Chapter 2 #3
The hallway was a blur of closed doors and posters advertising tickets for Saturday’s playoff game. The scent of microwaved food wafted from the direction of the building’s student lounge, which sent me reeling into the wall as I fought to stay upright.
“Caleb?”
Nathan Brooks’ voice echoed in my ears, followed by the squeak of shoes on the polished floor. I couldn’t talk to him right now. Couldn’t talk to anyone. Because I wasn’t sure when “it” would happen, or how bad it would be this time.
Pushing away from the wall, I raced for the stairwell.
My backpack bounced against my spine as I stumbled down one flight, then another.
Then I hit the doors and burst into the afternoon sunlight.
Crisp air blasted me in the face as I hurried across the parking lot filled with commuter vehicles.
Head down, I wove between the rows and made it through the lot without seeing anyone.
My feet carried me to the football stadium on the edge of campus.
The bleachers were empty, and I collapsed on the metal bench and tugged at my tie so I could breathe. Then I curled my fingers around the edge of the chilly bench until my palms hurt. Slowly, the world righted itself. The nausea receded, and my heart rate returned to normal.
I’m okay. I’m not crazy.
It was the same mantra I’d been telling myself since August—since the night I decided to take a jog through the trails that ran through the forest behind campus. The weather had been too hot for running during the day, so I’d waited until the sun was setting.
And I’d ended up flat on my back in the middle of the woods with the night sky stretched above me. Nothing broken. No scratches or bumps on my head. But when I’d checked my phone, I’d lost four hours. Just…gone. That was bad enough. What came after was worse.
I pulled my phone from my back pocket and opened the internet.
Even as I scrolled through articles, I knew I wouldn’t find answers.
Just as there was no accounting for those four hours, there was no explanation for my sudden bouts of rage and all the symptoms that accompanied them.
Was it just anxiety? The stress of living with my parents?
Of course, Welch had to remind me that all the area businesses offering internships were staffed by his asshole corporate friends.
His little dig about “absenteeism” was code for something else.
I didn’t need a fucking translator, either. I was fluent in Welch’s language.
It doesn’t matter, kiddo, my grandmother’s voice said in my memory. You’re sharp as a tack. And one day, you’re going to stick somewhere and know you made it.
My throat burned as her wrinkled, lovely face joined her voice in my head.
Growing up, weekends at her house had been a refuge—and not just because they offered a respite from church.
She fed me all the delicious, processed crap my mother didn’t allow, let me stay up late watching movies my parents disapproved of, and sent me home with fifty-dollar bills hidden in my socks.
I had to make it. For Nana. For myself. Maybe for everyone who was different.
The sunlight waned, prompting me to lift my head from my phone’s screen.
Voices echoed from the direction of the path that led back to campus.
Practice would start soon. I couldn’t linger, but it was too early to go home.
Not unless I wanted to experience more “quality time” with my dad.
He monitored the debit card tied to my bank account, so grabbing food off-campus wasn’t an option.
Nothing like having a father who doubled as a parole officer.
But I was no stranger to killing time. Considering my near-miss with hurling on Welch’s floor, it was probably best to do it on an empty stomach anyway.
Tugging off my tie, I descended the bleachers and slipped into the shadows just as the trample of cleats and raised, enthusiastic voices signaled the arrival of my former teammates.
Masculine laughter peppered with trash-talk followed me as I made my way across the parking lot.
I tuned the noise out and picked up my pace.
No use listening to conversations that didn’t belong to me anymore.
No point wishing for something I couldn’t have.
Two hours later, the temperature was trying to decide if it wanted to stop flirting with fall and plunge straight into full-blown winter.
It was early for snow, but upstate New York never let that stand in the way of truly shitty weather.
I huddled against the cold as I wandered through Hale Valley’s quaint downtown, past coffee shops, bookstores, and boutiques that sold trinkets to tourists.
The sun had gone behind a cloud, and stray flurries whipped through the air.
“You need a coat, young man!” an old guy called out, bumping my shoulder as he passed me. My temper spiked, and I whirled on the sidewalk and snarled.
“How about you mind your own fucking business?”
