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The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

He’s in several of my lectures and never spoke a word.

With a deep, steady breath, I turn my attention back to my book, rubbing my arms to ward off the goosebumps that have erupted across my skin.

Everything is fine. I should go home.

My hands tremble as I pack my things, trying to appear nonchalant despite the rising panic in my chest. Just get your stuff and walk out of here.

Hide.

I zip up my backpack with unsteady fingers. Slinging it over my shoulder, I hurry towards the exit, forcing myself to take a step, then another. Get outside, get away.

Hide.

Against my better judgment, I glance over my shoulder. He’s following me, his silhouette barely visible in the dim light.

Hide!

Panic surges through my veins. I dart into the nearest building, my feet carrying me down the hallway in a frantic search for the bathroom.

I push through the door, my hands shaking as I fumble with the lock. The click of the mechanism echoes in the tiled space, a temporary reprieve from the terror that seized my heart.

Don’t go out. You’re not safe.

Silence. Nothing. No door. No footsteps.

At least he doesn’t follow me in here. But they are closing in again. The floor turns red and…. I need to stop. Don’t think about it.

Breathe. I need to breathe.

Is he still waiting for me outside? What if he tries to hurt me? I’m overreacting. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I glide down the wall, hugging my knees to my chest.

“Don’t come out. Stay hidden.” Mom’s panicked whisper echoes through my mind.

My tiny voice quivers. “Why?”

“Shhh, baby. Please, stay quiet. No matter what.” Her voice fades, replaced by heavy footsteps.

The click of a lock.

I’m shaking, my breath coming in shallow gasps as I hug my knees tighter to my chest. The bathroom tiles blur, reality and memory blending into a nauseating swirl.

It’s pounding against the door.

Hide. Don’t make a sound. He’s coming.

Silent tears streak down my face. I clamp a hand over my mouth, stifling the hiccups that claw at my throat.

“You can’t hide her forever.”

Stop.

With trembling fingers, I scramble for my phone and dial Jason’s number. The call goes straight to voicemail.

“Jay, please pick up,” I whisper-yell, trying his number again.

You’re alone in this world. You don’t belong.

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