Chapter Text
As Mia Reid’s head lolls forward to rest on the toilet seat, she thinks, deliriously, of bones.
The room keeps spinning, probably, definitely the fault of that god-awful whipped cream vodka she was provided with about, fuck, two hours ago now? It's all just been dark and hazy and touch and laughter until her stomach turned over and she stumbled to the bathroom, and now the dumb light spilling from the fixture over the mirror is pressing into her eyes, thumping bass through the wall scraping against her ears. It's too hot, she exhales against porcelain, fuck, she doesn't wanna throw up.
She has an anatomy quiz tomorrow.
Mia’s the kind of drunk where she can feel every stretch of her spine, brutally aware of the way each bone knocks together as she shifts her legs on the tile. The names slur through her mind automatically. Patellar ligament, fibula, tibia, biceps femoris tendon, lateral meniscus, medial meniscus, tibial collateral ligament-
She gags.
Fuck, this is so gross. She doesn't even know who owns this house, one of her friends dragged her along and then disappeared with a frat boy so now she doesn't even have a fucking ride home.
Mia watches, dizzy and drifting, as one of her curls escapes from behind her ear and threatens to dip into the toilet water. Nasty.
Bile rises in her throat, and she struggles to swallow it back. Behind her, the music goes from muffled thumps to grating clarity as the bathroom door slams against the wall. A gasp, and as Mia’s head swims, she distantly registers the thump of two knees hitting the tile floor next to her.
“Oh my god, are you okay? Do you need water?” It's a pretty voice, low and sweet, and Mia would love to see the pretty face it no doubt belongs to, but her stomach turns again, and she gags hard. “Oh fuck, it's okay, let it out.”
The girl puts a hand on Mia’s back, stroking gently, and as Mia coughs out what feels like half a gallon of White Claw, the last sentient part of her brain tracks the girl’s hand. Thoracic, lumbar, thoracic, lumbar, thoracic…
Mia spits into the toilet, and groans brokenly. “Fuck… fuck me.”
The girl snorts, and her hand falls from Mia’s back. “Here, c’mere,” She murmurs, and Mia, against all odds, manages to lift her head.
She is pretty.
Long, caramel-colored hair, sparkly green eyes, a bright pitying smile. Fuck. Damn. Even her tan skin glows golden against her tiny white tank top.
“Hi,” Mia croaks.
“Hi,” The girl giggles as she wipes spit from Mia’s chin with a towel. Where did she get that? This is so embarrassing.
“I'm sorry. Thank you,” Mia can feel her eyes starting to well, and wipes at them helplessly. God, she really is drunk if she's crying.
The girl folds the towel over and bats Mia’s hand away to dab at her eyes. “It's no problem. Can you stand?”
Mia shifts on the floor, and her head spins all over again, but she hums confirmation. The last sober outer reaches of her brain try to make her stand, but her body sinks against the effort. Why would she pull away?
The girl drops the towel, and brushes Mia’s hair back with careful fingers. Whoa. “You're really out of it, huh? Do you have a way to get home? Wait, what’s your name?”
“Mia,” Her head is spinning spinning spinning, from more than just the alcohol.
The girl smiles, gentle. “Hi Mia. I'm Talia. Do you have a way home?”
Talia. Pretty name. Pretty girl. Mia’s eyes drop to Talia’s hands. Hamate, capitate, trapezoid, trapezium, scaphoid, lunate- “No.”
Talia nods, seemingly expecting this. “I drove a friend here, but she left with someone else. I'm sober if you want a ride, but no pressure.”
Mia nods before she can even think about it. She wants her bed. She wants Talia’s car. And she wants to stand. She shifts to do just that, and as she pushes herself up, Talia jumps to her feet, already reaching out with a “Whoa whoa whoa-”
Talia… is tall.
Taller than Mia, at least. This is really important. Mia sways into her side helplessly. Her mouth still tastes like mango, and there is a tall pretty girl to help her stand and get her home safe.
“Alright, Miss Mia, let’s get moving,” Talia smiles down at her, and takes a step towards the door.
Mia follows.
The time between the bathroom door and the front porch is a blur of noise and people and dark light. Mia shuts her eyes for most of it, lets Talia lead her out into the freezing September air.