The man’s good-natured smile fled. “S-Sorry,” he rasped, stumbling back a step. He turned and hurried away like his ass was on fire.
Blood roared in my ears. Heat seared me from the inside out. My skin felt too tight over my bones, which ached like I was about ninety instead of twenty-three. Knifing pain shot up my shins and down my arms—worse than anything I’d experienced playing football.
A bell jangled, and a woman stepped out of a bookstore with a bag over her arm and a coffee in her hand. As she fumbled with the door, I moved closer to the building.
And got a look at my reflection in the window.
The roaring in my ears grew louder. A sense of surreality descended over me as I gaped at my glowing eyes. It’s a trick of the light.
But it wasn’t. My irises were usually a bland, ordinary blue. Now they glittered like someone had flicked on a light bulb inside my skull. A loud gasp made me jerk my head to the side. I locked gazes with the woman, who stared at me with the same expression the old man had worn.
I didn’t think. Just turned and ran. Storefronts and alleyways whipped past. A few pedestrians leapt out of my path, but I didn’t stop.
I ran, my shoes thudding against the sidewalk until it turned to grass.
My lungs burned but I kept going. The light behind me faded, and the sound of my labored breaths replaced the traffic noises.
When my legs threatened to give out, I stumbled to a stop in a clearing surrounded by trees.
I doubled over and let my backpack hit the ground.
Hands braced on my knees, I gulped cold air.
The snow fell in earnest now, thick flakes blanketing the grass and clinging to my white oxford.
I blinked moisture from my eyes, which burned like I hadn’t slept in a week. What the fuck was happening to me?
I straightened. As I looked around, a fresh wave of panic rolled through me. A jogging trail stretched into the distance, the fine gravel winding through the forest before disappearing around a stand of shrubs. Hale Valley Christian College’s private forest. I’d avoided the place since August.
Well, tried to. No matter how much I attempted to stay away, it was like something drew me back. Over the last ten weeks or so, I’d ended up at the head of the main jogging trail more times than I cared to admit.
A small park bench stood next to a clump of greenery.
It was a pleasant place to sit during the day.
But now, at dusk, an aura of menace hovered around it.
Or maybe I was just remembering waking next to it flat on my back with four hours missing from my life.
My heart thumped faster as I peered through the trees.
The wind picked up, making the trees shiver.
Goosebumps lifted on my skin. Was I going crazy?
The question had floated in my brain for months.
In my worst moments, wild possibilities spun through my head—conspiracy theory shit like my parents drugging me.
I didn’t think they would stoop that low.
Why go out of their way to make me even more of a problem?
But if they wanted an excuse to lock me away somewhere…
A twig snapped behind me, and I whirled with a growl in my throat.
“Whoa,” Nathan Brooks said, his eyes wide.
He raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.
Three guys from Hale Valley crowded behind him.
Practice jerseys peeked out from underneath heavy winter coats.
They must have come straight from the stadium.
“Take it easy, Lawson,” Nathan added. “You look like you’re ready to kill someone. ”
“Sorry,” I said. Embarrassment tightened my shoulders. “These woods are creepy this time of day.”
“We saw you run in here,” one of the other guys, Aiden Cross, said. Burly and redheaded, he was the team’s backup quarterback. He was also a fucking asshole. Fortunately, he mostly minded his own business.
“Meeting your boyfriend?” he asked.
Okay, so apparently he’d revised his MYOB policy.
Nathan turned and gave him a hard look. “Lay off that shit, Cross.”
Cross raised his ruddy eyebrows. “What? Lots of people come to these woods to hook up.” He shouldered past Nathan and leered at me. “Why should Lawson be any different?”
The other guys laughed.
Icy tentacles of dread crept through me.
By some stroke of luck, my parents had recognized I needed socialization.
Signing me up for youth football was one of the few solids they did me.
When I reached high school, being good at catching a football had gone a long way toward making my classmates overlook my sexuality. That trend had continued in college.
But most of the guys at Hale Valley were products of a religious school system. And I didn’t catch footballs anymore.
“You okay, Caleb?” Nathan asked, concern in his eyes. “You took off so fast, we were worried.”