Page 11 of Creeping Lily

LILY

I sit cross-legged on the bed, folding a T-shirt with slow, deliberate movements.

The cotton is cool between my fingers, the creases sharp from the iron.

The faint scent of fresh detergent clings to the fabric, but it doesn’t quite drown out the sweet cloud of Bethany’s vanilla body spray drifting through the air.

The mix feels… off. Like the two scents don’t belong together. Like I don’t belong here.

This room isn’t fully mine.

Grandma Jo had been the one to push for it — telling my mom it was time for me to step away from home, to see what life looked like beyond our cramped little town.

My mom agreed in words, but I could see in her eyes that every part of her wanted to keep me close.

Then the scholarship came — full ride to Colt University — and there was no turning back.

Even as she hugged me goodbye, I could feel the silent plea in her arms.

Stay.

But I didn’t stay.

Seven hours later, I was standing here — at one of the most prestigious universities in the state — holding a map of the campus and the promise of a degree that might finally crack the lock on my life. Journalism. Freedom, if I could just make it through.

The dorm smells like sunlight under Bethany’s perfume.

It’s a half-and-half kind of place: my side, ordered and clean; her side, a wild storm.

She’s blonde, loud, and electric — a walking hurricane who’s decided it’s her mission to fix me.

I never asked her to. I don’t think she even knows what she’s trying to fix.

“You’re humming again,” she says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I blink up at her. “Hmm?”

“You were humming,” she repeats, tilting her head, green eyes sharp but curious.

“Sorry,” I murmur, folding the shirt just so, lining it up on the shelf until it’s perfect.

“You’re a strange one,” she says with a grin. “Quirky, but strange.”

I just shrug. Bethany doesn’t need encouragement — she talks enough for both of us.

“What’s going on with you?” she asks, her voice softening.

She’s been trying to get under my skin since I moved in, picking at the edges of the walls I’ve built. She doesn’t understand those walls aren’t coming down. Not for her. Not for anyone.

“Nothing,” I say with a tight smile.

She studies me a second longer, then steps close enough to put a hand on my arm.

“It’s not nothing. That humming you do… it’s like you’re holding something in. Like you’re going to burst if you stop.”

Her words hit a little too close to home, so I shrug again. “I have adjustment issues.”

Adjusting feels impossible. Her side of the room looks like a magazine rack exploded — glossy covers, tangled clothes, makeup scattered across every surface. My side is an island of calm. Neat lines. Folded clothes. Everything where it belongs. It’s the only way I can breathe.

“Lily, you’re doing it again,” Bethany says.

I hadn’t even noticed the low hum in my throat. “Sorry,” I mutter again, turning away.

She lets out a sigh, then flops onto her bed, phone in hand. I focus on my shelf. The quiet between us isn’t really quiet — Bethany’s energy fills the space, even when she’s silent — but at least she’s not asking more questions.

When I left home, I thought distance would make it easier.

That I could leave behind the weight in my mother’s eyes and the shadows of what happened.

But the truth is, miles don’t matter. Memories travel light.

They’re here with me — in the tight pull across my chest, in the hum I don’t even realize I’m making.

I fold another shirt, pressing the lines flat. Like maybe if I get it perfect, the thoughts won’t spill out. But they do. They always do.

Memories of the Walkers.

Of Lincoln.

Of how quickly they threw me aside…

… and left me to learn how to survive in a broken world alone.

Bethany’s brother Justin is like her silent twin. His name is whispered in the grand hallways of the college, and I don’t think there’s a single person on campus who doesn’t know who he is. Except maybe me.

I’ve managed to deflect and sabotage any plans Bethany has for me to meet any of her extended friend circle, even when she declares she will take no for an answer.

I’m not much of a socializer, and I’m not sure that I’m ready to answer anyone’s probing questions about my life before college, so I decide to keep my time on campus low key.

I cannot, however, get out of spending time one on one with my room-mate, who also happens to be my only friend on campus.

I suspect she planned this whole thing, but I’m tight lipped as we step into the bustling café and we’re met with someone calling her name.

Bethany startles, or what I consider fake startles, before she tells me her brother Justin is in the house and she wants me to meet a few friends.

She introduces me to each one of his friends as they sit around two tables pushed up against each other at a local coffee shop.

It’s close enough to the university that most days, it’s where many of the students can be found when they’re on break.

Bethany tells me we’ve totally lucked out by running into them today, but even to my ears, her words have a ring of untruth about them.

“My annoying older brother, Justin Collins.”

Justin’s straddling a chair, a hand hanging loosely over the back, deep in conversation with another guy sitting beside him.

