Page 23

And it takes every ounce of my energy to let her be.

I go into my room, flop down on my bed, and stare at my ceiling, attempting not to let that night consume my thoughts. My mind is filled, though, with shadows looming in the corners at parties, of bitter drinks biting at my tongue, of my stomach lurching, of losing track of time…

All of this shattered the illusion of what I thought life was.

I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. Part doesn’t want to. If I weren’t so naïve to begin with, none of it may have happened.

“I need to get out of here.” I roll off my bed, strip my clothes off, and put on a pair of running leggings, a top, and hoodie. I put my shoes on, a beanie, and then pop my air pods in before heading out of the door.

It’s close to sunset so I’ll have to make this quick run, but if I run fast then maybe I can wear myself out enough that I’ll be able to go to sleep. That’s what running does for me—it calms my mind. It doesn’t hurt either that I’m good at it—always have been. My mom was a runner. She used to run half marathons for fun. I remember looking through photos of her at the races, crossing the finish line and looking so proud of herself. I was eight when I decided I wanted to do that. So I did. I ran for years. When I was in high school, I was on the cross country team and the track team. I won state for the 5k and the mile, and I was offered a scholarship my senior year. I had big plans and then that damn party ruined everything. I took a year off of school after I graduated, which meant no scholarship for me. For a while, I stopped running, but I started up again at the beginning of this last summer. I don’t have any goals yet but in the back of my mind I’m well aware that tryouts for track are in a few months. They have walk-on options if someone makes the cut. I could do it if I got myself back in shape. I haven’t started to try that yet. I run about four days a week, but they’re just runs. Training consists of much more than that.

I should. I was good at it. I loved running. Still do. But I’m afraid. Afraid of that connection to my past.

I crank up some music before I step outside. Then I take a deep breath and push the button on my watch as I take off. I’m not going for a record. I’m merely curious about what I can still do. I take off down one of the several sidewalk paths that crisscross through the quad area. Since fall is nipping in the air, the trees that cover the broad space of land that encompasses the campus are wilting from bright green to various hues of pinks, yellows, and oranges that currently match the glow of the sunset casting across the sky. It’s a pretty time to be outside running. A little chilly, but I’ve run in worse conditions.

When I arrive at the end of the sidewalk, I veer right and head for the park that’s located about a mile down the road. I arrive in just over six minutes, which isn’t too bad. I quicken my when the one the mile timer buzzes of my watch, veering down a paved path that loops around the lake that’s in the center of the part. Even though the air is breezy, sweat is beading across my skin as I speed up, my shoes pounding against the asphalt. I kind of zone out from reality, as I focus on quickening my speed, just a little test to see if I’ve still got it. My watch announces I’ve reached two miles. I don’t look at the time. I speed up, pushing harder and harder, winding around a few people here and there. I’m really hitting the zone as I approach the three mile marker. A guy is in my way up ahead so I scoot over to the right to pass by him. He has a hood pulled over his head and I can’t see his face, but I sense he speeds up a bit when I pass by him. It’s not completely unnormal for runners to do this, but it is a bit out of the norm for someone to match my pace and jog behind me. Even stranger, the guy is Converse sneakers, not running shoes.

I’m being paranoid, I mentally chant to myself.

There are people around—I don’t need to freak out.

But I can feel his presence right behind me—too close. It’s making my skin crawl.

I quicken my pace, hoping to lose him, but he speeds up too. What is this creep's deal? Or am I just being paranoid? With Ivy’s disappearance and finding out my sister is doing drugs again, the past has been an annoying present in my mind and could be causing some paranoia.

I run down the dirt road, tears streaming down my face. I can hear them calling my name, laughing, taunting me, threatening me because I spoke up…

I wish I never had…

I wish I’d let that night stay buried in the ground…

A hand slaps over my mouth⁠—

I crash into something solid with so much force I fall on my ass and one of my air pods falls out.

The guy running behind me quickly rushes up to me and draws the hood of his head. “Are you okay?” he asks. He looks around my age with dark hair and green eyes.

I lean away from him and glance to my right, realizing I ran into another person. It’s a bulky man who’s big enough that he didn’t fall from me crashing into him, but he definitely looks irritated.

“I’m fine,” I tell the guy that was running after me. I lean away from him, get to my feet, and dust off my hands, wincing from the pain. When I glance down at my palms, I realize they’re scraped up.

“Sorry,” I tell the bulky guy. “I didn’t see you there.”

He stares at me with skepticism. “Right. Sure you did.”

It does sound pretty stupid considering how big he is.

“Whatever. Just watch where you’re going.” He walks forward. “Damn runners thinking they own these paths.” He keeps mumbling nonsense as he stalks off.

I look down at my hands again. “Dammit.”

“You fell pretty hard,” the guy who was chasing after me says.

“Yeah, because you were invading my personal space,” I reply in a clipped tone.

He frowns then lifts up his hand.

I trip back. “What’re you doing?”