2. Every face wears a mask
Every face wears a mask
Returning to Willow Hill is like stepping into your old fort, comforting yet filled with so many secrets. The walls hum with history no one dares speak aloud. Mine included.
“I can do it,” I speak the words into the air, hoping that makes it feel true. My hands are shaking when I pull on my sports bra. It’s almost two in the morning, which means the campus is asleep. No one should be out, and if they are, they are nowhere near where I’m going.
The stairs creak beneath my weight as I slip down them.
When I hit the main floor, I step into the warm late August air, following the path away from the center of campus toward the farthest edge, where the forest presses up against the cliffs.
Low ground lights illuminate the stone pathway as I walk; moonlight casting shadows across campus.
A soft breeze teases the loose strands of my hair as I continue forward.
A sign sits ahead, making me pause for just a second. Drop off. Proceed with caution. I walk right past it, keeping my head high.
My shoes meet uneven ground. I swallow hard. “Fucking do it, Lyra.”
With a deep breath, I take off straight ahead, lungs burning as I pick up speed and let the adrenaline shove the fear back where it belongs.
My knee twinges when I hit a rut, but I don’t slow down.
I weave around brush and low branches, keeping the cliffside in my peripheral vision as the ocean grows louder with every step.
I fight the urge to close my eyes, turn around, and run away from here.
The earthy smell gives way to salt, then the sea breeze washes over me.
I run.
I run from the nightmares. I run to try and overcome them. I run from the clawing panic. There are only yards now. The drop-off is right there. Mud and grass transition to rock.
Ten feet.
I keep going.
Five feet.
I stop just short of the edge, skidding hard enough that my shoes lose traction.
My heart is a violent beat in my chest as I bend over, hands on my thighs, sucking in much-needed air.
As I stare down the embankment, watching pebbles and dirt slide down and crash into the ocean below, I think maybe I really am broken.
It’s why I’m standing here, staring down at what could be my death.
Fighting the panic that claws up my throat whenever I think about going back through the forest.
“The sign isn’t decoration.” The voice is calm, male, and close enough that my skin goes tight.
I snap upright so fast my balance wobbles, and for one horrifying second, I think I’m going over.
I right myself, pressing a hand to my chest as if I could physically stop my heart from popping right the fuck out.
“My god…” I pant, looking around, trying to figure out where the voice came from.
My voice carries through the night. “Who’s there? ”
Silence.
I take a few careful steps forward. There’s a chuckle from somewhere. Right? Left? Who the fuck knows. I scan the tree line but can’t see anything but black trunks and shadowed branches. Why didn’t I bring the pepper spray James got me?
“I know you’re there! Come out,” I call out.
“I’m out,” he answers.
I try to focus but come up empty. “No. You’re hiding.”
“I’m watching,” he corrects.
I shift on my feet, glancing around. “That’s not any better.” If anything, it’s worse. So much worse.
“I didn’t say it was.”
I take another step away from the cliff, making sure I have space to run if I need to. “What do you want?”
“I want to know why you just ran at a cliff in the middle of the night. That wasn’t a casual jog.”
“It was a run,” I shoot back. “People do that.”
“People run on lit paths during daylight hours. Usually not at two in the morning.”
“Maybe I like the scenery.”
A low chuckle slips out of the dark, sending unpleasant chills down my arms. A figure steps forward, dressed in head-to-toe black, a hood pulled up covering his eyes.
My gut is screaming at me to run, yet I can’t seem to get my legs to move.
“You’re lying. The most you can see is darkness, even now; I bet you can’t see the bottom of the cliff. ”
Well…he isn’t wrong, and it frustrates me.
I swallow, straightening my shoulders. “And why do you care?”
“I was curious about you.”
I let out a breath that’s half laugh, half disbelief. “Ever heard the saying ‘curiosity killed the cat’?”
“But cats eat mice.”
My mouth twists. “And what am I? The mouse? You’re the cat, and we all die.”
“Tragic. But I was following you, so it would make sense.” A tingle shoots up my spine, down my arms to the tips of my toes. An involuntary reaction I don’t quite understand. No, I do understand it. It’s saying, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’
I rub my forehead. “What the fuck is going on?” I mutter, more to myself than him. “Maybe I’m on drugs.”
His voice shifts from conversational to clinical. “So why run straight at a cliff? Were you planning on killing yourself?”
