Broken Lies

“Are you sure this is the place?” Oliver asked cautiously, a look of clear disgust on his face.

A crowd of rowdy college students crossed the road in front of us, appearing heavily under the influence at only 2 p.m.

“Yep,” I replied with a pop, suddenly thankful that Dad wasn’t coherent enough to make the trip with us.

As we pulled into the parking lot of my new home away from home for the next four years, I couldn’t help but feel relief at escaping the reality of my home life back in Pittsburgh.

Dad had been struggling to hold himself together since Mom passed away five years ago. It had been a quick and slippery slope into alcoholism.

First, losing his job. Then our family home. Lately, there had been more bad days than good.

For years I had been the one receiving phone calls from the local bar down the road. Underage and barely five-foot-three, his youngest daughter would show up to collect the oversized man, scraping him off the bar floor and dragging him home while he dribbled the same apology about being the shitty father that he was.

But now—it was my turn to experience a life of my own.

Oliver had just graduated from college last year and was officially on Dad-watching duty while I was free to finally do the one thing I’d missed out on most of my teenage years.

Act my age.

The look on Oliver’s face told me he was anything but impressed by the scene surrounding the university of my choice—Penn State.

I stepped out of the car and looked toward the building where my dorm room was situated—Jefferson Hall. It was old and a little derelict, but it carried a charm that felt oddly comforting.

Oliver pulled my suitcases from the trunk as I grabbed the large box sitting on the back seat.

I walked ahead toward the building and stopped in my tracks when I heard a loud wolf whistle from across the courtyard.

Three boys walking in the opposite direction were eyeing me from across the way.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” one of them called.

“Get lost, creeps!” Oliver snapped, tugging me toward the steps.

“Seriously, Ollie? Was that necessary?”

“Come on, Maddie. They were being degrading,” he said, pulling open the door and holding it for me.

“I’m not a kid anymore. I can look after myself,” I said, checking the scribbled room number on the scrap paper in my hand.

I made my way to my room on the fourth floor.

I struggled with the key before finally getting the door open and pushing my way inside.

The room was small—two metal-framed twin beds with thin mattresses lined opposite walls. An old built-in timber wardrobe and chest of drawers stood against one wall, and a small fridge with a microwave stacked on top sat near the door. Two desks floated between the bedding areas.

“Well, it’s no Carnegie Mellon,” Oliver said smugly.

I rolled my eyes.

My parents had been so proud when Oliver got his acceptance letter into Carnegie Mellon. But there had never been any doubt.

He was the smart one of the family—the overachiever.

I, on the other hand, was just happy to blend into the background and disappear.

Unpacked bags and boxes sat on the bed and desk nearest the window.

“It’s fine,” I said, dropping the box onto the only empty desk.

I quickly said my goodbyes and shooed Oliver out of the dorm, eager to finally let out the breath I’d been holding.

Once he left, I made the empty bed with my pale blue flower-embroidered bedding set and finished it off with my favorite fluffy pink round decorative pillow.

It was the only decorative item I had brought along.

My bed was my safe place. As long as that felt comfortable, it was enough to make anywhere feel like home.

Lying back on my newly made bed, I pulled out my phone and got lost in a mindless scroll.

It was 4:30 p.m. by the time I started wondering where my new roommate was.

I glanced over at the mountain of belongings piled on the bed and desk across the room. It looked like someone had dumped everything there before immediately leaving again.

Four suitcases, one duffel bag, three boxes, and a large backpack—everything overflowing.

Finally, I got up and wandered into the hallway until I came across the nearest bathroom.

Co-ed communal bathrooms.

This was something that was going to take some getting used to.

I poked my head inside.

Several sinks lined a long bench along one wall. Shower cubicles sat to one side of the room and toilet stalls to the other.

The tiling was old and worn, the grout stained. The mirror hanging above the bench had begun to deteriorate in the corners.

I had clearly chosen one of the oldest housing buildings—but it was also the cheapest housing available on campus.

Further down the hall I found a laundry room with washers and dryers. A little farther along was a common area where I could hear freshman girls gossiping about a frat boy.

I boycotted the commons and made a beeline back to my dorm room and the comfort of my bed.

Ugh.

Frat boys.

My ex was one of them.

Tyler Jackson.

He was a sophomore at Penn State and now a frat pledge.

We dated for two years in high school. When he started college the year before, he told me he loved me and was the one who encouraged me to try long distance.

He ghosted me in his second week.

Then dumped me over text by week three.

I had heard he had joined the Alpha Kappa frat house from some mutual friends and made a mental note to keep clear of him.

Penn State was such a big school.

I’d be pretty unlucky to run into him.

I was painting my toenails when the door swung open and a strawberry-blonde girl bounced into the room.

“Hey!” she said, instantly spotting me on my bed. “You’re my new roommate?”

“I guess I am,” I said. “Maddie.”

“I’m Chloe,” she said as she walked over to her pile of stuff.

Chloe had sparkly brown eyes and a warm smile. Light freckles speckled across her face, and her hair fell just past her shoulders.

“How long ago did you get here?” she asked—before continuing without waiting for an answer. “I got here hours ago but I’ve been scoping out the campus and getting all the gossip on where the best parties are.”

The look in her eyes was pure excitement.

She started hastily pulling her suitcases and boxes off the bed and shoving them into the corner before yanking out a half-folded sheet and beginning to make her bed while continuing her story.

“Anyway, I ended up getting lost, and then I met some guys who actually turned out to be pretty creepy. But then a girl saved me from them and her friend came by and told us about this party at the Sigma Rho frat house—well, she told her friend, but I asked and she said it would be fine if I came along. Apparently it’s where the hottest guys on campus will be tonight.”

