-Zoey's POV-

It was an institution founded in the 1800s, yet the campus had blended 21^st century modernity so naturally with the antiquated buildings sprawling the campus that I almost wished I could shake the hand of the designer who crafted it. Deer Valley State University. For a city that sat within comfortable driving distance of some of Georgia’s giants, one would assume that competing for students would prove difficult. However, this college happens to be a popular institute due to its convenient location in East Georgia, sitting directly between both Columbia, South Carolina and Atlanta, Georgia.

There were cobblestone pathways sprawling out over the entirety of the campus that students could comfortably walk to navigate past the now pigmented greenery that enveloped the grounds, all to the sound of gushing water coming from the large fountain statue which sat at the front of the main building.

Students were bustling up and about, chatting with one another, either hanging out on some of the benches scattered about, or heading over to and from the parking area. I heard laughter as one girl stood more than a few feet away from myself, chatting with a group of friends over something amusing that had occurred earlier in the week. My first impression was that it was a gorgeous, lively campus that would fill any young student with wonder at the beginning of their journey as an adult.

Eleven forty-five. Those were the numbers plastered across my phone’s screen. I was fifteen minutes early. I supposed that being a little late wouldn’t inconvenience Laura much since she lives on campus, but I had developed a habit of arriving to meetings early so there was no helping it.

For the time being, I took a seat at an empty bench I found near the large equestrian statue above the fountain, which I recognized, now that I had gotten a closer look, as one of the 7^th President of the United States and the man who currently sat on the twenty-dollar bill, Andrew Jackson. Deer Valley’s fetishization of this man was something that had baffled me for as long as I can remember being aware of it. It’s similar to the sensation I get whenever Christopher Columbus Day rolls around. For a city that seems to love to pride itself on values such as freedom and equality, the hypocrisy of the celebrations have always stirred within me a profound curiosity.

The citizens of this city have, willfully or otherwise, chosen to ignore the fact that Deer Valley, much like the rest of this country’s history, was founded on the gross mistreatment of its native tribes. The indigenous peoples of Deer Valley, the Cralixi, were forcefully excommunicated from their homes in the east and lead on a bloody hike to the far west, one where many of these people died, all for the sake of securing the vast pockets of gold hidden beneath the bountiful Georgia soil. This is the legacy of the foundation of our beautiful town. The ‘Indian Removal Act’ that caused this exodus was the biggest passion project piece of legislation of the man portrayed so proudly above my head, President Andrew Jackson.

Personally, I hold no strong feelings towards said removal of the natives from this land. While I might consider the act itself to be a terrible thing, it would be redundant of me to besmirch that history from my moral high horse all the way in the 21^st century. I have no idea what views I would hold if I lived back in the days of Andrew Jackson. People were ignorant 200 years ago, and chances are, due to environmental factors such as who I grew up around, I might even agree with him. That’s why, while I might regret the actions he took back then and their effects on those people, it’s hard for me to condemn him as harshly as I might someone who espouses such ideas today.

But when forced to confront the weight of these terrible actions, I sincerely doubt that very many of the people who celebrate our city would view them as charitably as I do. And yet they worship him. They worship Andrew Jackson, Christopher Columbus, and every other man whose legacy, though it created the country we know today, is stained by blood and death.

And to be honest, I envy it.

To be admired in spite of your decadent soul must be the highest form of love. And if that were the case, then Andrew Jackson is the most loved man in Deer Valley, more so than the first Mayor Ficklemann who founded our great city. The statue above me is a symbol that represents two things: love’s power, as well as its irrationality.

Does one truly need to be a good person to be loved? Does one need to be Laura Young to be admired by others? Or could a decadent soul like myself bask in admiration in the same way as the man who instigated the greatest ethnic cleansing in American history?

I could contemplate it until the cows come home, but theory is simply that: theory. To know the truth, I would have to embark on my own journey towards it. But before I could do that, I needed to get Lawrence’s little chore done so that I could finally get him off my back. After cleansing myself of these thoughts, I picked my phone out of my pocket and called his contact. It rang for just a few moments before the other end clicked.

“Are you there yet?” he asked without even bothering to greet me.

“Hello to you too, Larry.”

“Don’t call me…” he sighed, not wanting to bother fighting back. “Are you there yet or not?”

“Yes, I’m here. I’m waiting for your sister as we speak.”

“Okay. Okay, good. Thanks Zoey, you’re a life saver,” he said.

“No need to thank me, you owe me one for this, remember?”

“Fine, sure. Anything. I’m your guy.”

“Well, since you offered…” I paused. “You have plans today, right?”

“Plans? Well, I can cancel them if you need me to, but-”

“No, I need you to go. There’s something I need you to do at the mall for me.”

