Page 14 of The Wrong Play

Some versions were lonely, but freeing. Some were overwhelming, filled with new people and new experiences. Some were even terrifying, but exciting, like stepping onto a stage without knowing my lines.

None of them looked like this.

I stared at my laptop screen, my vision blurring as I tried for the third time to reread the same paragraph. My body ached, my chest tight, and my limbs felt heavy, like I was wading through molasses. I was exhausted in a way that went beyond a bad night’s sleep. The kind of exhaustion that settled into my bones and refused to leave.

My first month at Tennessee had been a disaster.

I had gotten sick within the first two weeks and hadn’t really recovered.

I had barely started the semester before my body betrayed me. A flare-up had knocked me out for almost a month, leaving me stuck in my dorm, barely able to move, let alone attend class. By the time I had dragged myself out of my room, I was already drowning in overdue assignments, missed lectures, and the overwhelming sense that I was falling behind. The professorswere understanding—for a while. But sympathy only stretched so far in college.

Now, I was barely holding onto passing marks. Academic probation loomed like a threat I couldn’t afford to acknowledge.

The campus was huge, filled with students who all seemed to already know what they were doing, where they were going…who they were supposed to be. I, on the other hand, spent most of my time lost—both literally and figuratively. I was always five minutes late to everything, trying to figure out how to navigate the endless maze of lecture halls and offices. My body was struggling to keep up, and it showed in everything I tried to do.

And then there was my roommate.

Emma was…odd.

Not in an endearing, quirky way, but in a deep, unsettling way that made me wonder how she functioned in society.

And that was coming from me—possibly the second most awkward person in the world.

Because Emma had clearly taken the first spot.

She spoke in whispers, even when we were alone in the room, and had a habit of staring at me while I was sleeping. I knew this because I’d woken up twice to find her sitting at her desk, completely still…watching me.

The first time, I’d thought I had imagined it. After the second time, I started locking the bathroom door while I showered and sleeping with one eye open.

She seemed to only leave the room to attend her classes.

Which meant that I never had a moment alone. I didn’t have any friends yet, and I wasn’t close enough to anyone to go hang out in their dorm. That meant when I wasn’t working my two campus jobs, I spent most of my time holed up in the library or pretending to study at the campus cafe just to get away from the constant feeling of being watched.

I had considered requesting a room change, but what was the point? I could end up with someone worse.

Possibly.

Well, probably not.

I was pretty sure that Emma may have said, “Sometimes, I wonder what you’d look like if all the light went out of your eyes,” the other night…but she’d said it so softly…and so cheerfully, that I couldn’t be sure.

But really, what excuse would I give? Hey, my roommate is a little too ghost-like for my taste, can I please have someone who blinks?

I sighed, rubbing my hands over my face.

Despite everything, though, despite the loneliness, the exhaustion, and the looming threat of failing, there was one thing that made it all worth it—I was free. Free from him. Free from the whispers in my ear, the suffocating grip he had on my life, the constant reminder that I was never enough. The weight of Callum had been lifted, and even though I was struggling, even though every day I felt like another battle, at least it wasmybattle. At least I was finally fighting for myself.

The library was half full, the hum of hushed voices and the soft scratch of pens against paper filling the space. I had taken my usual seat at the far end, where the overhead light wasn’t too harsh, and I could spread out my notes without anyone getting in my space.

I had been staring at the same sentence in my textbook for five minutes when someone sat down across from me.

“Do you always look this miserable, or am I just catching you at a bad time?”

I glanced up, blinking at the girl now sitting across from me. She seemed vaguely familiar, her dark curls piled on top of her head, gold hoop earrings glinting under the soft glow of the lamp.

I searched my brain for her name. “Yeah…”

She grinned. “Tasha. We have English together,” she supplied helpfully.

---