“God, it's so cold,” Talia groans, tugs Mia closer. Mia’s not doing much better, her cropped tank top isn't exactly a good match for the sub 30 Connecticut temperatures. The alcohol keeps her belly warm, though.
“C’mon, my car’s right here,” Talia rifles through her pockets for her keys, releasing Mia from under her arm. She feels a little colder, and rubs her arms as she stumbles after her.
The noise from the house fades as they cross the lawn, the multicolored light spilling from the windows casting weird shadows across the grass. Talia unlocks her car, and Mia watches as her breath clouds the air. What time is it, even?
Talia drives a blue Honda Fit. Mia’s heart flutters.
As Talia yanks open the trunk, Mia drifts back into her orbit. Her nose is already numb, and as Talia rummages around, she can almost feel her teeth chattering.
“Here,” Talia says, passing Mia a hoodie. “Put that on, and there's a blanket in my passenger seat. My heating can be fucky sometimes.”
Talia yanks a dark green hoodie over her own head, and now she only looks softer and sweeter. Maybe it's the hour. Maybe it's the alcohol. Mia puts the hoodie on, and pulls open the passenger side door.
Sure enough, there's a soft fleece blanket waiting for her. She buries herself in it as Talia gets in and shoves her keys in the ignition. It smells like lavender and fabric softener.
“You buckled?” Talia asks, pulling her hood over her head. As her car beeps to life, the radio crackles with static, and then interrupts itself with lilting piano and crooning vocals. Talia hurriedly turns it down.
Mia fastens her seatbelt with clumsy fingers, and gestures towards the radio. “Who’s tha?” Oh, words are hard.
Talia’s mouth lifts into a smile as she shifts into drive. “Fiona Apple. Not the coolest pregame music, I know.”
The heat, true to Talia’s word, shudders and clicks deep in the car as Talia adjusts the dial, but Mia settles further into the seat, tucking her legs up. Mm. Perfect. Her eyes drift closed, and she breathes in deep the smell of lavender.
“Where are we going, Mia?” Talia asks as she pulls off the lawn into the street. “Hey, you stay awake over there, sleepyhead.”
“Chi O,” Mia murmurs, leaning her head against the glass.
Talia hums. “You won't get in trouble for being drunk?”
Mia shakes her head. Oh, bad idea. She shuts her eyes against the wave of dizziness. “No, ‘m on exec. An’ they’re not really strict.”
Talia snorts, flicking down her turn signal. “Lucky. I'm in Tri Delt, and some of the girls in the house will crucify you if you come home drunk.”
“Do you live in the house?” Mia opens her eyes to watch the street lights pass along the curving dark roads. The song on the radio changes, something else soft and slow. Does Talia really pregame to this?
“Nah, I have an apartment off campus. They can't give me shit about it though, cause I make all the banners,” When Mia looks over, Talia is already grinning at her. “I know, I’m a hero, please hold your applause.”
Mia can't help but laugh, shifting onto her left side so she can lean on the center console. Not like she’s trying to get a closer look at the swell of Talia’s cheeks and the pout of her lips.
“What d’you major in?” Mia asks, trying to get Talia to open her mouth and keep talking in that pretty voice.
“Art history,” She responds. “You?”
“Mortuary science,” Mia murmurs, preoccupied with watching the blue lights lining the campus sidewalks wash over Talia’s face.
“No shit, that's crazy. What do you wanna do with that?” Talia looks slightly horrified and slightly thrilled, which is better than the reaction normally is.
“Probably a mortician. Maybe an aut- to- autopsy tech,” Mia’s tongue stumbles around the words. Fuck, she needs to sober up.
Talia glances over at her in the red glow of a stoplight. “That’s so cool. It doesn't gross you out? Handling dead people?”
Mia shrugs. “Nah. They’re people. They’re just dead now.”
Talia laughs, hard, her whole face crinkling up as she leans forward against the wheel. “Fuck, I guess you're right. They’re just dead people. No big deal.”
Mia giggles too, swaying as the car turns. Even as her head swims, she wonders why Talia laughed so hard at such an unfunny joke. She leans into it. “Just a cadaver. Just organs. No sweat.”
