Page 67 of Haunt Me

“I keep getting the feeling every time I open a book,” I say.

“What feeling?”

I make a gesture with my hand, trying to find the words. “The feeling I get before I have a panic attack.”

She goes quiet after that, but I notice her frowning into her book, not moving a page. We don’t get more than half an hour together anymore—since my detentions, I can’t sneak away unnoticed, as my supervisors are watching me like a hawk. Still, I manage. A guy finds a way to get his oxygen, even in small doses.

…

The same night, I get a text.

Why do you get that feeling whenever you're studying?

It's not important, Eden.

It is to me.

She has never texted me first before. I’m always the first one to text. I sit up, my head already hot and heavy at the idea that she is thinking of me in the middle of the night. I just wish she wasn’t worrying about me.

I type as quickly as I can:

One of the professors is kind of abrasive. Just a regular old bully. Keeps referring to my dad and how he didn't go to an Ivy, just to get a rise out of me. It's the kind of thing some professors here do. They think it motivates us to be more cut-throat, competitive.

That is repulsive.

Everyone else can handle it just fine.

Everyone else will go on to become a soulless corporate robot.

I smile.But not me?

Never you.

Not if I don't study ever again. That man is right, you know? I don't have what it takes. My dad would be so disappointed.

I don’t know why I added that last part. I wish I hadn’t. Then again, she is the only person I can tell what I am thinking to. I already feel better.

No response.

Eden, are you here?

She is gone. The texts disappear three minutes later. I struggle to fall asleep.

The next day, while I am in said asshole’s class, I don’t take the bullying. I talk back to him, I defend myself. As expected, a few hours later I find myself in the professor’s office for a heart-to-heart.

He starts talking about why I am being aggressive, and I know that I am about to lose it. I should be meeting Eden right about now. These are my few minutes in the day that I can breathe, and instead I am spending them being verbally abused by a small man who should be here to help me grow.

I won’t make it today, I text her quickly, hiding the phone behind my back.Professor’s office.

I don’t expect her to answer. Five excruciating minutes pass. The walls begin to close down on me. I try to calm my breathing.

Next thing I know, there is a commotion at the hall, and the door of the office bursts open. A slender figure stands in the doorway, shaking with fury.

I blink.

I think I hyperventilated a bit too hard, because she looks like Eden.

Here, in my school. Inside.

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