Nineteen
Kallie
What the fuck. What in the actual fuck is going on?! The similarities were uncanny. Identical. When the moonlight cast across Callum’s face, every nightmare I’ve ever had resurfaced. My nightmares are bleeding into reality. What the hell did I do?
The forest lit up like the Fourth of fucking July. The ground was scorched, and the surrounding leaves were left singed to a crisp. Sprinting back to my dorm, I pray I imagined it all.
But what if I hadn’t?
The bridge between reality and fantasy is crumbling, and there’s no doubt I am, in fact, losing my mind.
Flustered, I drop my keys a couple times, and I continuously look over my shoulder, checking to make sure he didn’t follow me.
“Damnit,” I mumble after dropping them a third time. Finally, I jam the key into the lock and rush inside. Immediately, I lock it behind me and take a much-needed breath. Back pressed against the door, I slide down until I meet the ground, keeping my eyes shut, trying to keep my heart from bursting out of my chest.
The floor creaks, and my body freezes for half a second, and when I open my eyes, I see Kate standing there, holding a frying pan. We both scream, my hand flies to my chest, and she drops the damn thing.
“Kallie! What are you doing, coming in here like that?! I thought someone was breaking in! Jesus, you scared me half to death.” Her words come out ragged as she tries to catch her breath.
“Sorry, sorry. I thought… I don’t know what I thought, but I didn’t mean to scare you. Go back to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” Standing, I try to walk past her, but before I can, she grabs my arm, searching my face for answers that I don’t have.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, promise.” Reluctantly, she lets me go. I don’t let my tears fall until I hear her door click shut. They continue to fall as I discard my clothes into the hamper, stream down my face as I put my jammies on, and by the time I crawl into bed, the lines are dried on my face, and the rest are scattered around the room.
I notice there are no leaves crunching beneath me. No rocks causing my footing to be uneven or branches creating lashes on my skin. It is endless. Unwavering blackness that has no beginning and no end. Complete and utter silence, not even a whisper of wind or any promises of life.
“Hello?” I call out into the void, hoping someone or something will respond. My heart rate spikes, and my skin begins to heat—an inferno swirling inside me, ready to be unleashed at whatever threat lies in wait.
A source of light. Create light.
The thought is a mere blip as it crosses my mind, a skip of a rock across a small roaring river, it would have been missed at the slightest deviation of attention.
Bringing my hand to my front, I curl my fingers inward, and with a quick flick, a ball of flames forms in my palm. As quick as light, just a blink of an eye, the flame blows out, a burst of wind coming from nothing, snuffing out the orange hue, plunging me in darkness once again.
“What’s the matter? Scared?” the familiar voice echoes around me, bouncing off the emptiness that clouds my mind. Standing in the confines of the darkness, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end as heat meets the shell of my ear.
“You should be.”
An ear-piercing scream rattles through my room as I’m flung upright. The windows that line the wall behind me shatter. Shards of glass scatter all around me, a few slicing over my arms. Heavy streams of tears slide down my face as my hands spring up to cover my ears.
Crack.
The mirror splinters across the reflective material, and the drawers of my vanity fly out.
Make it stop. Make it stop!
Where is it coming from? What the fuck is that?
Understanding slams into me, and I stop screaming. Uncovering my ears, I squeeze my eyes closed as my hands find themselves curling in the sheets beside me.
“What the fuck is happening?” I whisper to myself. The wind cascades over me, rain drops pelt inside, soaking everything in its path.
My door swings open, and Kate’s eyes meet mine. Her eyes grow wide as she examines my room. “Holy shit.” It reaches my ears as a whisper, the other sounds surrounding me burying her words beneath it. She’s a blur, stumbling onto the bed, unfazed by the glass that lies on top of the blanket as it settles into her palms. Kate wraps her fingers around my wrists, pulling my hands into her lap, and stares at me, confusion and worry glazed over her face. “Kallie, wha—what happened?” Her question breaks through the white noise that blankets over my ears.
