Chapter One #2
I blinked away the thought and crouched, shoving my ruined clothes into my bag. Luckily, nothing important was inside, just stationery, nothing that couldn’t be wiped clean later.
Straightening, I faced the mirror.
For a second, I barely recognised myself.
The mud was gone. The leggings fit perfectly, slightly smooth now that they were on me.
The hoodie was warm; it swallowed me, but it was warm.
I looked… decent. As if nothing had happened.
Like I hadn’t just been dragged through the dirt in front of half the campus.
The illusion felt fragile, but I smoothed the hoodie down anyway, pulling in one last breath before unlocking the door and stepping back out.
The hallway was flooded with students rushing to either their classes or to see their friends.
Luckily, no one noticed me, which wasn’t surprising because no one ever noticed me unless I was being humiliated. Then maybe some would spare a glance, but apart from that, air would always be air.
But one person did catch my eye. A girl—no, not just a girl, but one from earlier. The middle one among the three, the one to drop everything and step in for me first. She was smiling at me while her eyes travelled up and down my frame as if she was glad to see that I had cleaned up.
My fingers curled tighter around the strap of my bag as I turned away from her.
I can’t ignore it anymore.
I couldn’t ignore that her hair looked exactly like the one I saw earlier, the one that disappeared around the corner. The one who gave me warmth by sparing her clothes.
And it wasn’t in front of anyone, not a big deal for everyone to see, not for attention. That somehow made it worse.
Earlier… I had misread her.
Misread them.
All they were doing was offering help.
It was so foreign, so alien, that instead of accepting it, I twisted it in my head, making it into something negative. Something I could protect myself from.
Guilt hit me like a truck as I forced myself to walk away. Away from that smile, that warmth that made my chest ache.
Not now, I can’t care about that right now. I have to remember why I did everything I did, why I was willing to humiliate myself in front of everyone, why I let him win…again.
To hand in my project on time, to keep my scholarship, and not to be hopeful about something that probably didn’t mean anything more than just… me being a charity case.
—
Am I late?
My mind raced. Our work was handed in alphabetically. Campbell, C. I was always one of the first. Yet here… everyone else had started.
Panic fluttered in my chest, my throat tightening, my hands gripping my folder like it was a lifeline.
“Kyle Bates?” the professor called.
Bates…? B.
A…
B…
C…
My chest loosened slightly. I wasn’t late. Not yet.
I stepped forward, clutching my folder tightly, letting a small, shaky breath escape. Relief and adrenaline tangled in my chest, just enough to make my hands tremble.
I made it. Oh God, I really made it, I thought as I reached my seat. I allowed my shoulders to relax and my breathing to slow.
The folder felt lighter in my hands now, like the weight of the morning—of the mud, of rushing, of trying not to break—was finally settling somewhere behind me.
“Aurora Campbell.”
My name was called, and I shot out of my seat, gripping the folder tight to my chest as if it were my lifeline. Each step to the desk echoed louder than it should have, but I forced myself to keep going.
I placed the folder down carefully, almost reverently. Professor Smith took it with steady hands, stacking it neatly on top of the others. “Thank you. I’ll look forward to reading your research, Miss Campbell.” Her voice carried no judgement, only warmth.
I nodded once, too fast, and turned back to my seat. Relief loosened my chest as I sat down, and for the first time all morning, I didn’t feel like I was fighting to breathe.
Professor Smith was one of the best—if not the best—I’d ever had. She didn’t just teach, she saw. She noticed. She made psychology feel less like another battle I was destined to lose and more like something I could actually belong in.
After taking in the last folder, Professor Smith straightened and clapped her hands together, the sound sharp enough to grab everyone’s attention. She smiled, sliding her hands into her pockets as she leaned casually against the edge of her desk.
“This term, I want you all to work with people around you, outside this classroom and course.”
A chorus of groans rose up immediately. I didn’t make a sound, but inside, I was groaning too. My stomach sank. I already had a hard time communicating with classmates I saw every day… how was I supposed to work with strangers?
“Quiet down,” Professor Smith said, her voice firm but not unkind. The room fell silent. She pushed off the desk and began pacing slowly.
“There are twenty-six of you in here, so I’ve split this project into four separate sections. This will require you all to engage with people outside your comfort zone.” Meaning, this classroom.
