Chapter Three
Avoiding Ashton Sage became my new routine.
It wasn't something I planned out loud or wrote down anywhere. I just started doing it instinctively—changing paths when I spotted familiar figures ahead, leaving lecture halls early, lingering longer in the library until I was sure the hallway outside had cleared.
Westbridge hadn't changed.
I had.
I was suddenly hyperaware of space. Of people. Of where I stood in relation to others. Every laugh behind me made my shoulders tense. Every male voice that sounded too close had me glancing over my shoulder before I could stop myself.
Ashton never approached me.
That was the strange part.
I expected something—an interruption, a comment, some kind of confrontation after what happened. Instead, days passed with nothing but distance and speculation. Which would have been fine, if the rest of the campus hadn't decided to fill in the silence for him.
By midweek, people no longer whispered discreetly.
They stared.
I caught snippets of conversation everywhere.
"That's her."
"The one who slapped Ashton Sage."
"Is she insane?"
"I heard he didn't even react."
Aurora noticed too, even though she pretended not to.
"You don't have to sit in the back every time," she said during a seminar, sliding into the seat beside me.
"I like the back," I muttered.
"You liked the middle last semester."
I didn't respond.
She studied me for a moment, then leaned closer. "You're doing that thing where you pretend nothing's wrong."
"I'm doing the thing where I don't want attention."
She sighed. "Too late for that."
She wasn't wrong.
I'd become something of a campus curiosity—nothing dramatic, nothing official, just enough to make walking between buildings uncomfortable. People didn't talk to me, but they talked around me, like I was a topic instead of a person.
Still, Ashton kept his distance.
I saw him twice that week.
Once across the quad, laughing at something Cillian said. Another time near the parking lot, leaning against a car, Theo beside him. Both times, I changed direction before I could be seen.
Or at least, before I thought I could be seen.
By Friday, the tension had settled into something dull and persistent, like background noise. I almost convinced myself it would fade on its own.
Almost.
That evening, Aurora and I sat on the floor of our apartment, textbooks spread out, half-studying and half-complaining.
"You're distracted," she said, flipping a page.
"So are you."
"That's because you're being weird."
I closed my notebook slowly. "Can I ask you something?"
She looked up immediately. "That's the second time you've said that this week."
I hesitated, then said it anyway. "Why did Ashton start paying attention to you in the first place?".
Her pen paused mid-air.
The silence stretched.
Aurora didn't look at me. She set the pen down carefully, like she needed the extra time to think.
"Why are you asking that now?" she said.
"Because I don't think the Ashton just decided to continuousy disturb you," I replied. "And I don't like not understanding what started all this."
She exhaled slowly. "Evie—"
"I'm not accusing you of anything," I said quickly. "I just want to know."
Aurora leaned back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "It wasn't a big thing."
"That's not an answer."
She glanced at me then, her expression unreadable. "He noticed me. That's it."
"Noticed you how?"
She hesitated. "The way guys like him do. Lingering looks. Standing too close. Finding reasons to be around."
My stomach tightened. "Did he say anything to you? Or did you offend him"
"No," she said. "Not directly."
"Indirectly?"
"you can say that" she admitted.
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I didn't want to make it a thing," she said. "It wasn't threatening. Just… uncomfortable."
I frowned.
"Then did he keep appearing in front of you and you do nothing but take it
and why brush it off when I asked you before?"
"Because people like Ashton Sage don't like being called out," she replied. "And I didn't want you getting involved."
I laughed softly, without humor. "That worked out well."
She winced. "I didn't expect you to do that."
"Neither did I," I said quietly and sighed.
We sat quietly for a moment, the weight of it settling between us.
"So what now?" I asked. "Do you think he's going to come after me?"
Aurora shook her head. "I don't think he's angry."
"That's not reassuring."
"No," she agreed. "It's not."
I stared down at my hands. "I just want things to go back to normal."
Aurora reached over and squeezed my fingers. "Normal might take a while."
That night, lying in bed, I thought about the way Ashton had looked at me after the slap. Not furious. Not embarrassed.
Just attentive.
Avoiding him felt like the safest option.
But for the first time since it happened, I wondered if avoidance was even something that could fix everything.