I can’t help but laugh at her antics. Stella is a breath of fresh air and exactly what my life has been missing for the last nine months. Hell, probably longer, seeing as all of the people I thought were my friends were the first to turn on me when shit hit the fan.
“You mind if I grab a few things?” I ask.
“Girl, first thing you need to know about me? I will never say no to a Target run. This is my literal happy place.”
I grin. My former friends wouldn’t be caught dead shopping at Target. Yep, Stella is everything I’ve been missing and more.
We each grab a shopping cart and, through some unspoken agreement, head toward the home section of the store.
“What all do you need?” I ask as we peruse the aisles.
“Need?” Stella spins in a wide circle before turning down the next aisle. “I don’t know, but Target will tell me. Trust the bullseye.”
I roll my lips inward to keep from laughing. “If you say so.”
“I know so! It’s like, science, or something.”
“Or something,” I snort, tossing a basic white duvet insert into my cart.
“Trust the process, Emmy. Trust the process.”
“You’re crazy.” A giggle punctuates my words.
“The best people are.”
For the next half hour, we continue up and down the aisles, stopping when something catches our attention, until our carts are full.
Stella’s is a mishmash of things, while mine is loaded down with essentials, since I came to Georgia with nothing more than a single bag of clothing, my phone, and beloved laptop.
Oh, and Oreos—but those are essential for me.
“Are you going to any of the Welcome Week events?” Stella asks as we load our bags into the trunk.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I read online you should, but...”
“But nothing! Personally, I plan on hitting up the ice cream social tonight.”
“I do like ice cream.”
“Perfect. We’ll go together.”
And just like that, I have plans with a friend on my first night at college.
Chapter Four
Emmy
Something pulls me from a deep, dreamless sleep. My eyes pop open and I bolt upright in my bed, desperately searching the small room for what pulled me from my slumber.
Goose bumps dot my skin, sweat beads my brow, and my heart is thundering in my chest. My body is on high alert; I just don’t know why.
I clutch my stuffed rabbit to my chest and will myself to calm down, breathing deeply.
When that doesn’t help, I count back from one hundred.
By the time I’m down to single digits, my breathing has returned to normal and I’m able to take stock of the situation.
The realization of what has me so out of sorts hits me like a ton of bricks.
I slept well.
No tossing, no turning. No nightmares. No waking up crying with the sheet clutched to my chest.
How sad is it that sleeping through the night is such a foreign concept to my brain and my body that I still woke up terrified?
Baby steps, I suppose.
Rolling to my side, I grab my phone and check the time. It’s five past eight, which is easily the latest I’ve slept in years. I listen for sounds of life from Stella, but the suite is quiet. She must still be sleeping.
I fling off the covers and swing my feet over the edge of the bed. First things first: a steaming hot shower.
Some people say their best ideas happen in the shower, but for me, my mind goes totally blank the second I pull the curtain closed. It’s like the water washes my worries right down the drain.
If only they’d stay gone.
Once I’m squeaky clean, I towel off and dress in a pair of cut-off shorts and another thrift store sweatshirt; this one is tie-dye and reads Poor Little Rich Girl in swooping cursive. I love it mostly because my mom loathed it.
I braid my damp hair and slather my face with moisturizer before brushing my teeth and calling it good. It’s easy to be low maintenance when you have no one to impress.
By the time I pad back into the kitchen, Stella is awake and pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Want some?” she asks through a yawn.
“Always.”
She passes me a mug, which I graciously accept. Stella stares wide-eyed as I sip down the piping beverage.
“What?” I ask.
“You just drink it... black?”
“Oh, um, yeah,” I say, looking down into my mug. Mom always said cream and sugar make for thick thighs, so