I don't remember the last time I felt this empty. Back when he used to tease me and roll his eyes, this emptiness wasn't there. Now, all I sense is a kind of void. I can't go on without him. I did this to myself, but it was the right decision. I do care about him, and every time he walks into a room, I feel that pull in my chest that's been there for months. But I'll always be firm about what I won't tolerate. I can't concentrate on this research opportunity with Kent, and I just had another fight. If I want to attend graduate school next year, I need to be wise about my choices. Kent can re-enter my life after I've had some time to sort out my feelings. Most of my packing is done. I got a dorm room at Northwestern for this, which was more affordable than renting a place for a month, so I only had to bring my clothes and personal items. Today, I had to go back to the apartment to retrieve the rest of my stuff. I didn't text Kent, thinking he was still in New York. It's been three

It has been quiet for a long time. We've just been lying here in bed sheets and staring at the ceiling. I've been trying not to roll onto his chest and fall asleep. I can't decide what to do because I don't want to leave, but I also don't want to talk first. I hear him ask quietly, "Are you okay?" and I nod. I whisper, "Yeah," and fidget with the bed sheets. The more I think about how good that was, the harder it is for me to be objective. A lot of thoughts are swirling through my mind. I wish I hadn't done that, but I'm still glad I did. There are many questions about what to do next, and even more about him and his thoughts. I mumble, "I...I need to finish packing." "Then I need to go home and pack the car." I slowly get up. My body aches, but I try to ignore it as much as possible. I gasp when I feel a hand grasp my arm. He whispers as he sits next to me, "Don't go. Please don't go." "Kent, I need to." "Juls, don't run away from this. Stop running away from me. Half the time

"You should head home, Juls," I hear a voice, and when I look up from my work, Adrian stands over me. "I will, but first I need to finish my paragraph," I reply with a smile. One of the few places at Northwestern with a microform reader is the Early Modern department, where I've been working on this project for a while. Our team is pretty small. Doctor Elliot and his Master's student Alyssa are leading the project, with five of us assisting. We all attended prestigious schools and were chosen to help. I was there, along with Bianca from Harvard, Miles from Stanford, and Adrian and Pike, both from Northwestern. Most of the time, it's a good mix of people. Doctor Elliot wanted a diverse team to assist with this project. We all studied Early Modern Studies, History, or Anthropology, but we come from different backgrounds and have different experiences. I must admit, though, that it seems like everyone else's past and life have more wealth than mine. Most of them are renting accommod

I hate going to social events. I'm so bad at talking to new people, and I always mess up my words when I'm around people I don't know well. It's not a big deal in crowded frats or dark bars, but it's killing me at a school social. I really thought about making up some lame excuse for why I couldn't go, because I keep making a fool of myself over and over again. I'm way too shy to talk to anyone, and if someone does try to talk to me, they leave looking like they wish they hadn't. I wish there was something to drink at this. I look around the small event room in the historical society's wing that we've reserved. There are high ceilings and a fireplace, and a long table with finger foods runs through the middle. Around the edges, there are chairs strewn about, and I run my hands down the front of my modest black dress. It has short sleeves, a longer skirt that hangs loosely, and a tie at the hip. It's the most businesslike thing I brought with me. I see my coworkers move around the

"Not tonight." "Why not?" "Because I just wanted to see you, not sleep with you," he says quietly, tucking my hair behind my ear. "Plus, the walls in these places are way too thin; no way I'm letting anyone else hear us." I blush when I think about the times I've overheard other people in neighboring rooms, and I give him one last peck. "I'll be quiet," I counter, and he laughs. "I've been way too stressed out, help me out." "There's nothing I'd do that you couldn't do for yourself," he shrugs, and I blush even harder. "You don't need me here to...relieve stress." "But I prefer you." "You drive a hard bargain, Juls," he teases, and I press my lips together. "You have my word that we will in two weeks, not tonight." "Fine," I sigh, shimmying around to try and shake off the thoughts bouncing through my head. "I'm redeeming in two weeks though." I sit up, and he rolls onto his back again. I lean over and continue undoing buttons on his shirt. "Juls." "It's not for sex," I whisp