Page 14 of Creeping Lily

LILY

T here’s a knock on the door of our dorm room.

Bethany and I both look up. Her brows lift in silent question, but I just shrug. I’m not expecting anyone. She clicks across the floor in her heels and swings the door open.

“Justin?” she blurts, her voice pitching up with surprise.

Her brother leans against the doorframe like he owns it, dressed in a casual button-up and jeans. His green eyes skim past her and lock on me—steady, deliberate. My stomach knots.

“Hey, Lily,” he says, smooth as poured whiskey. “Not coming?”

I shake my head, trying to ignore the way my pulse skips. “No. I’ve got work to do.”

Bethany steps aside, still frowning. “Weren’t we meeting at the restaurant?”

Justin doesn’t even look at her. His eyes stay on me as he steps inside, moving with that slow confidence that makes the small dorm room feel tighter.

“Trick’s coming. Marshall too,” he says, like that should be enough to sway me. “They’re all waiting downstairs. ”

“What?” The word slips out before I can help it.

He shrugs. “It’s dinner. You’ve got to eat.”

Bethany studies us both, her gaze flicking back and forth before her eyes narrow in her brother’s direction. Her brother doesn’t just drop by her dorm. We both know this. This is different.

“I’ve got a paper due at the end of the week,” I tell him, gripping the textbook in my lap. “I’m staying in.”

Bethany crosses her arms as she directs her words at Justin. “Okay, but why are you here? We had plans. At the restaurant. Remember?”

He ignores her and strolls deeper inside. With one easy motion, he drops onto my bed and crosses his ankle over his knee, settling in like he’s staying.

“What are you doing?” Bethany demands.

“What are you doing?” I echo, sharper than I meant.

Justin smirks—the kind of smirk that could get away with murder. “Joining you. I’ve got two cars full of friends downstairs, and I’m not going back without you.”

My stomach flips. Not at the words, but at how certain he sounds, like my choice is already made.

Bethany shoots me a look that says, What the hell is happening right now?

I can’t answer. My thoughts are too tangled, my skin buzzing with something I’d rather not name. Justin is the last thing I need. And yet… here he is.

“You’re wasting your time,” I tell him.

“Am I?” His voice is lazy, but his eyes don’t let go of me.

Bethany groans, grabbing her clutch. “You two are impossible. I’m leaving. Enjoy your weird standoff.” She storms out, the door clicking shut behind her.

The air feels heavier without her. Justin leans back, all patience and quiet persistence .

“You’re really just going to sit there?” I ask.

“Until you change your mind,” he says, smiling like he’s got all night—and maybe the rest of the week.

I bury my face in my hands, trying to block him out, but his presence seeps through anyway, filling every inch of the room like smoke. There’s no way I’m getting any work done now. Not with him sitting there, watching me like I’m the only thing worth waiting for.

The bayside restaurant hums with warmth and the low murmur of conversation.

Golden light flickers over polished wood tables, and the air smells of salt, butter, and charred seafood.

When Justin walks in, the owner—a wiry man with a sun-browned face—looks up from behind the bar, recognition sparking immediately.

Within minutes, two tables are pulled together for our group of eight. Laughter spills between us, loud and confident, like we own the place.

Justin takes the edge seat, one down from Bethany. I end up between Trick—grinning, easygoing—and Wendolyn, whose scowl sharpens every time her eyes land on me. Her crush on Trick is no secret, and my presence is clearly an inconvenience.

I stare down at my plate, shrimp glistening in a pool of butter. Trick nudges me. “You’re not eating,” he says, teasing but watching me closely.

I force a small smile and spear a shrimp, pushing it around in the pool of butter just to give my hands something to do. “Not much of an eater,” I say lightly.

The truth? My appetite disappears the second Justin walks into a room. Even when I’m not looking, I can feel him—his gaze like a thread pulled tight, tugging at me .

Bethany, ever helpful, pipes up with a breezy laugh. “She hardly eats. And whatever she does eat never makes it past her waistline.”

I grin, but my stomach knots. My hips have always been the one thing I can’t ignore—curved in a way that makes jeans my harshest critics, every mirror a reminder.

Across the table, Wendolyn lets out a scoff, sharp and deliberate. “Not all of us can be so lucky.”

The words land like glass shattering in a quiet room. I glance up, meet her eyes. She’s wearing that tight little smile—just enough to pretend it’s not meant to wound.

I keep my face calm, almost bored, but I feel the sting. And I know she’s waiting for me to respond.