He only stops to look up when he hears his name.

His green eyes fall on me curiously, his jaw working back and forth, as though conducting a silent conversation.

He scrubs a hand over his chin, smoothing his fingers across his three-day growth, then rises and turns his chair around so it’s sitting the right way.

“Lily,” he rasps, and points to the chair “sit.”

I shake my head and turn toward Bethany, looking for an escape.

I’m happy to say hello, but I don’t want to sit at a table with six guys, especially ones I don’t know.

And definitely not these beautiful college guys who look like they just did a spread for GQ.

They are definitely the elite of the college crowd, just like Bethany said; she was not exaggerating when she explained her brother’s status on campus .

It doesn’t help that he’s easy on the eyes, which is precisely why the girls and the boys flock to him like a second skin.

“Sit for a bit, Lily,” Bethany says, pulling me down with her. A couple of the guys shift their chairs to make room for us, one gets up and walks away to answer his phone. Another to order coffee.

“What’ll you have?” Justin asks, his gaze falling on me again.

“We…we were going to get our coffee to go,” I tell him, awkwardly breaking eye contact. I don’t want to sit here any longer than necessary.

“Stay for a bit. Get her a latte, Marshall. She looks like a latte girl.”

“Actually, chai latte,” Bethany pipes up, seemingly impressed that her brother almost got it right.

I don’t know how he knew, but I don’t comment as I feel the gazes of all the guys upon me.

I have a sudden urge to blurt out that Bethany is the beautiful one so they can redirect their attention to her, but I say nothing as everyone continues to watch me with rapt attention.

“So, Lily…you’re new in town,” Justin says, stating the obvious. I’m way out of my element here.

I clear my throat, anxiety radiating through me. This is more questions than I’m comfortable with. “I am.”

“Liking it so far?”

I nod, words failing me.

“What’s not to like?” Bethany pipes up. “She has to like it if she’s going to be here for at least the next four years.”

When my coffee arrives, I grab the cup with both hands just so I can give my digits something to do.

I know the coffee is too hot and I’ll burn my tongue if I sip at it now, but I don’t mind a little heat to my fingers as I absentmindedly continue to rotate the cup around and around on the table.

I notice Justin’s eyes as they follow my movements; the table has grown quiet with an uncomfortable silence as everyone follows his gaze .

“So…journalism, huh?”

I turn to Patrick, who addresses me in a way that I know is meant to break the ice.

He regards me with an amused smile, and I can only think that he’s entertained by my discomfort.

It’s super hard to hold anyone’s gaze here; each and every one of these handsome boys sits on the cusp of manhood, impressing the room with their roguish good looks.

I think it should be illegal to sit in the presence of such greatness.

“We share all our classes together,” Bethany says, then dismisses him just as quickly, turning to her brother. Patrick gives me a small, welcoming smile, and tells me we’ll probably see a lot of each other now that we’ve met.

I shift in my seat, trying to tear away from his mesmerizing blue eyes, the color of the sea swirling within them.

His features are too delicate, too ethereal to belong to a boy, but he’s beautiful, nonetheless.

He has the best head of hair I’ve ever seen on a man, his dark brown waves folded to the side in messy elegance.

When Bethany breaks from conversation with her brother, I lean into her and suggest we leave, not missing the way that Justin’s eyes follow the interaction between us. Bethany nods and I stand quickly, holding my cup up, as though in salute.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I say to no-one in particular. I’m trying extremely hard to avoid any further eye contact as I turn to move away from the table.

“Lily.”

I stop as the firm voice wraps around me, pulling me back to the group. When I turn, Justin is sitting, but he’s pinned me with his intense stare, causing my feet to stand still.

“It was nice to finally meet the girl my sister can’t stop talking about.”

Bethany scowls and throws an irritated punch to his arm before she grabs mine and pulls me out the door, suddenly in a hurry to get away from the café .

“What was that?” I ask, unable to mask my surprise. “You talk about me to your brother?”

She waves her hand around dismissively.

“Justin’s overprotective. He insists on knowing everything about anyone I come in contact with. Believe me, if I hadn’t told him, he would have had you investigated.”

“Investigated? Me?”

I throw a hand to my chest, horrified. Why would anyone ever want to investigate me?

And what would he even find? The fear that he could possibly do this and uncover my secret coils deep in my stomach, lacing my insides with poison.

I’d rather Bethany told him what little she knows than for him to go digging around trying to find information about my life.

My past. How would I ever live down the shame if he did learn my secrets?

“But you hardly even know anything about me,” I remind her.

She smiles. “I know. That’s why I re-invented you.”