He paused. “Wait, how do you know about that?”

“Tristan’s going to be there too, isn’t he?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“And Ben is too, right?”

“I really don’t like where this is going...”

I took a moment to pause once more and leaned back on the bench, taking in the fresh air.

“I’m not asking for you to do anything out of the ordinary. I just need you to be ‘The Law’ for a day. Keep your little caravan steady on the dusty trail. Out any fires you happen to see sprouting up on the way. Sing some road songs so that it’s a fun outing for everyone.”

“That’s a pretty tall order, you know,” he said. “This is Ben we’re talking about.”

“But you’ll do it, won’t you?” There was silence on the other side of the line. He obviously wasn’t a fan of what I’d just said. “I could always just leave, you know. I don’t have to talk to Laura today.”

“No, no I’ll do it. It’s just… what is Tristan to you anyway?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’m not an idiot, you know. You took that bet last week because Ben threatened to go after him.”

“He’s the newest member of the photography club.”

“That’s it?”

“Hey ma’am,” someone next to me said. “S’cuse me. You mind sparin’ me some change please? Would go a long way in helpin’ me out.”

My nose was the first thing that had been assailed. It was the thick body odor of someone who probably hadn’t seen the inside of a shower in days. Doing my best to avoid making a face, my gaze followed the unfamiliar voice that had crept up to me and I found myself face to face with a man who looked to be in his forties, donning soiled, disheveled clothing and a messy beard.

The dirt caught between the wrinkles of his skin told me everything I needed to know: this person is a vagrant. But that isn’t what had really caught my attention about the man’s appearance. Frantic itching, burned fingers, blistered lips. Just how long had this man been using drugs for? When he spoke about change, it was obvious to anyone what kind of ‘helpin’ out’ he was looking for.

“Sorry, I have to go.” I hung up on Lawrence. It was a welcomed excuse since I didn’t feel like entertaining his snooping any longer. My relationship with Tristan is something that will come out eventually. There’s no point in hiding it anymore. But for the time being, I just needed this Laura and Enzo situation taken care of. Once I took a moment to refocus myself, I reached into my handbag. “Are you going to buy drugs with my money?” I asked.

“Huh? Oh, no ma’am. Wouldn’t even think of that. I been clean for ‘bout two months.”

“Oh really? That’s unfortunate.” I pulled my hand away from the bag. “I have some rocks that I’m trying to get rid of, but I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your recovery.”

He gulped audibly.

“W-well ma’am I actually uh, I don’t think a pretty young thing like you should be usin’ that kinda stuff.”

“Oh, no?”

“No way, no way. It’s mighty bad for you, I think. Heard ‘bout it on the radio. Young girls n’ crack cocaine don’t mix, no ma’am.”

“Oh, but what should I do with it then? I’ve already bought it and everything. I risked getting caught by the police when I drove up to that dealer in Bucktail, it would be a shame to just throw it away after all that…”

“M-ma’am, you gotta get rid of it. L-let me do it for ya. I’ll toss ‘em away.”

“But you’re in recovery, aren’t you? I wouldn’t want to tempt you.” I sighed. “It’s fine, I’ll just flush it when I get home.”

“NO! Uh, don’t do that ma’am. What if you get tempted to light ‘er up? No ma’am. I’ve seen this here show a million times, I know how it ends.”

“Better than letting a recovering addict get his hands on it, I think. I’m not the kind of terrible person who would give drugs to a recovering addict.”

The man was scratching his neck frantically. It seemed like he was on his last legs until he finally let his hands fall to his side with a sigh.

“Okay fine. I admit it. I ain’t in recovery. I was gonna use that money to get me some of that white sugar. Sorry for lying to you. But addiction, ma’am, this sickness that I have. It’s a terrible, terrible thing. Ruined my life. I was married, you know. Lived with my wife and my daughter and everything. Had a decent life. But I-”

“There’s no crack in my handbag.”

“Say, huh? You lied to me?”

“Of course I did. It got you to tell the truth, didn’t it?”

“That ain’t the truth, I was just tryin’ to get that stuff away from you, is all.”

“Oh, and now you’re back to lying. Don’t you feel bad about acting this pathetic in front a girl so much younger than you?”

The man recoiled. “P-pathetic?”

 I folded my legs and smiled. “Yes, pathetic. A pathetic human being trying to swindle college kids into funding his pathetic drug addiction using pathetic lies about his pathetic life. Lying to you is a net positive to society.”

“Fuck’re you talkin’ ‘bout, bitch? You talk to your daddy with that mouth? If he had any sense he’d slap the shit out of you for talkin’ to your elders like that.”

I shrugged. “Why don’t you do it then? Just for today, I’ll let you be my daddy.”