“I— I don’t… I don’t know.” My response comes out in between breaths as I try to calm myself.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale…
…Exhale.
Moonlight shines into the room, casting a shadow across my face. I try to pull my arm free of her grasp to wipe the snot dripping out of my nose. But she holds my hands firm in her lap with one of hers, and brings the other to my face, moving it to the side.
“Oh my god, Kallie! Your nose is bleeding!” she exclaims. Reluctantly, she lets go after I tug enough. Dabbing my finger above my upper lip, I bring in front of me and let out a sigh, completely numb. Pulling my attention up, I’m still in a daze when Kate comes back from the kitchen, holding a roll of paper towels.
I didn’t realize she left.
“What’s happening to me? Kate, I— I don’t know what to do… I— I can’t fucking live like this anymore.” My words come out choppy, broken up by sobs and fast intakes of air. Her arms wrap around me, and I bury my head into her chest.
I don’t know how long we sit there, wrapped up in each other, me crying and Kate rubbing circles over my back while telling me, “It’s going to be okay. We will figure this out. It’s going to be okay.” On repeat. I just want it all to stop. Everything. The nightmares, the screaming, all the weird shit that has an iron grip around my sanity.
I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock blaring, and for a single second, I forgot about all the events that occurred last night. Then everything came flooding back like a tsunami, without warning and all at once. I don’t know when we fell asleep, but Kate never left. She stayed, curled up with me, our limbs intertwined, attempting to seek comfort within each other. In this moment, the only thing I’m grateful for is her.
Untangling myself, I attempt to not wake her. The light snores she releases indicates a successful mission. I crawl off the side of the bed, trying my best to not cut myself on the glass that is scattered throughout my room. My gaze scans what remains of my room. Windows shattered, mirror cracked and broken. The drawers of my vanity thrown out, and whatever junk that laid within is haphazardly askew.
I did this. I. Did. This.
A bird rests upon the windowsill, staring at the destruction that lies at my feet. It just sits there, chirping away without a care in the world. Its eyes land on me—unwavering.
“Yeah, I know. It’s a fucking disaster,” I tell the bird. The bird’s head tilts to the side.
Odd.
“What? You wanna clean this up? Cause I sure as hell don’t,” I say to it, gesturing to the mess. “Great, and now I’m talking to birds. Maybe I really have gone mad,” I mutter to myself, but the bird chirps, as if replying to me. My head swings back, mouth slightly parted in astonishment. Rustling on the bed pulls my attention away, but when I look back, the bird is gone, as if I imagined the whole thing.
“Was I dreaming, or were you talking to a bird?” Kate asks, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.
“Dreaming. You were definitely dreaming,” I stammer but not sounding at all convincing.
Kate eyes me warily. “I had the wildest dream. Your room was a complete wreck, like destroyed, and you were bleeding, and—whoa.” Her words are cut short once she sits up and rakes her eyes over every corner of my room. “Not a dream,” is all she says, eyes blown wide as she slides off the bed. “What happened?” she finally asks.
“I wish I knew.” It’s the only answer I can give her because I have no idea. Everything with Callum last night, then coming home and this happening is all too much. So many questions that are unanswered, and truthfully…I’m not sure I want to know them.
“Is that the time? We’re going to be late!” As fast as she can manage, she side-steps around the shards without cutting herself and scurries out, heading toward her room.
“Kate, you can’t seriously think we’re gonna go to class right now?” I yell, following her.
“What else are we supposed to do?”
“Um, did you not see the disaster that is my room?” I ask, my irritation prominent.
With a huff, she replies, “Yes, and what are we supposed to do about it? We will call the dean, tell him there was a massive storm, and he will take care of it. Now let’s go!”
