32. ESCAPE
ariella
A slow breath leaves me slowly while I wait for the blind spot left by the guards in between this round.
There’s no going back now.
Swinging my bag over my shoulders, I set a timer for four minutes and fifty seconds on my phone and push the windows open. I don’t immediately turn the timer on.
Cold air rushes in immediately, sharp against my skin, threading through my hair, making me gasp. The drop feels worse up close.
Fourth floor. Not impossible. But not forgiving either.
Once nobody is nowhere in sight, I turn on the timer and pocket my phone and swing one leg over the ledge, then the other, gripping the fabric tightly as I lower myself out.
The first stretch goes easily.
My feet slip quite a few times, making me nearly die from a heartache. I press firmly against the stone wall, finding shallow edges.
Meanwhile, my hands slide carefully down the twisted fabric. The curtain bites into my palms, rougher now, friction building with every controlled descent. It hurts excruciatingly on my not-yet-fully recovered shoulder, and putting more weight on the other one makes me lose my stamina way too fast.
I bite back and focus on the movement without looking down.
Grip. Lower. Step. Breathe. Repeat.
My arms begin to burn, the strain creeping in slowly but steadily as I keep moving. Can’t do this anymore. I almost cry and give up.
Third floor.
Still manageable.
The courtyard remains empty—no guards in sight yet.
Good. I keep going.
Second floor.
The fabric shifts slightly under my weight, a subtle give that sends a sharp warning through my nervous system. My fingers tighten, adjusting my grip.
I ignore it. Can’t afford to stop now.
My arms begin to ache more from stretching my fingers to my shoulder blades, muscles straining and trembling faintly from the sustained effort.
I swallow it down, grunting softly and pushing through, forcing my body to keep up with my mind. Almost there.
Almost—the fabric jerks and my heart stutters.
A thread snaps somewhere above. I look up. The knot is loosening. SHIT.
I’m too high to jump clean. Too low to climb back.
So I move faster from internal panic. My movement is now too sloppy and hurried for the loosening knot to hold me anymore.
On top of that, my grip slips slightly as I try to rush down, friction burning hotter against my palm. Feet scramble against the wall, trying to find balance.
Another tear. Louder this time.
Panic spikes in the name of adrenaline.
That's when I experience a freefall. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for a severe impact, but it ends just as soon as it began.
The fall is surprisingly shorter, yet it still hits hard.
My body slams into the ground with a force that knocks the air clean out of my lungs. Pain explodes up my side, especially on the healing shoulder, disorienting my mind.
The loosened length of the curtain whips down after me, tangling and collapsing over my body. Heavy fabric spills across my torso and legs like a suffocating shroud, swallowing me into the shadows.
A strangled grunt tears from my throat while I roll instinctively on the other side, but it still aches so badly.
Fuck.
For a second, I can’t breathe. I just recovered from a serious bike accident for fucks sake.
The timer sets off softly amidst the tranquility, startling me. My whole body freezes in time.
With that, I hear distant footsteps. The guards are approaching.
My eyes snap open, a new dose of adrenaline flooding through my veins, overriding the pain. I push off the curtains gathering over me and force myself up, legs shaky but functional.
There’s no time for hesitation. I quickly turn off the timer, gather the curtain in haste, and throw it behind a nearby bush.
Grabbing whatever is left of myself, I move as fast as possible, grunting in each step. I slip into the shadows along the edge of the courtyard just as the rhythm of approaching steps grows louder.
I need to make myself look like a student who accidentally got stuck on campus.
The shadows swallow me just enough to breathe, but not enough to disappear completely.
Footsteps scrape against stone in a measured rhythm, approaching too close for comfort. I straighten slowly, forcing my spine upright despite the sharp protest slicing through my ribs.
I need to calm down my racing heart, even out my breathing, and swallow down the pain radiating off my left shoulder.
My fingers drag through my hair, smoothing it back, shaking out the disarray just enough to look careless instead of desperate.
I tug my sleeves down, ignoring the sting as fabric brushes against torn skin, then wipe my palms against my thighs to ground myself and steady the tremor threatening to show from the outside.