Talia catches her breath, and turns up the music a bit. “That's cool though, I actually just finished a paper about the history of funerary rites in Egypt over time and how they were reflected in art, it's super interesting stuff.”
It’s like she's hearing it through cotton. Her brain can't process the words, but it sounds smart.
“That's awes- oh,” Mia groans, as a new wave of drunken dizziness knocks her head back against the seat.
“Hold on Mia, you're almost home,” Talia murmurs, and that’s the last thing she remembers.
Mia wakes up, predictably, with a headache.
There are gaps of her night missing. This always happens when she drinks too much, she pukes, and then she forgets half the night, and then she probably flirts too much with someone she shouldn't, and then she wakes up with a dry throat and a pounding head in a dubious location.
At least this dubious location is her own bed.
There's a knock at the door, and she groans into her pillow in assent. The door creaks open.
“Are you alive?” Nick asks, approaching slowly.
“I hope you die. Slowly,” Mia grumbles.
“Open your eyes,” Mia does, to find Nick, her suitemate and traitorous best friend, looming over her brandishing a bottle of orange Gatorade and a handful of painkillers. She's dressed in the same thing she was last night, her makeup is mostly intact if a little smudged, and there's a fresh bruise on her neck. Fucking bitch.
“I hate you,” She takes the Gatorade, and cracks the top as Nick drops the pills on her bedside table and takes a seat at Mia’s desk, sipping from her own electrolyte nightmare.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I would've reimbursed you for your Uber home,” Nick wheedles. “He was really nice.”
“They're all ‘really nice’ and then later you tell me they're a cage fighter from Indiana,” Mia responds. She swallows two of the pills, and then continues. “I could've died there.”
“You wouldn't’ve died there. You’re not allowed to die if I'm not present, remember?” This is true. They made a pact back in high school.
Mia and Nick have been friends since middle school. Well, they were enemies first, but then they were friends, and now they're the most epic suitemate public relations chair/recruitment chair duo. Respectively. Mia could never handle running all of recruitment, but goddamn can she run an Instagram account.
“Still,” Mia responds. “I threw up.”
“I figured you would. Hence the Gatorade. Also, I don't mean to try to find out about something I should not know about, but do you wanna explain why you’re wearing a Tri Delt hoodie?” Nick pulls both long legs up into Mia’s desk chair, fixing her with a dark blue stare.
Mia remembers… hm. Green eyes. Or hazel? The soft curve of a cheek under a red light. A blue car. The smell of lavender. Fiona Apple.
“A Tri Delt drove me home. You know, cause you abandoned me to go get dry-dicked,” Mia tries to play it cool, checking her phone. It's only 10:34, thank god, her anatomy class isn't until 12.
“I didn't get dry-dicked, he ate me out,” Nick counters, then immediately looks appalled that she actually said that out loud. Mia says nothing, painted nails tapping against her cracked screen protector, and Nick’s phone buzzes with a message.
“If you sent me that fucking ‘we should know less about each other’ thing I’m gonna scream,” Nick informs her, and Mia snorts. Nick checks her phone, and promptly drops it again. “Kill yourself. I’m serious this time.”
Mia bursts out laughing, and quickly stops when a new hot flare of pain jolts through her neck. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” She groans.
“You deserved that,” Nick says, dragging one long nail through the condensation on her Gatorade bottle.
“Shut up,” Mia responds from her hiding place within her hands. “And don't you have class?”
“Nah, my prof canceled,” Mia looks up to find Nick using the Gatorade condensation to fix her smudged mascara. “What time’s your cla-”
Nick’s question is cut off by a thump against the door, which promptly flies open. Haewon, their other suitemate, tumbles in, eyes wild, and points at Mia accusingly as Nick leaps up to greet her with a cry of “Hazy!”
“How the fuck did you get home?” Haewon’s voice is high and lilting, it always makes Mia laugh when she swears. “I thought I saw you getting dragged out by some blonde girl - Nick, don't touch me, I’m covered in dirt - and I was like oh my god is Mia gonna go get fucked?”
Mia blinks. “No, I wasn't gonna get fucked, you animal, I was wasted. Nice of you to help me,” She watches as Haewon pushes Nick off of her. Hazy’s right, she is covered in dirt. She must’ve just come from the greenhouse. Agriculture major activities.