“What? No,” I balk, then realize how ridiculous I sound. “I…I couldn’t sleep.”
“Clearly.”
I wet my lips. “You said you followed me. Why?”
There’s a pause. I wait for him to come closer, but to my surprise, he stays where he is, about twenty feet away. “To see why you were running.”
That doesn’t answer why he was out here in the first place. But who am I to speak? I’m here running through the forest. Maybe he couldn’t sleep like me, or maybe he has terrible nightmares resurfacing.
“If you’re going to murder me, at least commit to it. This lurking thing is weird,” I say, but the joke falls flat.
He tilts his head slowly. “Yet you’re still standing here.” The smile in his voice only makes this worse.
Yeah, Lyra, why are you still here? “I’m leaving,” I state, raising my chin.
“You should,” he agrees, all the while shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. “The worst people lurk in the dark.”
“And you’re out here. So, what does that make you?”
Another quiet laugh. “Smart enough not to answer that.”
I take a step away from him, angling my body toward the way I came through. “Don’t follow me.”
“You’re not going to ask who I am?”
“No. Because you’ll lie.” Whatever reason he’s out here isn’t something I want any part of. With that, I turn and run back to my dorm, not even focusing on the forest around me.
It isn’t until I’m climbing back into my bed an hour later that I really take in what happened.
The weird conversation with the dark stranger.
Why was he out there? How bizarre it was.
Even so, I found myself staying and talking to him, despite the misdirection and coded words woven throughout our whole exchange.
I have no idea who he is, and he doesn’t know me, yet I want to figure it out.
As I walk to my first class, I take it all in, feeling a weird sense of sadness, knowing this is my last first day.
I walk past open windows, music carried by the wind, and conversations between friends.
It takes me twenty minutes to walk from the coffee shop to my English lecture.
By the time I open the large wooden door, I’m damn near huffing.
I glance around the lecture hall. Long rows with only a few students seated take up most of the large room. Walking up the steps, I pick a seat near the middle and get out my notebook, computer, and pen. As more students arrive, my nervousness fades, and in its place is a sense of rightness.
I’m glad to be back.
Last year, I worked hard to rebuild myself into someone stronger, which is why I finally felt ready to return. As long as I don’t run into any more creepy stalkers in forests, I think I’ll be okay.
A bang jostles the table, making me jump. The guy from the dining hall, the giant, has taken up residence in the open chair next to me. He doesn’t notice my stare, too busy digging around in his backpack. I wait, confused yet slightly amused.
“Um, hi…”
He pulls out his own computer and gives me an inviting smile. “Hi, I didn’t know if you remember me from the lunchroom—the giant, as you called me.”
I can’t help but smile back and take him in.
When we bumped into each other, I was too worried about falling on my ass to really get a good look.
His olive complexion contrasts with the brilliant blue of his eyes and the chocolate brown of his hair.
“Considering it was only a few days ago, yes, I remember you. I’m Lyra. ”
“Callan.” He extends his hand to me, which I shake.
“I don’t remember you from last year.” With a campus like Willow Hill, it feels like everyone knows everyone, even if it’s not personal.
“I was studying abroad.”
“No shit. That’s cool.”
I let out a small laugh, thinking back on my time away. “It was something,” I say. “What about you?”
“Transferred at the beginning of last year. Needed a change of scenery.”
“Yeah. I can understand that.”
He glances to the front as a few more people come through. I log in to my computer and open my Notes app. “Hey, Oliver!” Callan shouts, startling me once again.
I look up as he waves toward the front. Wow is my first thought when I notice him—Oliver. He glances up at us, and even from several rows away, his attention snags on me like fabric on a nail. My mouth goes dry, and I take a sip of my coffee to busy my hands.
Oliver is, by anyone’s standards, beautiful.
Blond hair disheveled on top, shorter on the sides, draping slightly over his forehead.
Tall and lean, from what I can tell from here.
But it isn’t only him that steals my breath.
It’s the person who follows that has me tensing ever so slightly and nearly choking on my sip of coffee.
Callan looks over at me, furrowing his brows. “Wrong pipe.” I cough, waving my hand in front of me.
Jade Hamilton struts in with her hand on Oliver’s bicep. He doesn’t seem to notice the touch; if anything, his attention is directed solely on me. Blaine follows behind her. I keep my expression neutral, giving nothing away, but inside my heart aches just slightly at seeing him.
