by Luna Pierce
“Willow.” I accept the dare and take his hand into mine, firmly grasping it—the fire from a moment ago burning at his touch.
His eyes meet mine in a showdown, every circuit in my body firing and urging me to let go and hold on at the same time. The color of his eyes shifts to a brilliant aquamarine, his jaw clenching in pain and pleasure. Whatever this is, it’s fucking magical.
He breaks our encounter, sucking in a breath and staring down at his hand, only inches from where mine still lingers.
“Did you feel that? I whisper.
Sydney studies me, tracing his eyes fanatically, his demeanor changing. “No,” he answers, shaking his head. He faces forward in his seat, his posture alert and rigid, doing everything he can to get away from me while staying in his seat.
I come to the conclusion that I am absolutely going batshit crazy. There is no way else to explain anything that is going on. The visions, the shadows, the illuminating flowers, the fireworks while touching. My mom had an unexplainable psychotic break, and now here I am, having one, too.
Aside from seeing and feeling things that others don’t, I also thought I could feel energies, too. Like when someone was about to break some bad news. Before they managed to change their expressions, the air became thick and heavy. Not exclusively bad news, I could feel good energy and busy energy and sad energy and fearful energy. But that’s not possible, right? It must be a figment of my imagination, along with everything else.
Sometimes I thought I could control other’s emotions, too, or maybe it was wishful thinking. On occasion, my mom lost her temper or got worked up, and if I tried hard enough, if I willed it, I could help bring her back to the brink of calmness. I had done this plenty of times in the past, sometimes completely unaware until I processed it later on. It drained my own energy, and made my headaches worse than normal, to the point I had to sleep for hours on end to recharge myself.
I shake my head to clear my muddy, nonsensical thoughts. This was all just in my head. I couldn’t do any of these things and I knew it. That was impossible.
I shift my brain to autopilot, not remotely listening to the teacher as he begins his lecture, introducing the class and going over the syllabus. I take notes without really letting the words register in my head, praying for the seconds to tick by quicker so I can be done with this day and have a moment to myself, a true moment alone—without apparitions and utter fucking drivel.
I would not be the freak that people called me.
Chapter Seven
The moment my ethics class is dismissed, I bolt from the room. With my bag packed ten minutes prior to the end of the period, I was prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. I disregard the stupid deep-purple shadow that appears near N three’s entrance, reminding myself that I’m just fucking seeing things.
I have half a mind to skip my next class but quickly push that aside, knowing what a horrible impression that would give my teacher. Plus, this one is in the south wing, a part of the school that doesn’t make me feel off. Not to mention, Cameron will be in attendance, which I’m counting on to settle my nerves.
I pay minimal attention on my way to Psych 101, making my way past the indoor garden located in the center of the building, and down the south wing hallway. The room is the second on the left, and upon my entry, Cameron waves me over to where he’s already claimed a seat.
“Hey, you.” He smiles.
“Hey,” I breathe.
“What a day, am I right?”
“You’re telling me.” I settle into the seat to his left and lean my head back, closing my eyes and letting out a sigh.
“You good?” he requests.
I shake my head gently, tilting myself forward and putting my head in my hands on my desk. “I…”
Cameron scoots his desk closer, and it squeaks off the floor in protest. His hand finds contact with my shoulder, and I tense at the first connection, then ease into his touch.
I pull myself from my own embrace and stare deep into his sapphire eyes.
I feel like I’m losing my mind, Cameron. I feel like everyone thinks I’m crazy and I’m not really sure they’re wrong. I feel like nothing will ever be normal, that I’ll never be normal. I’ll always be a freak, an Oliver freak. That I’ll be the girl whose dad disappeared when she was too young to remember and whose mom eventually went insane. The girl who grew up too quickly and can’t wrap her head around how to trust or let anyone in because everyone leaves, but sure has a spare pen to borrow, or can bake a cake from scratch because she learned to do it on her thirteenth birthday, by herself.
But instead of saying any of those things, for finally scratching the surface at what I’m screaming to telling someone, anyone really, I say, “I just have another headache.”
“Damn, Willow. Another one? God, you poor thing.” He rubs my back in slow, tender circles.
“I’ll be okay,” I manage, because I will be. I always seem to master that whole suck-it-up-buttercup thing and get by. I shove the feelings deep inside, somewhere never to be seen again, and force a smile. If I simply play pretend, I can convince myself everything will be okay.
Who am I kidding, though? Why am I here? I haven’t even made it through a full day of classes yet and I’m teetering on the edge of a breakdown around every corner. I should be at home, caring for my mom, and working part-time at the Harper Café. Sure, there’s no progression, however, it’s the constant that I could count on.
But I was lucky enough to get this opportunity, why would I waste it? Wouldn’t that be the ultimate selfish choice to go back to what’s comfortable?
Professor Strong walks in and announces that our Psych teacher will be out the first few days, so she’s going to be filling in for her. Another missing-in-action authority figure?
I grab my notebook, find a blank page, and start taking notes, filling the pages without much thought. Only this class and the next stand in the way of getting out of here. Will every day be this difficult to get through? I freaking hope not.