“Please, I was sloshed too. I didn't even get home, I woke up stone cold sober on their floor at seven and dragged my sorry ass to my 8am in the greenhouse,” That would explain why Hazy is also wearing her clothes from last night. God, why are her friends such disasters?
Mia has no response. To any of it. All she can do is slither back under the covers, close her eyes, and try to fall back asleep while her friends bustle around the suite trying to put themselves back together.
Hazy doesn't give her a chance to doze. “Mees, get up, don't you have class later?” She calls from their bathroom. Mia hates her, but she is right. She groans in response as she hobbles to the bathroom on sore legs.
“You need to stop calling me that. It makes me sound like an alien. Or a Pokémon,” Mia leans into the mirror, examining her dark circles in high def, well-lit glory. God bless sorority money. “Not all of us are blessed with extremely nickname-able names, Miss Haewon Edelman.”
Hazy rolls her eyes in the mirror, tilting her head as she pulls a brush through her long, black hair. “Please, what would you even call me besides Hazy? Wony? Edie?”
“Mia, you better leave her alone,” Nick calls from her room. “It's not her fault she's Chi O’s diversity hire.”
“We’re all diversity hires,” Mia jokes. “Haewon’s Korean and Jewish which, double threat, I’m queer, and Nick has a weird haircut.”
“Fuck off!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Nick’s actually a diversity hire because her name sounds like a Great Gatsby character,” Hazy corrects, and Mia snorts. It's true. Nicolette Buchanan. It really is kind of ridiculous. No wonder Nick refuses to answer to it.
“You guys hate me and you want me to drop this sorority so bad,” Nick says, shoving in behind them to check out her insane haircut. It's not actually terrible, but it's definitely unique. Bleach blonde and very… choppy. Mia suspects it was just a ploy to get her to stop posting pictures of Nick on the Chi O Instagram.
“If you dropped, I’d drop,” Hazy says earnestly, giving Nick her best doe eyes.
“If both of you dropped, I’d become president out of spite,” Mia tells them flatly, finger-combing through her dark brown curls. “And I would run this sorority into the fucking ground.”
“You could run it into the ground now if you wanted to,” Nick points out. “Just post hole on the Instagram.”
“Okay, bend over then, Nicolet- AH!”
“Nick, please don't choke her, she's just a baby.”
“She deserves it.”
Mia manages to be on time to Advanced Anatomy MORT3172. Despite her roommates’ best efforts to assassinate her.
She considers it an assassination attempt because of her coveted position on the exec board. By the way.
As she walks across campus, she shrinks into her jacket as far as she can, tucks her chin into her hoodie. It's so fucking cold, way too cold for September. She swears she could feel the freeze of the sidewalk through her shoes as her feet hit the pavement, as her ankles flex. Deltoid ligament, postier and anterior inferior tibiofibular ligaments, anterior talofibular ligament.
Fine. She's nervous about this quiz.
And she’s still thinking about that girl from last night. God, she hopes she didn't embarrass herself too badly. What was her fucking name?
Mia yanks open the door to the science building in a haze of ligament names, and on the elevator ride up, she scrapes through her memory. Was it a T? Taylor? Tori?
It's when her hand hits the door handle that it hits her. Hamate, capitate, trapezoid, trapezium, scaphoid, lunate, Talia. Talia. Her name was Talia.
Mia is a normal and reasonable person, and she's not gonna stalk this poor girl on Instagram. She just gave her a ride home. Surely she didn't humiliate herself enough to warrant an Instagram stalk and a DM-ed apology.
She takes her seat and pulls out her phone and opens Instagram.
And if she makes her way to the UConn Tri Delta account and searches their following list for a T-A, well, her finger slipped.
@tayloradamsss
@tayedgar
@talialochland
@lauren__taylor
@taralambert
Mia is a normal and reasonable person and even though she found her Instagram, she's not gonna message her. The anxiety of drunken oblivion crawls up her throat, but she coughs it back down. She locks her phone, and lifts her face to the front of the class, each vertebrae in her neck aligning with purpose.
C7, C6, C5, C4, C3-
The stack of quiz papers reaches her row. She tucks her phone between her thighs.
- Axis, Atlas
Mia holds her head up, and lets the world keep turning.
