Chapter 27 #2
“I want to see if he contacts me again first,” I said.
The doctor did not look pleased, but she did not push. Instead, she referred me to the campus psychiatrist, who had an opening that afternoon because, as the receptionist said with disturbing cheer, someone had cancelled.
Sophia called that great luck.
* * *
The psychiatrist’s office was warmer than the doctor’s exam room, with bookshelves, a lamp, two chairs, and a window overlooking the wet courtyard. He was older, with silver hair and round glasses, and spoke in a voice that made everything sound less urgent than it felt.
He asked many of the same questions. I gave many of the same answers.
This time, however, my body was more tired.
The repetition wore down the edges of my control.
When he asked what happened when the call came, I described the way my hands went numb, the way the room seemed to move away from me, the way I locked the door twice and checked the window even though no one could climb three stories in the rain.
I did not tell him I had texted Vincent. I did not tell him that safety had a voice in my phone and that I hated how much I wanted to answer it.
At the end, he prescribed a small amount of benzodiazepines for acute panic episodes and told me to use it only as directed. He also recommended follow-up counselling, campus safety documentation, and not isolating myself.
That last part made Sophia nod so emphatically I wanted to kick her ankle.
When we left the health centre, the rain had stopped for the first time in days.
The sky remained grey, but the clouds had thinned enough for light to spread across the wet stone paths.
Bellamont looked almost gentle in that light, which felt dishonest. The buildings still held all the same secrets.
The cliffs still waited. Westgrave still stood in the distance with Professor Moreau’s office windows dark against the stone.
Sophia slipped the pharmacy bag into my hand. “Keep it with you.”
“I know.”
“And tell us if you take one.”
“Sophia.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are.”
She stopped walking. I stopped too. Students passed around us with backpacks and coffees, their voices rising and fading through the damp afternoon. Sophia looked at me with an expression so careful it frightened me more than Daniel’s call had.
“What?”
“Did Professor Moreau know your father contacted you before you told him?”
My fingers tightened around the pharmacy bag. “No.”
The answer was too fast. Sophia heard it. I looked away toward the courtyard.
“Céline.”
“I asked him if he gave Daniel my number.”
Sophia went completely still. “What did he say?”
“He said no.”
“And do you believe him?”
I looked toward Westgrave again. The answer should have been simple.
No, because Vincent Moreau had blackmailed me with Katherine’s proposal.
No, because he had broken into Thad’s apartment.
No, because he had already proven that my boundaries were more like suggestions he enjoyed stepping over beautifully.
But that was not the whole truth. The awful truth was that I did believe he would lie to me.
I also believed he would protect me. Those things should not have fit inside the same man. With Vincent, they did.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Sophia’s face softened with something close to grief. “I hate that answer.”
We walked back in silence.
At the dorm, Anya opened the door before Sophia could unlock it. “How was the medical industrial complex?”
“Deeply beige,” I said.
“Emotionally or aesthetically?”
“Both.”
Miss Astoria appeared behind her and immediately screamed at me as if I had abandoned her for several months instead of three hours. I crouched and picked her up.
“You are so exhausting.”
She climbed onto my shoulder and dug her claws in just enough to remind me that love was often painful and inconvenient.
Anya looked at the pharmacy bag in my hand and gave me a small smile I appreciated.
Sophia took off her coat and hung it by the door. “She has something for panic attacks if it gets bad. We’re going to keep things calm.”
Anya nodded solemnly. “I can be calm.”
“No, you can’t,” Sophia and I said at the same time.
Anya placed one hand over her chest. “This is bullying.”
For a few hours, the apartment became almost normal.
Anya ordered soup because she said fear required sodium.
Sophia made tea that none of us drank. Miss Astoria slept in my lap while I pretended to read through Katherine’s proposal and understood almost none of it because my brain kept looping back to Daniel’s voice.
Fancy name. Fancy people. Would be a shame.
By evening, my phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
I froze. The soup spoon slipped slightly in my hand and struck the bowl with a small ceramic sound.
Sophia looked up immediately. Anya’s expression changed into fury.
The phone rang once. Twice. Sophia reached for it, but I picked it up first. I did not answer.
I only watched the screen until the call ended. Then a message appeared.
Unknown: Don’t ignore me, sweetheart.
My stomach turned so violently I thought I might be sick. Anya whispered something under her breath in Malayalam that sounded like a curse. Sophia held out her hand.
“Give me the phone.”
This time I did. She took screenshots. Saved the number. Sent them to herself and Anya. Then she looked at me. “We are reporting this.”
“Not yet.”
“Céline.”
“I said not yet.”
My voice came out sharper than intended, but the room had started shrinking again.
The walls were too close. The air was too warm.
Miss Astoria’s fur was too soft under my hand.
My heartbeat moved up into my throat, fast and irregular, as if my body had mistaken a text message for a hand around my neck.
Sophia saw it. Her anger vanished.
“Breathe, Céline .”
“I am breathing.”
“No, you’re arguing. Just breathe.”
Anya moved the soup away from me gently.
“I’m fine,” I said. My voice broke on the last word. The humiliation of that was immediate and total.
Sophia crouched in front of me. “Do you want the medication?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
The room tilted slightly. I hated my body. I hated how quickly it betrayed me, how Daniel could reach through a phone and turn me into a child with locked doors and silent footsteps.
“I don’t want to feel like this,” I whispered.
Sophia’s face softened.
“I know.”
I took the pill because the psychiatrist had told me to take it if the panic became unmanageable, and because, for once, I did not trust myself to outthink my own body.
Sophia brought water. Anya sat beside me without making jokes.
Miss Astoria remained in my lap, purring with the solemn dedication of a creature who believed vibration could solve most human problems.
For twenty minutes, nothing changed. Then slowly, the panic loosened. The room returned to its proper size. My heartbeat stopped, trying to escape through my throat. My hands still shook, but less violently now. I could breathe without thinking about each breath like a task I might fail.
Sophia took the bottle from the pharmacy bag and handed it back to me after checking the label.
“Keep it somewhere safe.”
I took it. The small bottle felt heavier than it should have.
“I will.”
* * *
Later, after Sophia and Anya finally left me alone because hovering had become too obvious, I sat on my bed with Miss Astoria curled beside me and emptied my bag.
Wallet. Keys. Lipstick. Notebook. The prescription bottle. I looked at it briefly. Then I placed it carefully into the inner pocket of my bag and zipped it closed.
My phone buzzed once more before midnight. This time it was Vincent.
Vincent: Has he contacted you again?
I stared at the screen. I should not answer. Still, my fingers moved.
Céline: Yes.
His reply came immediately.
Vincent: Come to me.
I closed my eyes. There it was again. The door. The cage. The answer. I typed back slowly.
Céline: No.
For once, he did not answer right away. When he did, the message was short.
Vincent: You will; I’ll wait for you.
I turned the phone facedown, but the words stayed with me long after the screen went dark.