“Tell the dean that a storm only hit my room? Not even the building, literally only just destroyed my room. Kate that doesn’t even make any sense. You’re not making sense. Are you in shock?” The latter is a genuine question, totally plausible.
I finally make it to her doorway, and she rolls her eyes, throwing her hair up in a ballerina bun.
“Of course not. The mirror is replaceable, your stuff was probably junk and can be thrown away, but how are we supposed to fix the windows? With luck, someone already saw them, and there is a window guy on the way!” Kate, always the optimist.
“Even if that were true, I’m still pretty shaken up from last night. I don’t think I can sit in classes all day, let alone concentrate. It would just be a waste of time.”
“You’re only saying that because you don’t like school. Now go throw on something more presentable than your jammies, or go like that, I don’t really care. But you’re not going to sit here and sulk all day. Now chop chop, we need to leave in five!” she shouts over her shoulder, grabbing something from the fridge.
Relenting, I decided to just borrow something out of her closet. I’m not taking the risk of going through the war path again. “I’m taking from your closet, then!” I yell, already pulling things off the hangers.
“Yeah, yeah, just don’t leave a mess!” she reminds me. Her closet is organized by color and style. But everything I need is going to be tucked away in her dresser, where she keeps her “lazy day” clothes, aka my everyday attire.
I find a black-and-gray tie-dye cropped shirt and some loose joggers and decide that it’s good enough. Swiping a pair of silver stud earrings off her nightstand, I stick them in my ears and head toward the door.
“I haven’t seen those in forever!” She eyes my outfit up and down, a smile plastered on her face. “They might actually be yours.”
“I just chose your Sunday best.”
“Ha ha, very funny. Now throw on your Air Forces and get going.” She taps my butt as she walks past to grab her bag and keys.
After lacing up my shoes, I throw my crossbody over my shoulder, tug my backpack on, and we head out the door.
We hustle out of the building, and once we hit the middle of the courtyard, we go our separate ways, but before we get too far, she throws out, “Movies and pizza tonight?”
“Sounds good.”
Checking the time, my astrology class started five minutes ago.
Great. One thing I hate more than going to class is being late for class. The professor stops talking, everyone turns to stare at the interruption, and the only seat left is the one in the middle, so you have to climb over everyone, causing a bigger disturbance. Just as I’m about to leave, I get a text from Kate.
Don’t you dare leave. Go in there and learn lots. Love ya.
My shoulders slump with defeat. She knows me too well. The door opens with a creak, and everything I knew was going to happen played out like a deja vu moment.
“Kallie, is it?” the professor asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“How nice of you to join us. Can you tell me what the theory that splits each sign into ten equal degrees, forming thirty-six distinct personalities of the zodiac is called?”
I stand there for a second, trying to gain my composure while I process that he actually called me out. Who does that?
“Ms. Wilson, can you tell me, or do you need to take the day to study a bit more?” he asks sarcastically.
I scoff and fold my arms over my chest. Theories we went over last week. There are declinations, sidereal, secondary progressions, and decans. Declination is measuring the positions of planets—not it.
Sidereal is the current position of the constellations—not it.
Secondary progressions, self-explanatory—and not it.
Decans…subdivision of signs. That’s it.
“Decans Theory,” I respond, my voice wavering with a hint of uncertainty.
“Hmm. And can you tell me what Solar Arc Directions are?” he asks, his pointer finger resting on his chin.
“The difference between the position of the progressed Sun and natal Sun on any given day,” I respond confidently.
“Interesting. Very good. Now take a seat. And don’t make this a habit.” With his parting words, I find a seat in the third row from the top on the end. Sitting down, I pull out my laptop and textbook, trying to concentrate on anything besides the mess I have waiting for me when I get home.
Unsurprisingly, astrology was by far the easiest class for me to pay attention in. The rest of the day goes by in a blur. I imagine us all as schools of fish, migrating from one part of the ocean to the other until we finally are able to rest for the night, attempting to take away something from the long day of swimming.