Chapter4

A heavy bear mascot suit, easily weighing fifteen pounds, hit the floor by my feet with a thick, dusty thud.

Vivian leaned against the doorframe of the locker room, looking down at me from her pedestal. "Elara, this is the last mascot suit available," she said. "This is the main event for the underprivileged kids' charity drive. You’ll have to fill in."

I stared at the matted faux fur. The hairs on my arms prickled in instinctive defense.

"I can't wear that," I said, taking a step back. "I’m severely allergic to cheap synthetics and animal dander."

A sickeningly sweet smirk tugged at the corner of Vivian’s mouth. Instead of addressing me, she turned her head toward the hallway. "Asher! Elara says she doesn't want to wear it."

Asher stepped into the room, a distinctly tailored black cashmere coat draped casually over his forearm.

Vivian immediately slipped her hand through his arm. "Didn't you tell me Elara was always so grateful?" she purred. "Since she’s on a full-ride sponsorship, shouldn't she be willing to make even a tiny sacrifice for the university's charity event?"

I locked eyes with Asher. "You know I can't touch that material," I said through a clenched jaw. He knew it better than anyone in the world.

Asher gave me a cold, dismissive sweep of his eyes before turning his attention to Vivian, pressing a steaming cup of coffee into her hands. "If the task was assigned to you, just do it," he said, his gaze fixed straight ahead, refusing to look me in the eye. "It’s only for half an hour. Don't ruin it for everyone else just because you’re feeling delicate."

"Put it on, Elara. You have to earn all that money you've been taking from him for the past three years," Vivian said, twisting the knife with a flawless smile. She tugged at Asher’s sleeve, and together, they walked out the door.

I stood rooted to the spot, my fingernails digging crescents into my palms. Swallowing the bile in my throat, I didn't argue. I simply bent down and picked up the heavy mascot head.

By 1:00 PM, the football field was baking in near hundred-degree heat. Inside the suit, it was an absolute furnace. Sweat pooled at the base of my neck and cascaded down my spine. Less than ten minutes in, the familiar, terrifying sensation began: first an unbearable itch, then a violent burning. I knew without looking that thick, angry hives were already spreading across my chest and arms.

Desperate, I clawed frantically at my neck through the thick, clumsy bear paws.

The students in the bleachers thought it was a comedy routine. Waves of laughter washed over the field.

"Look at the dumb bear! It's scratching itself!"

My airway felt tight; I was struggling to breathe. Through the narrow mesh slit in the costume’s mouth, my eyes instinctively searched beyond the laughing crowd.

There, up in the VIP stands, was Asher. He casually slipped his cashmere coat from his arm and draped it over Vivian’s shoulders. Just as he looked back down at the field, our eyes met. He distinctly saw me thrashing on the turf, scratching like a crazed animal. In this entire school, he was the only one who knew exactly why I was clawing at myself. He knew exactly what agonizing pain I was in.

I stared at him, silently begging.

He paused, holding my gaze for two agonizing seconds. Then, he simply reached for a bottle of water on the table and handed it to Vivian, a soft, indulgent smile playing on his lips.

Everything snapped into horrifying clarity. It wasn't that he was incapable of caring. He just didn't want to care about me anymore.

Half an hour later, I dragged my leaden legs step by step back to the empty locker room.

The moment I yanked the suffocating headpiece off, I gasped for air. I ripped the zipper down, letting the heavy suit crumple to the floor. Reflected in the vanity mirror, thick, scarlet welts crawled from behind my ears all the way down to my collarbones.

I stared blankly at the bloody scratch marks on my forearms.

It had been exactly like this two years ago. We had gone to the arcade that night, and because I was stubbornly determined to win a plush toy that looked like a stray dog, I broke out in full-body hives.

It was one o'clock in the morning. Asher had driven like a madman, speeding forty minutes across town, scouring multiple streets just to find a 24-hour pharmacy. He had pinned me gently to the couch, applying a soothing, ice-cold ointment. That night, when the cotton swab touched my neck and I let out a soft whimper of pain, he had even slowed his own breathing so as not to hurt me.

"Don't ever touch anything fluffy again. If you really want it, I'll touch it for you."

The memory of his deep voice whispering against my ear violently collided with the image of his callous, turned back up in the bleachers twenty minutes ago.

Slumped on the floor, a hollow, bitter laugh escaped my lips. I raised the back of my hand, roughly wiping away the tears blurring my vision, and pushed myself off the tiles.

Covered in sweat and angry red welts, I walked over to my locker and grabbed my phone.

I pulled up the official website for UC Berkeley. The transfer application page had been sitting in my bookmarks for three days. I had been terrified to take the final step. I kept foolishly believing that even if I was being discarded, I should confront him face-to-face, to demand an explanation. I kept thinking there had to be some trace of me left in his eyes.

But I realized now that it would only be giving him exactly what he wanted, and cheapening myself in the process.

With trembling fingers, I tapped into the Transfer Application.

Uploaded transcripts. Uploaded recommendation letters. Filled in the confirmation details.

I tapped Submit.

A green checkmark popped up on the screen: Application successfully submitted.

Next, I opened a new email to the department chair. My thumbs flew across the keyboard:

Dear Professor, due to unavoidable personal circumstances, I have decided to withdraw my enrollment from this university and transfer. I am writing to kindly request a letter of recommendation for my credit transfer.

I hit send without a second of hesitation.

I used to think love was the undeniable devotion of being held in the dead of night, having ointment gently applied to my skin. But now I understood exactly what his love was—it was nothing but a cheap bait used to domesticate me.

So, I was never going to wait for him again.

On the other side of campus, Asher’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down at the screen, saw the notification mentioning Elara’s name, and coldly dismissed it, slipping the phone back into the dark.