This hangover won’t quit. It’s lessened to a dull ache, but I’m still feeling crappy as I get out of my last class of the day. As I step out of the building, I check my phone. Dahlia sent a group text a few minutes ago saying she’s heading to practice, and Violet and Daisy replied that they were at the library. All day they’ve been updating me on their whereabouts and making sure I’m okay. I love them, but I hate that they feel like they need to do that.
And I hate that I’m looking over my shoulder every few minutes. I’m blaming the gloomy weather. And the wine. Definitely blaming the wine.
I shoot a quick text back to let them know I’m fine and that I’m going to grab coffee at University Hall and then maybe head home to take a nap and ward off this headache once and for all.
Shuffling in the long line at the café, I scroll through my phone while I wait. I go to Penelope’s social media account. I’ve known her for what feels like forever. We met at an audition when I was nine but weren’t really friends. Then when I was fourteen, she had a recurring guest appearance on the show I starred in. Spending so much time together on set, we became close. In fact, there was a time that she was the closest friend I had.
Then her career took off, the show ended, and we didn’t do a very good job of keeping up with each other. There’s nothing on her official account about Clint, but that doesn’t surprise me. If they are dating, they’d want to keep it secret for as long as possible. I have a hard time imagining he’s changed so much, but I don’t really know her anymore, either.
With my coffee in hand, I decide to wander around campus all by myself. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve been really, truly alone. And as uneasy as it still makes me, I know that I need to deal with it. I stop and sit on a bench in front of the engineering building and listen to music for a bit, then I go over to the fountain and toss in a penny for luck.
I’m starting to feel more like myself when I notice a guy wearing a black hat low, covering his eyes and a red hoodie pulled on top. It’s the third or fourth time I’ve seen him in the past hour, and with tens of thousands of students at Valley U that seems like an awfully big coincidence.
Goosebumps dot my arms, and my throat constricts. I walk slowly in the opposite direction, trying not to seem panicked even though my heart is racing. I glance over my shoulder as I round the corner and find him twenty feet or so back walking the same way.
I pull out my phone, but don’t text the girls just yet. He can’t really be following me, right? Campus is quieter than normal right now because classes are going on, but I’m not totally alone and that gives me some sense of safety. If I scream, surely someone would come to my rescue.
That thought has more panic taking hold of my body. The red words spray-painted across my bedroom wall flash in my mind. Go back to Cali, bitch. My steps quicken and I make a last-minute decision to go into one of the buildings. He follows me, a little less space between us now. As I continue walking on the first floor, I can hear him still behind me. Every heavy step sounds closer and closer until I feel like he’s so close he could touch me.
I take off running without looking back. I can no longer hear his steps over my own and it’s terrifying to think he might be gaining, but I don’t stop. I keep going down the hall, and then frantically search for somewhere to hide. I pass classes filled with people, but I can’t just burst into one of them. I try a utility closet and find it, thankfully, unlocked. It smells like dirt and cleaning solution, but I don’t care. I hold the door handle and stand there in the dark, listening to my quick, shallow breaths.
When his steps come around the corner, I stop breathing and squeeze my eyes shut. He walks past the tiny room and then back again. It goes quiet, but I don’t move. I have no idea how long I stand there in the dark, clutching the door handle and too afraid to move when there’s another noise outside. Classes are letting out, I realize with a sort of sickly calm washing over me.
I’m too scared to leave even knowing I could slip into the hallway and disappear into the crowd. Someone was following me. My eyes sting with the threat of tears and I pull out my phone. Everything is blurry as I punch in the number. I let my eyelids fall closed and one tear slides down my cheek.
“Jane?” His deep voice and the authoritative way he answers makes my throat close up.
“Jane?” Hendrick’s tone takes on a hard, but somehow comforting, edge. What sounds like a truck starting up in the background interrupts the silence, and then he says, “I’m on my way. Where are you?”
