Page 157 of Past the Broken Bridges

Professor Grey is the only one who treats me normally when I come back on my father’s and Paxton’s recommendations to finish the last few weeks of school. There’s no special treatment, no after-class talks of encouragement like I get from my other professors. He’s smart enough to know there’s nothing that can be done except to move forward.

At the end of class, he hands me back my graded short story with his notes jotted into the margins. He pats myshoulder and in a low voice says, “That’s what I meant when I said to channel something personal. Good job.”

When he moves on, I read the comment he made on the last page.

A beautiful story that will forever haunt me. One day, you should consider publishing this.

One day…

I flatten the stapled papers down and sink into my seat. My parents would love his optimism, but all I can think is…how appropriate.

I can add another nickname to my arsenal.

Sawyer Hawkins.

Tom Sawyer.

Birdie.

Ghost.

Maybe that should go on my gravestone.

Here lies the haunted Sawyer Hawkins. Daughter. Sister. Ghost.

Paxton leans over. “That’s awesome. You got an A.” When I drag my eyes over to him, he pales. “Sawyer?”

A droplet of blood lands on the paper.

Then another.

My stomach drops as I run my hand under my nose and see the smear of bright red on my skin.

I stand abruptly, drawing attention from everybody in the room. Then I run out, barely able to grab my bag before I launch myself into the bathroom.

When I see my reflection in the mirror, I see sunken, sad eyes dulled to a stormy blue-gray. The sink quickly fills with blood, reminding me why I’m there. I grab as many paper towels as I can and tip my head back to stop the bleeding.

A few minutes later, I hear a hesitant “Sawyer?” at the cracked door.

“Go away, Paxton.”

The door opens farther, his head poking in. “Are you alone in here?”

“This is the girls’ bathroom,” I point out.

He sighs, pauses, and then walks in to where I’m standing by the sink. “I should have figured it out sooner.”

Feeling lightheaded, I sink to the floor, not caring what may be on it. Paxton watches me lean back against the wall before joining me.

“The nosebleeds, when you passed out, the bruises…” He lets his words fade.

How could he have guessed? “I didn’t want you to,” I murmur, pinching my nose harder. “I wanted you to like me.”

“I still like you.”

From the corner of my eye, I see him studying me. His jaw ticks before he looks away and mimics my body language, leaning his head against the wall and staring up at the ceiling.

In another lifetime.

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