looming reality of his marriage grows. "Okay," I say, and when he doesn't reply, I wonder idly if I've dropped the call. "Em?"
"That's it?"
"What?"
"I had a whole, like, argument planned."
"I'm crushed to be missing it," I say, closing my book and pushing it toward the back of my desk. "Who are they playing today?" Despite having graduated from USC and leaving his football career behind six years ago, he never tires of informing anyone who will listen that Trojan football is something that gets in a man's blood. Sort of like the mob: once you're in, it's for life.
"Notre Dame. We're gonna pulverize 'em."
I chuckle, leaning back in my chair and eyeballing my as-yet-unpacked suitcase sitting atop the trunk at the foot of my bed. "Okay. Willie's?"
"Yep. Pick you up?"
"Sure. Thanks." As I hang up, I gaze at my open luggage for another beat before scrolling through my phone to the number Jasper had given me "in good confidence" before we parted ways back in Forks.
Time, she had said, and despite the nearly overpowering urge to make the call, I know I won't. The default silhouette of a gray man sitting beside her name makes her seem like the most ominous sort of stranger, and it makes me sad in a way that seems ridiculous and far too apt, all at the same time.
Tenacious, one of my undergrad professors had called me, implying that it was a personality trait that would serve me well in a law career. It's the part of me that wants to doggedly pursue her forgiveness, her friendship, her trust with utter relentlessness until I have it again.
But I won't. I lost her once because I wasn't patient with her.
It's a mistake I won't make again.
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