Page 27 of When Darkness Calls

“Yeah, yeah, sure. See you.” I give him a slight wave as he stands, grabbing his bag and walking away…leaving his burrito wrapper laying on the table.

Fucking prick. I roll my eyes. This is exactly what I mean. Before last year, Issac was the guy that would get annoyed when we didn’t stack up all the trash and dishes when we went out to eat in the city. And now he’s just leaving his garbage on the table when the trash can is literally five feet behind me.

Poor Liz. I really need to talk to her.

The wrapper sits on the table for the rest of the morning, watching me work on assignments and contemplating whether I would be a good friend or a terrible friend if I just called her and told her to break up with him because he’s a grade A asshole now. Just when I think he’s acting like himself, being nice and sitting with me when he could tell something was bothering me, he does this shit.

Every now and then my mind would wonder to the events at the fest, and the strange man in a ski mask. Then that cold feeling would travel up my spine and settle at the base of my neck, weighing my body and my mind. I want to know what that feeling means. Who’s there? What do they want? Why hasn’t it left me since Halloween?

Was it just PTSD? Probably, but that doesn’t change the fact I want to know. If seeing Dickhead Issac in full force today has told me anything it’s that I want to be myself again. I’m so tired of being a fucking robot and doing—acting— as what is expected.

I’m done. Everyone else better be ready to accept that. No more running. No more hiding. I miss not being afraid or at least enjoying the taste of fear on my tongue.

I pull out my phone, pulling up our texts, her goofy picture staring back at me. And that starts with this talk with Liz.

Well. She got the message. I think she read it. Frankly, I’m not 100% sure on how she feels because after she opened it, she didn’t reply right away. I sat waiting, staring at the read receipt for over an hour before she said we could talk about it later when she gives me a ride home and more after work because she was moving up girl’s night part two to tonight. So, on a scale of one to homicide, I’d give her reaction a four.

Morning seminar came and went in a blur of bullshit exercises to demonstrate techniques on time management and “making the best of this school year!” Aka, the school trying to get us to sign up for stupid ass clubs and Greek life. As much as that seems to be on brand for me, cults aren’t really my thing. One bad experience with a frat is all I need for the rest of my life, ya know.

Math was…math. Enough said.

The only redeeming part of the day is walking into the art building. The halls smell like that chalky paint we used to use in elementary school and something a lot sharper, pungent like turpentine or mixing medium. A serene quiet encompasses the vast hallways of the old building. On the outside, it gives off a very Victorian vibe with the tall windows and stone columns, but the inside is…cozy. The walls are painted a warm tannish color that looks close to orange in the late afternoon light. Lounging areas are filled with plush sofas and bookcases stuffed with books and magazines on art history and theory.

It feels like home away from home.

As I approach the door of the lecture hall a hand grips my shoulder. For the second time today, a shriek pushes past my lips, and I quickly turn toward the person attached to the random hand, only this time, instead of catching myself, my own hand shoots out straight for the person’s face. Palm facing up, the heel of my hand catches the stranger in the nose, eliciting a pained grunt and a slew of curses.

“Ow! What the hell?”

Ethan Cochrane stands there, hands to his face, with watery eyes, glaring at me.

“Yeah, what the hell? Ever heard of announcing yourself. Jesus Christ.” My hand grips my chest as my breathing returns to normal. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you.”

He just shakes his head, looking at his hands I guess to see if he’s bleeding.

“No, no. You’re right. I apologize. I thought you would have heard me coming up behind you.” He wipes at the tears on his lightly pink tinted cheeks, sniffing, before throwing me a small, embarrassed, apologetic smile. “Are you alright?”

I nodded. “I’m sorry, again. I’m…a bit jumpy today.”

“It’s alright, I’m sorry too. I was wanting to ask you if you had thought any about the portfolio?” Ethan looks at me, intrigued, but my gut sinks.

Shit.

Awkwardly, I sigh, rubbing at my collar bone, “No, actually. I haven’t yet. I have a few possibilities, but nothing really in stone just yet. It was a, uh…” I look around, before mumbling, “eventful weekend. I got a little sidetracked.”

Ethan shrugs, still smiling. “That’s alright. I just thought I would ask. You were pretty much the only person that seemed like they were genuinely interested in the project, and the few times we’ve ran into each other we haven’t talked about it, so I thought I would pick your brain. You seem like you could have a lot of potential.” His expression shifts imperceptibly. The friendliness he projected changing into something a little more serious, intense, before brightening again into his usual relaxed smile. “Potential for a lot of great things.”

“Oh, um, thank you, I guess.” My face heats beneath my shy smile. I look away but I can feel his gaze boring into me. The feeling makes my skin itch. I cough a little, turning back to the door. “Should we—” I nod for him to go first. He takes a step holding the door open.

“Ladies,” he bows his head, smirking at me. I shuffle past him quickly muttering a “thank you”, before finding an open seat by the aisle. A few minutes go by before Issac struts in, taking a seat beside me without a word.

Professor Logan begins today’s lecture on the fundamentals of digital photography, and I tune him out. Not because I’m uninterested but because Grayson gave me a very thorough run down on DSLRs about four years ago. The three-hour tutorial has been burned into my brain. I can never get those hours back sadly.

I just stare at the large screen behind the professor and think. It seems I have been doing a lot of that lately. I can see Issac out of the corner of my eye staring off into space, so I think of him, and how the version of him two years ago would love this class, and how Liz is probably feeling about later. The dread and nerves knowing exactly what I’m going to say.

I think of this class and how lucky I am to be a student under Professor Logan.

I think of what Ethan said about my potential. He kind of struck a chord.