Purposefully Accidental

Chapter One

Now, Fall 2017

I get off the motorcycle, putting my hand on Freddie's shoulder to keep my balance, thankful that I chose to wear my simple ballet flats this morning, which makes it easier to step on the ground. Once I'm safely on the ground, Freddie lifts his helmet visor up so I can see his face clearly.

"Thanks for the ride," I tell him while I fix parts of my hair that's flown everywhere due to the wind.

He nods with his usual smile. "No problem. I'll pick you up at eight thirty tomorrow, as usual?"

"Hmm. Make it eight. I promised to pick up Quinn's paper for Professor Delacy's class first thing tomorrow morning," I say, giving him my best winning grin—the one that always works whenever I'm in need of a favor from him.

He groans in protest. "That's half an hour of my precious beauty sleep I'll have to give up!"

"I'll bring you breakfast."

"Fine." He rolls his eyes playfully. "See ya tomorrow, Hannah."

"See ya. Be safe!"

I wave him goodbye as I turn around and walk up to the front door of my apartment building. I glance at my wristwatch to see that it's just a little past midnight, which explains why the walk from the lobby up to the hallway of my floor is dead silent.

I unlock the door and take off my shoes and then my coat, leaving it on the hanger. My roommate, Tammy, is slumped over the couch, asleep, while the TV plays on low volume. I turn it off and shake her lightly awake.

"Hannah?" She rubs her eyes as she sits up. "Fuck. My neck. What time izzit?"

"Just past midnight. Hey, do we have any food?"

"I left some pizza." She yawns. "I'm going to my room."

"Sure. Night, Tammy."

I turn toward the fridge and find the cold pizza she left for me, biting right into it while my other hand undoes the buttons of my shirt. It's cold, but food is food and it's past midnight so I'm not complaining. I pick up the clutters of dirty utensils Tammy left all over the counter and drop them into the sink.

Tammy is a fast friend I made during orientation week just about one year ago. Back then, I was still commuting from my house to campus—it took an hour and a half to get to campus and I couldn't take waking up at five in the morning every day anymore, so I told her that I was going to look for a cheap place near campus. Coincidentally, she was sharing this apartment with her older sister's friend who's just graduated and ready to move out, and she was looking for a roommate to share the rent. Obviously, I volunteered in a heartbeat.

Feeling too sleepy to take a shower, I opt to just wash my face and my feet in the bathroom and change into a clean shirt and pajama pants. Before I jump right into bed, though, I pick up the books and papers from my bag, rechecking the materials I need to bring for tomorrow's presentation—the reason why I just spent five hours at the students' lounge at the campus with my classmates earlier—making sure that everything's in place before I jump into my bed.

Like the many nights before, I always stop for a minute just to stare at the walls around me before I close my eyes—or more importantly, at the blinking Christmas string lights that I hung across the walls and the photographs attached to it. There must be a dozen of those pictures, of my family and my friends from back in high school and the ones I made in college, but my eyes always linger on the three pictures right in the middle, at the very center of my line of sight from where I lie my head on the pillow.

And, like always, the last thing I see right before I fall asleep is the same. A pair of gray eyes that I've been missing for over a year now—a shade of gray I haven't forgotten since then.