Bethany beats me to it, voice sugar-sweet. “Don’t be jealous, Wendy,” she says, voice low but carrying. “Some of us have better things to do than count calories… or other people’s ribs.”

The heat rushes to Wendolyn’s cheeks. Even Marshall, her own cousin, looks away like he doesn’t want the fallout on him.

The tension hovers, thick and unblinking. Conversations start again in fragments, forced and brittle.

I fold my napkin, setting it neatly on the table. “Excuse me,” I murmur, pushing my chair back. “Bathroom.”

But I don’t turn toward the hallway. I head for the front door instead, slipping outside into the night.

The air hits cold and sharp, slicing through the stale heaviness clinging to my skin. I lean against the brick wall, arms folded, breathing in the tang of salt and sea carried on the wind. Out here, the noise of the restaurant fades to a muffled hum, laughter reduced to an echo.

It’s quieter—but not in my head.

I tell myself I don’t care what Wendolyn thinks, that her words shouldn’t matter. But they stick anyway, finding the cracks in my armor and pressing until they hurt. Maybe because she’s not wrong about me feeling out of place here.

These people—Bethany’s people—move through life like the world belongs to them. Money, charm, the right last names. They speak a language I was never taught, one built on entitlement and sharp smiles. I’m just… orbiting their world.

And the truth is, I’m not sure I’ll ever fit into it.

The breeze carries the smell of grilled fish from the kitchen vents, mingling with the salt air. I close my eyes, pretending for a moment I’m somewhere else. Somewhere no one’s watching, judging, waiting for me to slip.

I came out here to breathe. But all I can think about is how heavy it feels to want to belong—and how much it scares me that maybe I never will.

The sharp rhythm of heels cuts through the night air, fast and purposeful. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Bethany—I’ve heard that stride a hundred times, each step like punctuation to whatever storm she’s carrying. Still, I glance over my shoulder.

She’s there, framed in the warm spill of light from the restaurant doorway. Hands shoved deep into the pockets of her tailored coat, shoulders squared, jaw set like she’s seconds from declaring war. Her eyes flick over me, scanning for damage, the way you’d check a friend after a fight.

Bethany’s beautiful, but in moments like this, there’s something almost dangerous about her. She’s sharp as a blade, and right now, that blade is drawn.

“God, she’s insufferable,” she mutters, voice low but edged with steel. The kind of steel she saves for people who’ve crossed her—or worse, crossed me.

Bethany is many things—sharp, stubborn, a little too fond of her own way—but above all else, she’s protective. Sometimes fiercely. Sometimes recklessly. And tonight, that protectiveness hums off her like static, ready to strike at the next spark .

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, though we both know I’m not.

Bethany’s eyes narrow like she can see right through the lie. “You’re not fine. She’s a jealous little parasite, and I should’ve cut her out the second Marshall suggested bringing her along.”

“She’s just… being Wendy,” I say, trying to sound casual.

Bethany steps closer, her perfume wrapping around me like something expensive and familiar. “No, Lily. She was being cruel . You don’t deserve that.”

The words make my throat tighten. I glance away, toward the black ripple of the bay, pretending to be interested in the light breaking across the water. Anything to keep from unraveling under her gaze.

Inside, laughter spikes again, muffled by the closed door. I can imagine Wendolyn’s voice in the middle of it, smug and self-satisfied, filling the space I just vacated. The thought twists in my chest.

“I didn’t want to be here in the first place,” I admit quietly. “I don’t… fit.”

Bethany exhales hard through her nose, like that confession annoys her more than Wendy ever could. “You fit where you decide to fit. You let her make you feel small, and she wins.”

I let my eyes drop to the sidewalk. The truth is, this is exactly why I’d stayed in my dorm earlier—because belonging always feels like a fight I don’t have the energy for. Around people like Wendolyn, the rules are different. The ground is tilted. And no matter what I do, it’s never enough.

Bethany steps closer, her voice softer now, though no less fierce. “Don’t you dare give her that power.”

“I just needed air,” I tell her. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either.

Her mouth presses into a thin line, but she doesn’t push. That’s the thing about Bethany—she’ll fight for me even when I’m not ready to fight for myself .

“Come back in when you’re ready,” she says, lingering for a moment before finally turning back toward the door. Her heels tap a sharper rhythm this time, each step like a vow.

I watch her go, then tilt my head toward the water again, my breath ghosting in the cold night air. Alone, I can finally let the question roll over me like tidewater—whether I’ll ever find a place where I don’t have to fight so damn hard just to belong.