Ophelia
After four classes back to back, without so much as a moment to breathe, I’m spent.
The relief of being finished for the day is dulled by the tremor in my hands. My body feels hollow and unsteady, probably just low blood sugar again.
I’m lightheaded, my palms damp, fingers trembling so badly I can hardly grip my pen.
When the professor dismisses us, I reach for my bag on the floor, drag it up onto the desk, and start gathering my books.
My hands won’t stop shaking.
In my clumsiness the strap slips, the bag tumbles off the desk and spills across the floor with a thud, papers scattering in all directions.
I crouch to gather everything, my vision blurring as I scoop pens, notebooks, and stray sheets of paper back into a semblance of order.
That’s when I spot a small slip I don’t recognise, lying a little apart from the rest.
I still, a faint crease forming between my brows.
It’s only a folded note, plain and perfectly ordinary, yet there’s something about its placement that feels intentional. As though someone meant for me to find it.
I pick it up with unsteady fingers and unfold it.
One word stares back at me, scribbled in black, the letters uneven and slanted.
MURDERER.
For a moment, my mind refuses to process it. The word seems to blur and ripple on the page, the ink bleeding into my vision until it almost moves.
My hands tremble so violently that the paper quivers between my fingers.
My eyes sting, my breath quickens. A chill sweeps through me, settling deep in my bones.
The first signs of panic begin to take hold, and with my blood sugar already low, I know I’m in trouble.
I shove everything into my bag without really seeing what I’m doing, rise to my feet, and step out of the classroom.
The corridor tilts and shifts around me.
I blink, but for a second, all I see are trees, darkness, branches, the ghost of the woods.
I blink again, and a rush of cold air meets my face. When the blur clears, I realise I’m outside, behind the main building.
My gaze catches on a familiar shade of midnight blue.
Arlo.
He’s sitting on a bench with his friends, all of them staring at me now, confusion written across their faces.
I clutch at my jumper, trying to loosen the fabric against my chest.
It feels suffocating, I can’t seem to draw a full breath.
My vision swims again, and I turn sharply, gripping the side of the building as I force myself to move.
I make my way around the corner, desperate to get out of sight, and suddenly I’m not here anymore.
A man is kissing me.
I try to open my eyes but I’m still trapped inside it.
I smile at him. He smiles back, warm, almost loving, until his mouth twists cruelly.
He’s wearing a mask, and I can’t clearly see his face. Everything is blurred.
I can’t breathe.
I see a man.
I feel hands on me.
I smell damp earth.
I hear music pounding.
I can’t breathe.
A rock in my hand, swinging. Blood, hot and slick, everywhere.
I can’t breathe.
A gasp tears out of me. I claw at my shirt.
Hands are on me and I jolt, panic surging.
Is this happening now? Is this real?
“Breathe,” someone whispers.
That voice… so familiar.
I know it, I want to reach for it, to come back to it, but my mind won’t let go of the woods, won’t release the image of the man bleeding on top of me, heavy as stone.
Hands smooth over my skin. “Copy my breathing,” he says.
And I try. I match him, or at least, I think I do.
His voice anchors me, his touch grounds me. The rhythm of his breathing draws me back, inch by inch, until the world begins to right itself again.
My eyes flutter open at last, locking green to midnight blue.
A soft breath escapes me as the world tilts and goes black. Strong arms catch me.
“I’ve got you, ma lune.”
***
When I open my eyes, I’m sitting on the cold stone, my back pressed against the wall. The air is biting.
I glance around, I’m outside, near the edge of the main academy building, not far from the woods.
There’s no one in sight.
I try to make sense of what just happened.
A small carton of juice rests beside my bag. I seize it, tear it open, and drink, forcing myself to breathe between sips.
Ma lune.
Ma lune.
Ma lune.
The words crash over me, knocking the air from my lungs.
Pain blooms behind my eyes, and a deep ache settles in my chest, as though something inside me has fractured.
Did I dream him, or was he really here, catching me before I fell?
Then it strikes me why I’m in this state at all, and I reach for my bag, fingers trembling as I rummage through it in search of the note.
For a fleeting moment I convince myself I imagined it, but when my hand closes around the folded paper, my chest tightens.
Not a dream, then.
The memories, were they real, or just fragments of my imagination?
I draw in a ragged breath and begin counting to ten, willing my body to steady itself.
Confusion swirls through me. I feel unmoored, as though I’m going mad.
Tears slide down my cheeks before I even realise I’m crying.
And then my sister’s words echo in my head.
A boy was found dead at the party.
The scrawl on the note flashes back in my mind.
MURDERER.
The way I woke up, that day, bloodied and bruised.
The rock in my hand. The body slumped on top of me. All that blood.
My tears will not stop.
The thought coils cold and hard inside me.
I think I killed someone.