By the time they round the corner, I’m already stepping out from the shadows and striding towards the main gates.
Not a meek demeanor because that would be more suspicious. Gotta act as if I belong here.
“Hey—” one of them calls, his voice sharp enough to cut through the quiet. “You’re not supposed to be out here.”
I pause mid-step and turn toward them with just enough confusion to make it believable, careful not to overdo it since too much always reads fake.
“I know,” I say, letting a soft, slightly breathless laugh slip through as if I’m aware of how ridiculous this looks. “I got locked in.”
Their attention shifts immediately. Not to my face but to my body—the stiffness in my posture, the dirt clinging to my clothes, and the faint smear of blood along my wrist that I didn’t quite manage to hide.
One of them steps closer, his gaze narrowing slightly. “What happened to you?”
I glance down as though I’m only just noticing the damage, flexing my fingers carefully as if testing the ache. “Tried climbing down from the second floor. Didn’t exactly go as planned.”
The words settle somewhere between truth and lie, balanced just enough to hold.
“Do you need medical support?”
I’m taken aback by their concern. “No, it’s fine. I’m good,” I try to move my arm, but flinch in pain.
“You sure? Because that looks serious to me.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Don’t overthink,” another nervous giggle.
He frowns, clearly unconvinced, his gaze dragging back up to my face as he studies me more closely. “Second floor?”
“Mhm. I thought it would be manageable,” I reply with a small shrug, immediately regretting the movement as pain lances through my side, though I only let a fraction of it show through the slight tightening around my eyes. “Turns out I miscalculated.”
“Which building were you in? And what were you doing till now?” his brow frowns.
“The south quad,” I answer, gesturing vaguely behind me. “I was using one of the studio rooms and lost track of time before security locked everything up.”
Another lie delivered cleanly without hesitation.
They exchange looks in silence.
One of them finally speaks again. “Your ID card?”
My hand unhesitantly slips into my bag, fingers brushing past in a way that suggests inconvenience rather than urgency, acting like I’m just another ordinary careless student—not someone who just fell four floors and crawled out of a situation I shouldn’t have survived.
I pull it out and hand it over, keeping my breathing steady and my posture relaxed despite the tension coiling beneath my skin.
He studies it longer than necessary, his eyes flicking between the card and my face.
“Keinston,” he reads, his tone neutral but probing. “Do you live on campus?”
“Off,” I correct lightly, shifting my weight just enough to seem uncomfortable, not defensive. “I parked here earlier. Thought I’d finish some work before heading out.”
He hums softly, not entirely convinced but not pushing hard enough to break the moment either. Is it because of my last name?
“You should’ve contacted security instead of trying something like that,” the other guard adds, his tone edging toward reprimand rather than suspicion.
“I tried,” I sigh, already taking a small step back as I reclaim space without making it obvious. “Phone died. Figured getting down was faster than waiting.”
They exchange a glance that lingers just a fraction too long, weighing something unspoken between them.
“Next time, don’t take unnecessary risks,” the first one says, handing my ID card back.
I take it with an embarrassed smile. “Thanks. Will keep that in mind.”
They nod and walk me up to the gates.
I keep my pace even. Moving too fast would undo everything I just built.
Their eyes stay on my back for several seconds, tracking my movement even as I step away from the campus.
I wait until I turn the corner before I finally let a slow breath slip out. With that the tension in my chest loosens just enough to think clearly again.
The dull throb still pulsing through my left side hasn’t faded, and my body is yet to catch up to what just happened, but neither of those things matter right now.
My heart aches for leaving my bike behind. But considering my current physical condition, I don’t think it would be a smart decision to ride a bike. Let’s not add an actual road accident in the list.
A Keinston taking a bus doesn’t quite sit right. So I book a cab—at least it’s better—and decide to stop at the nearest clinic first before I go to my apartment.
I bet Adrian will have someone to directly pick me up from there.
A small checkup is a must before the flight—not only because I can’t let Adrian see this, but mostly I need to be prepared, both physically and mentally, to discover what I’m unaware of my obsession, Alistair Hertley.