She doesn't think about it for another six hours.
Last night. Bodies. Same thing.
The quiz went well, the kind of good where it left her mind as soon as she crossed the threshold of the science building. Done, onto the next. The next class, the next iced coffee, the next class after that, and now the library.
It’s not easy, but it's not that bad.
Last night is just a dull ache somewhere in her neck now, just her dark circles being a little darker than normal. Mia pulls her headphones on, shifting one ear to the side so she can hear her friends when they turn up.
The library isn't a bad place to spend all her free time, the windows are big and the building is dark and quiet. Of course, 6PM in September, the only light coming through those big windows is the sparkling street lamps below, but still. She works better in the dark anyways.
Mia’s just opening her laptop to tap in to her Restorative Arts essay when the door at the top of the staircase opens at the other end of the library. Her head swivels automatically at the sound, searching for the bright yellow of Nick’s favorite hoodie or Hazy’s denim jacket. Instead, she catches a flash of caramel blonde hair, and she whips her head back around so fast that her neck cracks.
Mia dismisses the thought swiftly. There are lots of blonde girls on campus. Even if it was the girl from last night, no big deal. They don't know each other. It's literally nothing. She opens her essay.
And her eyes glaze over as her ears tune in to approaching voices.
“All I’m saying is that you're insane. You’re actually-,” A girl says, hushed and accented.
“Stop slut-shaming me,” Another voice interrupts, a smirk clear in her words. Mia's heart sinks. Their footsteps approach, but she keeps her back turned.
“I'm not slut-shaming you, I’m just-” The girl breaks off, seemingly trying to choose her words carefully. “truly shocked that you find all these girls that wanna sleep with you. How have you fucked 2 girls in the past week and a half and I’m…” She trails off again. “A born-again virgin.”
The pair passes Mia, and sure enough, she recognizes that dark green hoodie and the way the shoulders underneath it shrug as Talia responds “Skill issue.”
The girl next to her slugs her in the arm, and Talia giggles. The other girl is tall, way taller than Talia, and pretty. Short dark hair, deep brown skin, dressed all cool in wide leg pants and a loose turtleneck.
She watches as Talia and the other girl take their seats at a nearby table, still chatting quietly. Talia’s facing away from Mia, but she can still see the way Talia throws her head back in laughter at a snide comment from her friend. She's wearing round glasses. They're cute.
Talia’s friend glances in Mia’s direction, and she drops her eyes back to her laptop, pulling her headphones on. And maybe she tucks her chin into her hoodie. It's not the best undercover attempt, but it's better than nothing.
Mia manages to ignore them for a while, making steady progress slogging through her to do list, when finally her concentration is broken by a backpack dropping into the chair across from her. She looks up to find Haewon grinning at her, and she pulls her headphones back around her neck, smiling in relief.
“Hey Mees,” Haewon greets her, taking a seat. Her hair is braided back, and she has a large patch of white gauze taped to her cheek. Mia decides not to question it.
“Hey, where's Nick?” Mia asks instead, looking around for her. She promised she'd come, but no sign of her.
“Woooow, okay, don't ask about my head wound, I get it,” Hazy teases. “She had an emergency meeting with her advisor.”
Damn. “She's a linguistics major, what's the emergency? Did someone discover a new way to pronounce tomato?” Mia grumbles, eyes flicking back over to Talia’s shoulders. Back to Haewon. Back to Talia. Haewon raises an eyebrow.
“If you don't ask me what happened to my face in the next three seconds I’m gonna throw a fit,” Hazy tells her with a smile.
Mia knows Haewon isn't joking. “What happened to your face?”
“Oh my god, Mia, thank you for asking, that means a lot to me,” Haewon exclaims, grinning. “A guy hit me in the face with his shears.”
“Holy shit?” Mia’s head snaps up from shuffling her papers. “Are you okay?”
Haewon shrugs. “Yeah, it was an accident. I bled though,” She pauses, then grins. “It might scar.”
Mia blinks. “Is that… good?”
“Hell yeah,” Haewon flips open her laptop. “Are you kidding? I'd look so cool.”
Mia just shakes her head. “You're a freak.”
