7. Phoebe
Chapter seven
Phoebe
T he hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end again. I’ve had the creepy sensation that someone is watching me since I arrived on campus this morning, but every time I turn around and scan my surroundings, I don’t spot anything out of the ordinary, or anyone spying on me. Everyday life is transpiring around me, with students sitting out on the grassy quad in mixed groups studying, others hurrying to classes with exhausted expressions, and others just milling around and chatting. Get it together, Phoebe, before you give yourself a heart attack, I admonish myself, as I walk toward the campus coffee shop, my shoulders so tense they ache. I pay for my coffee and move over to the condiments section, while discreetly listening to the two girls at the table next to me, go on and on about their love lives, and how they think their boyfriends are cheating on them, with girls in their sorority that are supposed to be their friends. Ugh, I’m so glad I don’t have those kinds of problems on top of everything else I’m already dealing with. I’m so invested in eavesdropping on the ir conversation that I don’t realize someone has come up beside me, and is just standing there silently for a moment. Jesus, so much for being aware of my surroundings. Great job, Phoebe!
“Hey, pretty lady, are you done with classes for the day?” I look up from pouring sugar into my takeaway coffee cup, and meet the deep brown eyes of Dwayne from my language class. Dammit! I try to contain the groan that seeing him always brings. It’s not that he’s a bad guy, in fact, he seems kinda sweet, but he’s very persistent, and something about him just gives me a vibe that I can’t explain. I’ve turned down his date invitations numerous times, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint, much to my dismay. “Almost, one more to go for the day,” I reply, not wanting to come off as rude. You never know how a guy is going to take rejection. I quickly replace the plastic lid on my cup, and prepare to make a hasty retreat. “Why don’t we grab an early dinner after you’re done tonight? Maybe we could exchange thoughts on the paper Professor Smythe asked us to write?” His attractive face is filled with optimism, a perky dimple popping on his cheek, and I take the time to check out his long, lean frame. He’s tall, and built like a sexy swimmer, with dark chocolate, short-cropped hair, and a perfect smile filled with straight white teeth. I like the jean jacket over a flannel look he’s rocking, with a pair of distressed dark jeans, and black hightop Converse on his feet. For a second, I can’t really remember why I keep turning him down. Maybe if I agree just once and it doesn’t go well, he’ll finally leave me alone. Perhaps he’ll realize, after spending an hour with me, that I’m not worth his time and effort, and I won’t have to keep dodging him.
I self-consciously tighten my fingers around the strap of my backpack, allowing its heavy weight to comfort and reassure me. One date won’t be that bad, and it might even be fun. What’s the worst that could happen? He realizes I’m not all that and finally leaves me alone. Wasn ’t I just chastising myself that I have no friends, and don’t do anything except go to school, and work? I take a deep breath, trying to reassure myself that everything will be alright if I just let loose a little bit, and actually enjoy my college experience, instead of spending every waking moment panicking and hiding. “Okay, how about French Fry Eddies over on fourth? I’ll meet you there at six, after I’m done with classes?” The shocked look on his face tells me he was fully prepared for me to turn him down once again, and it makes me feel bad.
“Seriously? Umm, yeah, absolutely. I could come get you from your place, or campus, if you want?” Unease immediately rises within me, and I know he doesn’t mean to be off-putting, but it’s giving me clinger and happy puppy vibes already. I almost take back my acceptance of his dinner invite, and end up biting down on my bottom lip to stop the words from leaving my lips, which then has him focusing his sight on my mouth. I don’t want anyone to know where I live, and I refuse to get in a car with anyone, especially someone I don’t know well. I need to be able to run at a moment’s notice if my family finds me, so I can’t take the chance. “No... that’s okay. I would rather drive my own car. I’ll... meet you there.” I give him a ‘take it or leave it’ look, and honestly, a huge part of me hopes he leaves it.