My throat tightened. Perfect. Just perfect. Talking to strangers, opening my mouth where it always felt like the words got stuck halfway… this wasn’t a project. This was a nightmare.
“Seven of you will be in Social Psychology. Researching group dynamics, leadership, and teamwork.” Professor Smith glanced up from her notes.
“Seven will be doing Health Psychology. Stress management, coping strategies, and so on.” Oh. That one doesn’t sound too bad. Doable, maybe.
“Six will be doing Sports Psychology. You’ll look into how athletes perform, teamwork, leadership, and how they cope with stress or being under pressure. This requires shadowing the captain for the duration of the project.”
A ripple of excitement buzzed through a couple of students at that one. Not me. Just thinking about interviewing athletes made my skin crawl.
“And lastly, six will be doing Educational Psychology. You’ll be focusing on students’ motivation, learning styles, and classroom behaviours.”
She paused, scanning the room, letting the weight of the assignment sink in.
“And I will pick who gets what,” Professor Smith finished, her smile calm but unreadable. “Check your emails tonight, everyone.”
A low murmur rippled through the room; some students groaned, others were already whispering about the options. I stayed quiet, my stomach sinking.
Tonight. Which meant I’d be stuck thinking about it the entire day, wondering which group I’d fall into. Wondering who I’d be forced to work with.
Please, not Sports.
Chapter Two
Joshua
I’d learnt from people around me that I didn’t belong.
But where did I not belong?
I’d never tried to shove myself into other people’s orbit; I didn’t care enough to, so where the fuck did that ‘don’t belong’ come from? I’d always minded my own business, almost always. Correction.
But just because I shoved myself into hers doesn’t mean I care.
I don’t.
I just enjoyed watching her squirm beneath me. I liked the way she looked at me, as if no one in the world existed but me, as if she couldn’t have stronger feelings for anyone else but me.
Hatred, disgust, and maybe fear. I’d take whatever I could get if it meant I stayed in her eyeline, her mind, and even her nightmares. She couldn’t remove me from her life even if she tried. I lived there now and had been since our eyes met.
August 19th last year.
I pushed the entrance door open, walking out with Alex beside me. A person whom I actually consider a close friend, not that I have friends, only acquaintances. I don’t consider people I haven’t known for at least years my friends.
Alex, I’ve known since we were twelve. We met at the cemetery and, for some reason, stuck together. I guess it was the random trauma bonding we did; we even introduced our moms, but their graves were next to each other, so I’m sure they were friends.
Eight years went by, and nothing between us changed, which was good. I hate change, and so does he.
We headed towards my car, our usual spot for lunch, but I froze in my tracks, seeing a familiar frame, an unfamiliar outfit walking out from the other building entrance.
Her head was down, reading her stupid book as her hair fell in front of her face. Though she wasn’t in the same outfit from this morning, I didn’t need her face to know it was her.
After 143 days of watching, memorising her frame, her light brown, pin-straight hair cascading to her waist, and that little quirk of tapping her books whenever she read a word, I knew.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I started heading in her direction with Alex, lazily following behind.
And as if she felt the air shift, she stopped walking, shoulders stiff, and lifted her head, brown eyes locking with mine. I watched, memorising every flicker, her eyelashes fluttering, pupils dilating.
Her gaze lowered to my hoodie, anywhere but my eyes, really. Too obvious, too predictable.
“Did you hand in your project on time?” My voice came laced with more curiosity than I allowed.
She looked up, lips parted, and that was it. I felt it. My chest tightened as if someone had shoved a fist into it, a rare kind of anticipation that made my teeth ache. It felt like I was about to be handed something grand. Something I’d been patiently waiting for.
And I don’t have patience.
I watched closely as her breath hitched and all she did, all she ever fucking did. Nod. Once. Didn’t try to utter a single word, not one.
I scoffed, shaking my head before striding away from the disappointment.
Was it my body language? Face? Tone? What the fuck did I do to make her swallow the only thing I wanted back down?
My hand found the door handle of my car, and for the last time, I turned.
Gone.
She wasn’t there anymore, but I didn’t bother to search for her. I slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, harder than I intended, but I didn’t care.