They work in silence for a while, with a brief break to shit talk Nick when they receive the text that she’s not coming. Mia punches out a very adequate essay on formaldehyde while Hazy untangles equations, and proper night falls across the library, blue and dryer lint soft.
It's only once her essay is submitted, four hours to deadline, that Mia groans, cracking the stiffness out of her neck. She needs to stretch her legs, she needs… caffeine. “I’m gonna grab a Redbull downstairs, you want anything?”
Haewon looks up, bleary-eyed, as Mia stands. “Chex Mix?”
“Sure,” Mia nods, and grabs her keys. “I'll be right back.”
She hits the elevator button on autopilot, preoccupied with scrolling through the recent notifications for the Chi O account, and it's only as she reaches out to press the button for the ground floor that a manicured hand slips between the closing doors.
The doors reopen, and Talia grins.
“Mia! I'm so glad to see you're still alive,” She quips as she steps inside. Talia leans back against the elevator wall, crosses her arms against her chest, and whoa, this is a very different Talia than the one that wiped her tears and tucked her away from the cold. This Talia has her chin tilted up, her armor on, her face calm and inscrutable. Talia in her element. In the daylight, or at least under fluorescents.
“Yeah, thank you so much for getting me home,” Talia’s not the only one who can play this game. Mia smiles, bright and apologetic. Lets her face open up. Turns on that classic sorority girl charm. “That was so nice of you, I'm so sorry if you had to drag me inside or anything.”
Talia snorts. “Nah, you didn't pass out, you were just very…” She grins, slow and cheshire. “Snuggly. Getting you into bed was easy, getting you to let me leave was hard. You seemed very intent on me joining you,” A pause, and Talia tilts her head, her long ponytail swinging. “Not that I would've minded.”
Talia’s hazel eyes glitter with playful malice, and as Mia’s eyes catch on the long, strong looking fingers clutching her backpack strap, she tries not to get too stuck on the idea of Talia in her bed. Her buffering must show on her face, because Talia giggles.
“Don't worry, I untangled myself. Didn't wanna overstay my welcome in enemy territory,” Talia scrunches her face, clearly trying to get Mia to laugh, and she does, with a concerning lack of effort. The doors open, Talia steps through, Mia follows, shaking her head against the warmth flooding it.
“Here, give me your phone,” Talia reaches out with one hand, and oh, how easy. Mia finds her footing, raises her eyebrows with a smirk. It says everything she needs to, and she lifts her face to let Talia admire it.
It's a delight to watch the way Talia sputters, flushing pink. “C’mon, lemme give you my number. Please?” At Talia’s ask, Mia shrugs, all feigned apathy, and passes her phone over. Talia types quick, and hands it back, open to a new contact labeled “🌲”
She grins, half cocky and half sweet, heading towards the double doors into the night air. “Text me next time you need a ride, Mia.”
The doors open and close behind her, and Mia watches, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Talia glances over her shoulder, face already flushed from the cold.
Mia tastes blood.
“Would you say that I am an easily rattled person?”
Nick squints, bathed in the sudden light from the hallway as Mia swings her door open. “Excuse me?”
Nick rubs her eyes, shifting in bed as Mia repeats her question. Maybe it was a little rude to barge in like this, but she knows for a fact Nick wasn't asleep, she was just laying in her dark room to avoid her homework like she does every night.
Nick thinks for a second. “No. You handle organs and stuff, I think you're pretty chill.”
Mia groans, sweeping into Nick’s room to flop sideways across her bed. Nick pokes her in the ribs with one socked foot, and Mia yelps.
“I take it back actually, you're not chill,” Nick muses, reaching out to switch on her lamp, flooding the cramped room with golden light. “You're the biggest baby I’ve ever met.”
“That's not true,” Mia counters. “I'm only like this with you. And Hazy. You guys know me. I'm talking about me with… everyone else.”
Nick’s mouth twists in thought. “How do I get normal Mia back? I never asked for insider access,” At Mia’s dead-eyed stare, she relents. “Okay, yeah, I’d say you're not easily rattled. I mean, you don't let the rest of exec push you around.”
Mia snorts. It's true, the Panhellenic delegates like to try to tell her how to do her job, as if her iron fist on the Chi Omega marketing hasn't turned it into the most desired sorority at UConn.
