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“No, it’s fine.”

“Lil.” He touches my arm gently. “You can talk to me. You know that, right?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I pull away from his touch. “Can we just go? I don’t want to be late.”

“Alright.”

We arrive at the science building with a few minutes to spare. Jason walks me to the lecture hall, rambling about new plays the football coach wants to try at their next practice.

When we reach the entrance, Jason turns to me. “I’ll swing by your dorm later, okay?”

“Sure.” I force my happy face back on.

No matter how hard I try, Sebastian’s face keeps haunting me, along with Blake’s smile, like spectral images forever imprinted on my consciousness.

I slump into my usual seat at the middle of the room, bracing myself for the longest day of my life.

Chapter 13

Lilian

The classes pass in a haze, and before I know it, I’m sitting in front of a sewing machine. But instead of using it, I’m hand-sewing a little pattern on the blouse. It’s enough to hear the whirring of the others.

And even so, I prick my finger more than once, drops of blood staining the fabric.

Swallowing hard, I force myself to focus on the fabric in front of me, on the shape I’m trying to create. It’s supposed to be a little butterfly. But it’s actually not definable. One stitch at a time, I will my hands to steady. The monster can’t get you here.

Bit by bit, I lose myself in the rhythm of the other sewing machines. Maybe one day I can use them myself. But not today. I’m not in the right mindset.

When the professor dismisses us, I hurry to clean up my station, eager to escape.

“Ms. Edmunds, a word, please.” The professor gestures to me.

“You are aware this course is about working with sewing machines.” Her tone is gentle, not angry.

I nod, trying to come up with an excuse. “I’m sorry. I’ve been having some trouble with the machines. I didn’t want to slow down the class.”

The professor’s eyes soften. “I understand. But you know, I can arrange for another student to help you, show you how it works. And, of course, I’m here to assist as well.”

Relief washes over me. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

“Don’t mention it. Just remember to clean up your desk before you leave, alright?”

“Of course.”

She walks out, leaving me alone in the room, and I let out a shaky breath, gathering up the fabric and supplies. I’m delaying the inevitable, but I need a little bit more time until just hearing that incessant whirring won’t make my stomach churn.

I’m about to grab my bag and leave when I spot fabric samples scattered on another desk. They belong in the supply closet. With a sigh, I place my bag onto my desk and grab them.

The closet is small, cramped, and dark. I’m placing the fabrics on the shelf when a click appears behind me.

No. Please, no.

I whirl around. The door. I rush over, jiggling the handle.

“No, no, no.” I’m trapped. In the dark. Alone.

The walls close in on me, the darkness bearing down on me. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

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