Throughout the class, Cameron gives me a sympathetic yet reassuring glance. Near the end, he passes me a note.
What is this, grade school? The gesture has me smiling nonetheless.
Scribbled on a piece of scratch paper is: Want to get a bite after your next class?
No matter how tempting his invite, I really do need to be alone for a little while. I fold the paper and write on a blank side: Maybe another time? I need darkness for this headache.
I catch him frown faintly, and he responds: Deal. I hope you feel better.
The rest of the class goes by fairly fast, and somehow, I find myself not rushing out of it like I did in Ethics. Maybe it was finding comfort in Cameron, or being out of the north wing, but I feel a bit more myself, not so overwhelmed with blasting energy and peculiar deliriums.
The west wing managed to throw me off during our exploration, but I’m determined to swallow down whatever I think is happening and get this last period over with. At least I have Lillian to sit with and I’m really looking forward to her chill personality. I’ll anchor myself to her and ride out this gnarly wave of an official first day.
A quick goodbye to Cameron and a pit-stop at the bathroom still manages to make me nearly late to my Accounting class. I relax into the seat behind Lillian and take out the usual—notebook and pen.
My head buzzes, and I instinctually put it in my hands, rubbing my temples with my index fingers. That uncomfortable feeling of someone watching me grabs on to me, and I squirm in my seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I latch on to something memorable yet unfamiliar. I reposition myself to find the person responsible for the unsettling feeling. The enigmatic guy from the patio, the one who keeps appearing and disappearing in front of me.
His steel-gray eyes that could melt daggers don’t budge when I meet his gaze. I force a breath, swallowing deeply, unable to look away. I thought my run-in with Deghan, Cameron, and Sydney was intense—that’s nothing compared to whatever the hell this is. He hasn’t spoken
a word, and I don’t even know his name, but I can’t help thinking, sweet baby Jesus, I’m already in over my head on this one.
Accounting goes by in a blur, each second dragging on and on. Once the teacher broke the deafening silence and hardcore stare-down I shared with the random guy across the room, I was able to turn forward in my seat and focus on getting through the next hour and a half. Maybe focus is a bit of a stretch, seeing how I spent most of the class fighting off the rising and falling of energy while it coursed through the space.
Lillian doesn’t bat an eye when I leave class without saying a word to her. Man am I thankful for her drastically different demeanor to Kyra and Remi.
I round the corner and into the lavish foyer of the building. Not wanting to get caught by any of my new friends, I head straight through the school’s front door and onto the courtyard where it all started a couple of days ago.
Once outside, I take a gigantic breath in and out, doing my best to push the day’s anxiety away with it. Like it’s calling my name, I head around the back of the school, along the paver blocks that are laid intricately at my feet, and into the bursting forest. Studying it more, there are paths in the trees that I didn’t see —three to be exact. One in the middle, left, and right.
For no real reason, I choose the path to the right and walk for a few minutes until I find a small clearing. I take a seat against a large oak tree and pull my backpack to my chest. Moments continue to pass, and I sit there, doing absolutely nothing other than attempt to calm my aching nerves. Solitude is my friend, and I have missed it dearly.
The crumbling of leaves draws my attention from myself to my surroundings. My posture stiffens, and I strain to focus my hearing. A shape appears in the distance, but then is gone as quick as it emerged.
“Hello,” I whisper. “Is someone out there?” My gaze shifts around the clearing to no avail. “It’s probably just an animal,” I tell myself.
A branch cracks, and I stumble to my feet in a hurry. I’ve never known myself to be petrified of the woods like this, but with the day already unsettling me, I’m not sure of anything anymore.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” a soothing yet deep voice commands.
I shift toward it but can’t locate the source.
“It’s not safe.”
“Who’s out there?” I hastily reply. “Come forward.”
About six feet to my left, the figure appears from the darkness, stepping into a light-covered area. Blinking to get my eyes to adjust, I finally make out the character.
“It’s you,” I breathe.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he repeats.
“You said that already.” I swallow.
“It’s not safe…”
“You said that, too.” I take a hesitant step toward him. “Why isn’t it safe?”
His jaw clenches, and he matches my step by taking one back.
My eyes meet his, and my heart slows and speeds up all at once. With a mind of their own, my feet take another cautious stride.
He doesn’t move so I take one more.
A strange burst of energy bolts through me, and something flutters on the ground, shifting my gaze. The ground between us lights up, this time with radiant red flowers glowing.
“How did you do that?” he gasps.
Wait, what? He can see them, too? That’s impossible, I’m merely hallucinating things.
“Do what?” I ask, not betraying anything.
He kneels to the ground, cupping a vibrant rosy bloom under his hand. He flinches and pulls his hand away in a flash like he stuck himself with a thorn.
“That’s impossible,” he speaks under his breath.
“Can you… can you see them?” I plead.
He stays still for a second and then parts his lips. “What’s your name?” His cool-gray eyes turn a bit violet and scan my face.
I swallow down the lump forming in my throat. “Willow.”
“Willow,” he echoes.
A blast of hot and cold hits me in the best of ways as he continues examining me with his eyes. I’m rooted in place, unable to look or move away but not sure I would if I could.