That creepy sensation washes over me again, and I quickly dart a glance from below my lashes around the coffee shop at the patrons. Nothing. No one is even looking in our direction. “Trust your intuition. It’s rarely wrong,” a deep voice from my past whispers in my mind. Shit, I have to figure out who’s watching me, and if I’m in danger. Who the hell am I kidding? I am always in danger. From the first moment I drew breath at my birth, as my father’s only daughter, I’ve been plagued with people wanting to harm, or use, me for their nefarious reasons. I push all those thoughts to the back of my mind. I don’ t have time for a pity party right now. “I’ve gotta go to class, but I’ll see you later, okay?”
I don’t bother to wait for his reply, taking my coffee and moving around him toward the door without a backward glance. I start a fast-paced walk toward the sciences building for my last class of the day, biological science. The sunshine glares down on me, warming my exposed arms, and the clean grass-scented air brings me happiness. The sensation I was feeling begins to abate, as I climb the stairs to the gothic looking stone building, but it never completely leaves me. As I enter the brightly lit lecture hall, and find a seat at the back of the room closest to the exit door, I search through the pockets of my bag, reassuring myself that my can of mace and small blade are still there, ready to use to defend myself if needed. I debate placing the blade in the side pocket of my pants, but decide that might be overkill, and I don’t want anyone to catch me with a weapon. There’s a sure way to get myself expelled from school, and on the news.
My classmates begin to enter the room and take their seats, and the middle-aged professor walks to the lecture podium to begin the class. I finally relax into my seat, sipping my coffee as I prepare to take notes. The rich, creamy taste of vanilla and hazelnut help to soothe some of my frayed nerves. It was all in my head, I’m becoming a nut, I smirk to myself. As the professor starts to discuss the use of one of his techniques, the door to the classroom opens and closes quietly, and a large male in a dark slate hoodie, dark jeans, a black baseball cap pulled low, and carrying a black backpack, makes his way into the row opposite mine, hunkering down in his seat. There’s nothing about him that should trigger the reaction I’m currently feeling. He hasn’t even glanced in my direction, but my heart is ready to burst from my chest. My hands get all clammy on the keyboard of my laptop, and the professor’s baritone voice becomes background noise to the ringing in my ears. I struggle to take a deep breath, my chest feeling tight and my vision blurring. I must make a sound, because the girl sitting next to me lays her hand on my forearm, and the sensation almost has me jumping out of my seat with a scream. “Hey, you okay? You look really freaked out right now.”
Her voice, touch, and words, snap me out of my panic attack, and bring me back to myself. “Uh... yeah, sorry. I... I thought I saw... a mouse.” I try to come up with a valid excuse, for why I look like an unhinged psychopath about to have a meltdown right now. “Oh my God, gross. I would freak out too, girl,” she whispers, and goes back to taking her notes. I try to calm my racing heart, and not make it obvious I am staring at the guy in the hoodie, who’s got his own laptop out, and is facing the professor, and not even looking at me. After a few deep breaths and a large gulp of my coffee, I refocus on the lecture, and convince myself that I’m just imagining things. Maybe I should stop watching serial killer documentaries when I’m sad and lonely.
The rest of the class goes off without any meltdowns, and once I’m packed up, I look over, and the guy in the hoodie is already gone, but I notice a sheet of paper lying on the top of the built-in desk area where he was sitting. I glance around, checking to see if anyone is looking, and make my way over to the seat, staring down at the paper, to see if it’s his class notes he’s forgotten. What I witness has my heart in my throat, and my knees buckling, and it forces me to reach out and grab the back of the seat in front of me, to hold myself up. On the sheet, there’s a message directed at me, written in thick, black block letters.
No, this isn’t happening. I’ve been so careful. Has someone from my past found me, or is it some creep from the college? Should I pack up and run? I crumple the paper in my hand, stuff it inside of my bag, and tighten my hand around the blade. I will not allow anyone to take me back without a fight. I refuse to be a canary in a gilded cage.