“Think I won’t, bitch? I’ve been inside more times than you can count.”

“Must be tempting then. I’m sure you’ll be able to get plenty of your ‘white sugar’ while rotting in jail.”

His eyes flared with an anger that I know so well. The volcanic rage that clouds any semblance of rational judgment. His emotions were in the driver’s seat, and he was going 110 in a 70. It excited me. Being the object of this stranger’s rage was a thrill that I could not often experience in the pillow fort that was Deer Valley High, where my reputation meant everything to me. What was he about to do? Would he actually strike me? In front of all of these people? Did my little lie bother him that much? I had to admit, the excitement was getting me all hot and bothered.

“Oh, Samuel. Sup?”

But before I could find the answer to my question, the two of us both turned, and we found a girl standing before us with her phone in hand. The pleated black skirt, fishnets, and high boots combo stood out like a firework in the night sky. Glancing up at her face, I noticed her black, spiked choker staring me in the face like a warning sign to predators that might dare to approach her.

She certainly didn’t shy away from embracing that kind of look since entering college. Her clothes had always been strange, but this looked like a rebellious streak that had gone too far. What really tied it all together was the makeup she wore. Her dark lipstick and eye paint added a shadowy allure to her appearance that seemed so distinct compared to her rather muted look from three years ago. I had to acknowledge the fact that I was looking at a completely different person.

“Ohh, Laura. Nice to see you,” he said. Much to my dismay, the sight of her seemed to deflate his anger like air through the mouth of a balloon. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have any change to spare, would you?”

Her uncaring gaze bounced between me and the homeless man, before she shifted the white, child-sized backpack ornamented with silver chain links she was wearing off one of her shoulders. Searching through its contents, she finally produced a twenty-dollar bill. “Sure, here you go.”

“Ohhh, Father Jackson. Bless you Laura, ma’am. You’re always far too generous.” He accepted the bill while bowing his head repeatedly. “God bless you. God bless your soul.”

“It’s no problem,” Laura said. ”I’ll see you around.”

The man’s elation at having been handed money to feed his revolting habit was quite an unfortunate sight to behold. She was the same Laura, being taken advantage of just like in high school. You’d think the spiked collar would have done her some favors at scaring people like that off.

Once he left, I turned to face the girl. When she met my eyes, she reached back into the same backpack and took out a small object which she then held out to me.

“Gum?” It was an opened pack of chewing gum, to be sure. If I didn’t know her well, I would have said that her strange mannerisms reminded me of Warren. She was a strange one, but not out of any social ineptitude. This just happened to be how she preferred to deal with others.

“No thanks.”

“’Kay,” she said, unwrapping a stick and popping it into her mouth.

Kind to a fault, that was Laura Young. It was a shame that her kindness had gotten under my skin. “You know he’s just gonna smoke that money away, right?”

“Maybe.” She zipped her backpack up then returned it to her shoulders.

“No, there is no ‘maybe’. He is.”

“Are you going to follow him and find out?”

“I’m not that bored.”

“Then it’s a ‘maybe’,” she said.

“Sure. You’re ‘maybe’ depriving yourself of money just to help him ruin himself faster. “

“Maybe,” she said. “Or, ‘maybe’, my money is the difference between him starving or not. I think I’d rather live in the world where I’m wrong than the one where you’re wrong, so I’m just going to give him the money.”

I had spoken to this person for all of ten seconds and I was all but ready to lose it. Why was I so irritated today? Was it the homeless man? The statue of Andrew Jackson? Having to play 007 for Lawrence’s peace of mind? This girl’s irreconcilable naivety? No, it was none of that.

It’s because I had to do something that obscene with Tristan yesterday. I was ignorant of how his power worked. He could sense my feelings? He knows that I don’t love him? How could I have possibly anticipated that? Twisting our relationship into one predicated on his sexual desire for me was naturally the only way to keep him under my control. My hand still prickled from the feeling of his worm against my fingertips. It disgusted me to no end that my only path forward was to confront his sexual attraction towards me. And yet, I must, for the sake of the dream I hold dear to my heart.

But really, it doesn’t change how frustrating this whole thing is. Just how much more am I going to have to entertain his one-sided delusions? How much longer will I have to put up with his lustful gaze? How much longer will I have to live in fear under the gargantuan shadow of Dream Paralysis?

“I’ll show you around. Follow me.”

Without smiling, she nonchalantly urged me to follow her and started towards the main building. She was the same as ever, Laura Young. But her queer attitude didn’t bother me one bit. Compared to the seedy Tristan Collins, her earnest nature was a refreshing change of pace that I welcomed with open arms. I followed in her footsteps, doing my best to purge any thoughts of what I had done yesterday from my mind.