“May I come closer?”
I nod, and when I do, the flowers that were bright and vivid between us dull their light and open up a path for him. What is happening?
He closes the gap between us at a snail’s pace, inching forward thoughtfully until he’s so close his breath caresses my forehead. His hand reaches out gently, and I silently beg for him to touch me. I don’t even know this guy, what the hell am I thinking?
I fight the battle between this feeling unbelievably wrong but oh-so-right.
“What’s your name?” I mutter.
His hand rises next to my cheek, but he doesn’t give in, despite my desire taking hold.
“Silas.”
A wave crashes over me, emotions and energies pushing and pulling their way through every fiber in my body and soul.
Almost like he can see the struggle I fight internally, his brow furrows, and he presses his mouth into a firm line. His porcelain skin and flawless features are something out of this world. I scan the shape of his forehead, his perfectly crafted cheekbones and chin, his just plump enough lips, and perfectly whitened teeth. The viciously pointed incisors that send a shiver down my spine. He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down, sending my gaze south to his etched collarbone and fitted black t-shirt.
“Have we met?” I ask, an unforgivable familiarity in his eyes. It’s like I’ve known him my whole life, or maybe in a past life. My body aches to fill some kind of forgotten muscle memory with him.
His expression lightens, and for a second, it’s like he might smile. “I’ve been waiting on you for an eternity.”
The words leave his lips, and everything stops. Time halts, the earth’s rotation, gravity and everything in between comes to a sudden, abrupt end. The only sound that fills the space is my beating heart. At the same time my body tenses, his face changes, and fear devours me. Like a curtain being drawn on a Broadway stage, my vision goes blank, and I struggle to stay upright. Everything washes over me, and no matter how much of a fight I put up, I fade to black.
Chapter Eight
I open my eyes to find myself in my dorm room not quite remembering how I got here. I sit up slightly, and Lillian looks up from her book to give me a vague smile.
“Hey.” I rub my shoulder and stretch my neck.
“Hey.” She places an old tattered bookmark in the book, closing it to give me her full attention.
“This may sound weird, but do you have any idea how long I’ve been out, or… how I got here?”
She nods and lets out a huff. “Creepy guy from Accounting carried you in about an hour ago. He said you passed out in the woods, didn’t really give me any other details.” She pauses and straightens. “You’re not on drugs, are you? I’m pretty laid back but I’m not really comfortable with drugs. So, if it’s drugs, can you at least tell me, and I can submit a room transfer or like, lock my stuff up so you don’t steal it and sell it for crack money.”
I shake my head and hold my hand up for her to stop. “No, no, I’m not on drugs. I just get really bad headaches and dizzy spells, and the day was super intense, and I needed a breather. I guess it just consumed me a bit much and I fainted. That’s never happened before.” Embarrassment creeps up my neck.
“Oh,” she replies, almost surprised. “Well, I didn’t really peg you for a drug type, but you can’t be too sure anymore. It’s always the unsuspecting ones.”
“Yeah, don’t worry. Drug and alcohol-free over here. My family has always had a bad experience with even the smallest amounts of alcohol, so I’ve never been interested whatsoever.”
“That’s a relief. People always think I’m a snob for not partaking at parties.”
“No peer pressure out of me,” I admit. I always hated those types of people anyway—why not let people make their own decisions, why force their agenda on others?
“Oh, if you’re hungry, the Accounting creep came back like super-fast after he dropped you off and brought you some food. Said you should probably eat when you woke up to help your energy levels or something.” She points to the mini-fridge across the room.
Food actually sounds pretty good, but I wonder what he brought, and how he would even know I was going to be hungry. And where my dorm was?
I open the door to find a paper bag with my name on it. I grab it and head back to my bed, sitting cross-legged and emptying the contents.
A grilled chicken sandwich. Okay, good guess.
A glass jar, upon further inspection, filled with… unsweetened tea. This is getting strange.
A small package, which I unwrap to find a decadent brownie. How did he know?
A note tucked inside that I almost miss, says: I’m sorry I got too close.
The door to our dorm room opens in a burst, and Remi and Kyra enter, chattering on about something. They lock their stare onto me.
“Where were you?” Remi interrogates loudly.
Taking a second too long to respond, I meet Lillian’s eyes.
“She told me in last period she wasn’t feeling well and needed a nap, so I brought her dinner when I came back.” Lillian offers confidently.
What a sneaky lie! Why would she do that for me? I really was dreading having to talk to Remi and Kyra about another guy showing me the slightest bit of interest, but how would Lillian recognize that?
“Oh no,” Kyra cries. “You okay? Your little love bird was asking about you during dinner.”
“Yeah, I’m better now.” A half-truth.
“You would not believe the number of hot guys at this school,” she continues on. “Don’t get me wrong, there are some duds, but wow am I impressed at the selection.”
Remi chimes in, “And here I was worried Harper was going to be boring.”
Kyra throws a pillow at Remi, and they both laugh like lovesick idiots.
Lillian and I exchange a glance, and I try to telepathically communicate that I’m thankful for her keeping my secret. Maybe I underestimated how much I was going to end up valuing Lillian’s friendship.