She finally paused, looking at me expectantly.

“So… do you want to come?”

“Huh?” My attention span had slipped somewhere around when she mentioned getting lost.

“The party. Do you want to come?”

“A frat party? I don’t know if I’m really into that,” I said, immediately thinking about running into Tyler.

“Oh come on! It would be such a good chance for us to bond as roomies!” she said, now perched on the end of my bed.

I had known the girl for maybe thirty seconds and she was already acting like we were best friends.

But her excitement was contagious.

I did say I wanted to live my life.

Act my age.

Even if it meant stepping into frat hell.

“Maybe we could go for an hour,” I finally said.

Chloe jumped off the bed and immediately started rummaging through her belongings until she found a makeup bag, tossing it onto her half-made bed.

She pulled clothes out of one of her suitcases before settling on a black strapless dress and a pair of low-heeled sandals.

Once she had changed, she paused and reached into a shopping bag beside her bed, pulling out a half-empty bottle of vodka. Then she grabbed two cans of Coke from the mini fridge.

“Want one?” she asked, cracking open a can before taking a large sip and refilling the space with vodka.

Drinking wasn’t something I did much back home. Mostly because I always had to stay coherent enough to look after Dad when he spiraled—which was often.

But I was off duty now.

I had come to college with one goal: to live my own life.

“Sure.”

I followed suit, taking a sip of the Coke before adding the vodka.

I sat at the end of my bed while Chloe applied her makeup and chatted away while we got to know each other a little—well, mainly I got to know Chloe.

She grew up in Southern California but her family had moved to Baltimore a few years ago. She was a Communications major—unsurprisingly—and an avid TikToker.

I shared the very bare basics of my life with her. Born and raised in Pittsburgh. English major. No idea what I wanted to do with my life.

I left out the details about my dead mom, alcoholic father, and the brother I was trying desperately to escape.

As Chloe finished her makeup and started on her hair, I caught my reflection in the mirror hanging on the wardrobe door.

I was definitely less dressed up than Chloe—mid-rise jeans and a slightly cropped white tank top. But I wasn’t trying to catch anyone’s attention. Comfort was good enough for me.

Meanwhile Chloe had somehow transformed herself into a completely different girl just by adding a little eyeshadow, a generous swipe of black liner, bronzer, and lip gloss.

She left her hair in its center part and added a loose wave with a curling wand.

In an attempt to look like I’d made at least some effort, I applied a thin winged liner to my top lids, a little mascara, and some lightly tinted balm to my lips.

I had to admit—liner did wonders to brighten my doe-eyed blue eyes.

I pulled the claw clip from my long light-brown hair and ran my fingers through it, letting it fall into its natural off-center part. It settled into a soft wave from being clipped up all day.

It would do.

I pulled on my sneakers while Chloe slipped into her sandals.

We looked like we were heading to two completely different parties.

But Chloe didn’t judge my outfit, and I liked her for that.

As the contents of our cans went down, we topped them up with a little more vodka until we were both lightly buzzed.

And ready to go.

The Sigma Rho frat house was an enormous mansion with white pillars across the front and a wide staircase leading up to a porch that spanned the entire house.

The place was swarming with people—mostly football jocks, frat boys, and sorority girls.

I felt wildly out of place.

But the alcohol in my system gave me the false confidence I needed to follow Chloe through the crowd.

She quickly managed to find us some drinks and handed me a cup. I took a cautious sip of the sweet mystery drink before following her into the living area.

Music thumped through the house and bodies pressed in from every direction.

My buzz quickly turned into hazy drunken confusion, and suddenly Chloe had disappeared.

I wandered toward the kitchen and froze the moment I saw him.

Tyler.

I turned to walk away but he caught me and spun me around.

“Maddie! You’re here!” he slurred.

“Yeah,” I said with fake enthusiasm.

He looked exactly the same as I remembered—just slightly beefier.

Typical football player build. Broad shoulders, sandy blond hair, tan skin.

But something about him now gave me the creeps.

“You look so good. How about we catch up for old time’s sake?” he said, grabbing my hips.

The smell of cheap beer on his breath made my stomach turn.

“Ew—get off me, you jerk.”

I shoved him away and turned to run, but he grabbed me again.

I twisted free and hurried down the hallway—only to slam straight into someone.

My drink spilled everywhere and I lost my balance, falling backward.

I looked up.

Piercing green eyes glared down at me.

Holy shit.

He was gorgeous.

The tall Greek god in front of me had broad shoulders, black tousled hair, strong brows, sun-kissed skin—and a scowl that looked like he wanted to murder me.

His eyes softened slightly as they moved over my face—

lingering just a second too long.

Then, just as I thought he might help me up, he rolled his eyes and started walking away.

“What a dick,” I said loudly as I pulled myself up.

Liquid courage.

He stopped.

Turned.

Walked back.

“You spill your drink on me and I’m a dick?” he asked coldly.

“You could’ve helped me up,” I shot back.

“You looked like you managed just fine.”

“Typical frat boy,” I said under my breath.

He huffed. “You don’t know me.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I do.”

I stepped closer than necessary.

“Just another rich trust-fund kid whose daddy buys him everything.”

Something in my words struck a nerve.

His eyes flashed with anger.

Before I knew what was happening, his hand closed around my arm, pulling me around the corner and into the next room before pressing me against the wall.

My breath caught.

He towered over my petite frame.

Studying me.

His face was inches from mine.

I could smell mint on his breath and something darker underneath—whiskey, maybe.

“You’ve got no idea,” he said quietly.

Then he let go.

And walked away.