Blaine comes to a halt, causing Molly, Blaine’s childhood best friend, to collide into his back. “Hello, Earth to Blaine,” Molly says, but Blaine pays her no mind, too busy staring at me, all the color draining from his face.
“Lyra,” he whispers, but it’s as if he screams it by how clearly I can make it out, even with all the ongoing chatter.
By now, the class has filled up, and as they stand in the aisle making others walk around, I get the sudden urge to hide under my desk.
I knew I’d have to see them eventually, but my first class was not on the bingo card.
My stomach does this twisting rotation as my mind tries flashing back to that night.
“What did you just say? Did you…” Molly glances where Blaine is looking, and her eyes go wide.
Callan whips his head between them and me, bewildered. I find myself studying Oliver once again. There’s nothing to read on his face, no hint of what he’s thinking.
“Hi, Blaine…” I murmur.
Jade’s laugh drips with fake niceness. “Well, look who finally came back. We didn’t think you ever would.”
I look at her without wavering. Her chocolate-brown hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, showcasing her sharp, angular features. Just like that, I’m transported back to watching that cruel smile split across her face as she drove off.
“I don’t let twisted people push me out.” I mentally pat myself on the back for the comment.
Her eyes flash, but before she can speak, Blaine takes a step toward me.
The shock on his face has morphed into a mixture of anger and sadness.
Both emotions I put there. I left him without an explanation.
At the time, it was what I had to do for myself, but that doesn’t negate the fact that I hurt him.
It’s clear by the set of his shoulders and the death grip he has on his backpack.
“Lyra, what are you—”
“Blaine,” I whisper, cutting him off. “Not now,” I plead. Silence hangs between us, thick with tension.
Molly breaks in, tugging Blaine by the arm. “Forget about her.” Blaine hovers a few more seconds, wanting to say more, but I shake my head. It’s not the time, and he knows that. He finally lets Molly pull him up the steps.
Jade hooks her arm tighter through Oliver’s, but he shrugs her off without sparing her a single glance. “Oliver, aren’t you sitting with us?”
He turns in our direction, choosing the seat beside Callan. “I’ll catch you guys later.”
His voice is deeper than I expected. Smoother and…wait, hold the fuck up. That voice…it can’t be, can it?
Jade furrows her brows before recovering. “Welcome back, Lyra.” As she walks away, she trails a manicured nail over Oliver's arm.
I exhale and slump back in my seat.
“So…” Callan says, breaking the awkward silence that is rather suffocating. “Oliver, this is Lyra. Lyra, this is my best friend, Oliver.” He does a wave motion between us.
“Hello, Lyra,” Oliver smirks, and I damn near fall out of my chair.
It’s disarming and utterly different from his eyes, which remain cold and vacant.
His nose hoop catches the lights. I never knew I had a thing for that until this exact moment.
Up close, the details are sharper. The way lean muscle flexes and ripples in his arm, the dimple in his left cheek.
I need to get a grip. Did you not just see who he walked in with?
I give him a weak smile. I only heard the dark shadow’s voice once, but even so. “So Jade is…?” I trail off.
He shrugs, attention never wavering. “Not my girlfriend.”
“They’re a piece of work.” Callan huffs. “My sister recently started talking to Jade. I’m trying to pull her away before they corrupt her.”
“Good idea.” Because that is exactly what will happen. “So, friends of yours then?” I ask Oliver. The intensity of his attention makes it hard to think.
“I don’t have friends.”
“Dick.” Callan shoves his shoulder, breaking eye contact.
I must not have blinked once, because the second I look away, my eyes sting and start to water. Damn it. I blink quickly.
“Ollie and I are best friends.”
“Best friends is a bold claim,” Oliver says, voice only slightly amused. “And how many times have I told you not to call me Ollie unless—”
“Yeah, yeah, unless I want my balls chopped off and used as wind chimes or some other insane shit you come up with.” Callan waves him off.
I just stare at them.
“You and Blaine have history?” Callan asks me.
I clear my throat from the topic change. “You could say that.”
Just then, the professor’s voice cuts through our conversation, saving me from any more on that particular subject.
Oliver’s stare lingers as I open my notebook and stays there for most of class.
It’s unnerving yet not entirely uncomfortable.
And still, I can’t be one hundred percent sure if his voice is the same or if I’m just reaching.