Page 22 of Ricochet

He didn’t stop at the temporal bone. He’s colored in nearly half of the skull red.

Right now, the wax tip is digging into the paper over the optic canal, almost tearing straight through. His eyes are wide as he presses harder, moving the pencil feverishly back and forth as though he’s in some kind of trance.

“Callum.”

He doesn’t stop.

There’s a rip in the page now, color bleeding through onto the next one. But he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Callum?”

His grip around the pencil is so tight, knuckles white, tendons and veins popping. The pencil breaks in two, the wood splintering.

Callum seems to snap with it.

He drops both halves onto the table, blinking down at the paper drawn all over in red, like he’s seeing it for the first time. His chest is heaving, hands still trembling.

“Callum, are you—”

“I’m not feeling so well.” His voice comes out rough and breathless. “I have to go.”

Pushing himself off the stool looks like it takes more effort than it should. He snatches up his bag and darts through the classroom and out the door, turning a few heads in his flee for escape.

I know I probably shouldn’t go after him. I’m the last person he’d want to help him through whatever this is.

However, that tether between us is tugging on something in my chest.

Quickly collecting both of our lab manuals and papers, I stuff them in my bag and make my way out of the class, ignoring the lingering stares from everyone who’s looked up from their work.

When I get out into the hallway, I don’t have to go looking for Callum. He hasn’t made it far, leaning against the wall a few doors down. I approach slowly. His gaze is wide, staring off into space as his chest rises and falls rapidly.

Fuck.

There are a few people walking up and down the hall, so I peer in through the window of the nearest door. It’s an empty classroom.

“Come on, Callum.”

He doesn’t fight or argue as I grab onto his arm, open the door, and pull him into the room. After closing the door, I help him lean against the wall beside it. His gaze is still far away, possibly not even aware of where he’s at. When I step into his space, his warm breath sawing in and out of his lungs fans against my cheeks.

I weigh my options, ultimately knowing I need to ground him.

Taking another step until we’re inches apart, I place my hands on the sides of his face.

His eyes focus, locked on mine, and his breathing completely stops.

“Shit. Sorry.”

I take a step back, but I’m halted when Callum’s hand shoots out and fists the front of my shirt.

What—

He starts to hyperventilate again. His eyes haven’t left mine, and he’s trembling all over.

“Okay, okay.” I move forward again and gently take his face back between my hands. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”

I don’t know who’s holding whose gaze hostage, but neither of us seem to be able to look away. His skin heats my palms, and he’s got a death grip on my shirt. There’s a sea of pain and fear behind his wide, brown eyes.

I have no idea what to make of this, but I have to do something before he passes out.

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