"From what?" I question him.
"From anything that might hurt you. From risk. From?—"
"From you." I say it before I can stop myself. "I'm hiding from you. Happy? You broke me and I rebuilt myself carefully. Controlled. Because if I don't control everything, I might end up destroyed again." Now I’m shouting as the anger hits me. I was trying to hold it in.
The room goes silent. Even through the glass walls, I can feel students in the library looking away, pretending they didn't just witness that.
Ethan's face does something complicated. Pain? Regret? I can't tell anymore.
"Ivy—"
"We're done for today. I'll email you my section by Friday. You do the same." I pack up my laptop with shaking hands. "Same time next week."
"Wait. Please."
Thepleasestops me. Ethan doesn't say please. He doesn't ask. Demands or expects or manipulates, but never asks.
"What?"
"I'm sorry. For what I just said. For—" He stops. "For a lot of things."
"Sorry doesn't fix it."
"I know. But I am. Sorry."
I look at him, really look at him, for the first time since he arrived at Thornhill. Past the expensive clothes and the sharp haircut and the mask of indifference.
He looks tired. Sad. Like he hasn't slept properly in a long time.
Good. He should be tired, he should be sad. Should feel even a fraction of what he put me through.
But seeing it doesn't bring the satisfaction I expected.
"I have to go."
I leave before he can respond. Before I can do something stupid like ask why he's sorry. What specifically he regrets. Whether he thinks about that night as much as I do.
Because those are questions that lead nowhere good.
Thursday, I'm walking to class when someone calls my name.
Not Ethan. A girl I vaguely recognize from orientation.
"Ivy! Hey, wait up."
I slow down, and she catches up to me. She's pretty in that effortless way some.
"Sorry, I know we haven't officially met. I'm Chelsea. I'm in your Business Strategy class."
"Right. Hi." I know who she is, she’s good in class.
"I wanted to ask you something. About your project partner?" She lowers her voice conspiratorially. "Ethan Zhang. What's his deal? Is he single?"
My stomach does something unpleasant. "I don't know. We're not friends."
"Oh." She looks surprised. "I just thought, since you're partners and you seem to know each other..."
"We're from the same hometown. That's it."