Nick shoves Mia with her foot again, and Mia rolls over to press her face into Nick’s checkered duvet. “Why do you ask? Did something happen?”
Mia just grunts, and Nick pokes her again. “Are you rattled?”
“No.”
Nick doesn't let her get away with it for a second. “What rattled you?”
“I don't wanna talk about it,” Mia grumbles. Her phone burns a hole through her pocket, carrying a number it probably shouldn't. “I'm fine.”
“You know I hate it when you do this,” Nick reminds her, shifting to rest both legs on Mia’s back. The weight is almost comforting. “You can tell me anything, god knows we’ve been friends long enough.”
Mia considers this. She considers the facts. There's a Tri Delt. One who sleeps around, with girls. She’s flirting with Mia, or at least trying to. She’s pretty, and cocky, and nice when she wants to be. And if anything comes of this… and if anyone finds out…
Well, Mia doesn't wanna be vain, but she's kind of a big deal.
She started out a nobody from the forests of CT’s quiet corner, and she changed that. She smiled, she laughed, she exchanged numbers, she drank, she carried on. She pledged Chi Omega, she became marketing chair, she dug her manicured fingernails in and dragged her way to the top of the ladder. People know her. People like her. And people do not… know about the whole. Kissing girls thing.
She’s not trying to be the new hot outcast on Uconn YikYak.
“There's nothing to tell,” Mia lies into Nick’s blankets. “I’m just having a weird day.”
“Clearly. Do you wanna watch that pottery show with me?”
“Fuck yeah, I do,” Mia sits up, knocking away Nick’s legs. “But wait, what was your meeting with your advisor about?”
“Dude, oh my god, it was the dumbest shit-”
The next day is… fine.
Mia doesn't wake up hungover, which is an improvement. She has an early class, but she and Hazy grab coffee on the way, which makes it easier. She gets lunch with her little, a well-intentioned tornado named Tess, and then she whips her Toyota over to South Campus to go to her independent study.
It makes sense that they wanna keep the death science students and their freaky chemicals sectioned off from the rest of campus, but it is a little annoying. It's not a long drive. It's still a drive.
It's only three, but the sun is already low in the sky. New England autumn at its finest. Mia squints through the windshield, braced as the light and the shadows of the trees flicker across the road as she drives, equal parts golden and gray. As she leaves campus center, the Price Chopper and the bank give way to trees, the bike repair shop, spooky-looking old houses, and more trees. She finally turns left into the parking lot of the Robert S. Fitzgerald Center for Thanatology, Taphonomy, and Mortuary Science. Or, as it's more commonly called, The Morgue.
There are rumors all over campus that it's haunted, but Mia doesn't believe it for a second. She dissected, embalmed, and restored twenty cadavers last semester. Never so much as a door closing on its own.
Mia grabs her bag, and locks her car, looping her headphones around her neck as she slaps her ID card against the scanner by the doors. They click open, and Mia slips inside.
They close behind her. As she approaches the lab, she can smell the stench of embalming fluid already, and she grins absentmindedly.
She hangs her bag on a hook by the door, ties up her hair, pulls on a coat and a mask, and snaps on a pair of gloves while she calls hello into the empty lab.
“Miss Reid,” A voice comes from just over her shoulder, and Mia yelps, spinning around towards it. “I'm so glad you're early, we just got a new cadaver in, I'm excited for you to take a look at it.”
Lillian Stoll is everything you could possibly want in a mortuary science prof. A mid-thirties lite goth who gets way too excited about dead bodies, with a penchant for tucking aspiring autopsy techs neatly under her wings. Mia grins at her.
“Oh my god, I’m gonna hide a bell in your lab coat so I can hear you coming,” Mia jokes, following Professor Stoll towards the sectioned-off freezer. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Professor Stoll laughs. “Spent too much time with ghosts, I’m starting to take on their properties,” She puts a hand on the door, and turns, her face serious. “I have to warn you, this one’s gory, he’s about your age, and he died in a car crash, he's gonna take some serious reconstruction. Are you ready?”
Mia nods. “Yup.”
The door swings open, and Lillian lets Mia take the lead, staying by the door frame as Mia steps inside. The motion-activated fluorescents turn on with a series of quiet clicks, illuminating a row of steel gurneys covered in white sheets. “He's on the end over there,” Lillian points, and Mia heads over. “His name’s Jack.”
Mia takes a deep breath before lifting the sheet, as she always does. Steadying, in case of gore. Also, sometimes they smell gross.
True to Lillian’s word, it's pretty bad. Blood, bone, muscle, not much skin. Mia squints, trying to figure out how the hell she's gonna reconstruct this face.
“Right?” Professor Stoll says at Mia’s screwed-up expression. “I'll help you out with him, it's a little too much for just one person.”
Mia nods, covering him back up and wheeling him out of the lineup. “Sounds good. It's crowded in here today, are you doing the sophomores’ first dissections soon?”
“Yup,” Lillian holds the door open for her. “They start tomorrow, the Human Anatomy Lab. Oh, speaking of, would you wanna TA that class next semester? I can give you credit for it.”
Mia’s head snaps up, and she jolts as she almost crashes the gurney into someone else in the lineup. “What? Really?”
Lillian takes hold of the other end of the gurney, helping Mia guide Jack through the doorway. “Sure. You've taken all the other mortuary classes, and you mentioned you need more credits, right?”
Mia tries not to visibly glow with pride. “Yeah, that would be great. You think I’d be good for it?” Yes, she’s fishing for the compliment, but who could blame her? It’s not every day you get direct approval from your advisor like this.
Lillian doesn’t look up, pulling Jack over to their worktable. “Of course. I wouldn’t let you handle restorations on your own if I didn’t think you were good at this,” Now, she does look up, eyebrows screwed, almost quizzical at Mia’s uncharacteristic self-doubt. Mia’s eyes catch the details, like how Lillian’s eyelids lower and her mouth lifts as she says “You know you’re good,” and she knows Lillian realized she took the bait.
Whatever, play it off. “Feels good to hear it sometimes,” She quips, and breezes over to pick up a knife. “You wanna open him up, or should I?”
When she finally leaves, it’s just after 6:30, and the last of the afternoon light headed home about two hours ago. Lillian left too, she had a meeting at five, leaving Mia to finish up the restoration on her own. It was kind of soothing, in a way, just her and Jack. Mia rolls the tension out of her neck as she pushes open the double doors to the empty parking lot.
Jack will get picked up tomorrow morning, and the mortician will do some final touch ups. Mia tries not to be self absorbed about her skills, but she kind of killed this one. There really wasn't a lot to work with, but he looks pretty great now. She grins to herself as she unlocks her car and gets in. God, she's good.
Mia shoves her key in the ignition and checks her phone, waiting for the engine to turn over. She scrolls through notifications as the engine sputters, and falls flat. She tries again, and the same thing. Fuck. She must've left her headlights on.
And she could text Nick. Or Hazy. Or any of her other sorority sisters. She could even take the bus if she really needed to. But Mia’s never been one to pass up a golden opportunity. There's a burn low down in her stomach, hazel eyes on her mind, and she's typing before she can tell herself not to.
Mia: do u have jumper cables?
Mia: it's mia btw :)
It doesn't take long for a response.
🌲: you know, i kind of figured.
🌲: i do. where are you?
Mia: the morgue :( my battery died and my friends are in class
A white lie never hurt anyone, right?
🌲: i'm not busy.
Mia: yeah?
🌲: yeah
God, it's like pulling teeth. Is Talia really gonna make her ask?
Mia: come help me then
🌲: …
🌲: yeah sure.
🌲: i'll be there in 10.
Mia: :) thank youuu
Excellent. It all goes according to hasty, cobbled-together plan. Mia drops her phone in the cup holder, and reaches into her bag to scrounge for some body spray and lip balm. As she touches up her face in the rearview mirror, she grins to herself, pulse fluttering in her throat. With any luck, she’ll be slinking into the suite tomorrow morning, and this time she’ll be the one wearing last night's clothes.
It's probably not a good idea. She's done this before, but not like this. Every other hookup has been a tidy, secretive affair, typically involving a long drive to someone not at all involved in the UConn social scene. But there's something fun about the danger, the possibility. And besides, Talia is hot.
It'll be fine. She'll make it work.
She slips an Altoid under her tongue, and a pair of headlights sweeps across the parking lot.
Something in her bones starts to ache.