The Most Formidable Thing

Live a Little, Mr. Davidson.

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Wait for it...

George peered out the doorway, his head snapping back and forth, scanning the vicinity. His "safety personnel" leaned idly against the wall a couple meters away to his left, intently peering at the screen of his phone while he, presumably, waited for George's lecture to be finished.

NOW.

George made a dash the opposite way while Clay wasn't looking, half-running down the hallway in an effort to avoid him. He had to go the long way since his bodyguard had been standing in the hallway that led directly to his dorm. Bodyguard. George hated the word. It made him feel small and weak, like he constantly needed protecting. Why did his parents constantly do this kind of shit to him?

"A bodyguard. They hired me a fucking bodyguard." George muttered to himself bitterly as he hurried across campus. Why??? I like uni. It's not like I'm gonna try and sneak away...

Sneak away.

He lost his train of thought as his mind was brought back to her.

"Grab my hand."

Her voice clouded his conscience, sweet and light like a budding spring flower. Memories flooded back once again, sharp and suffocating. Suddenly, time shifted and George was in high school all over again...

"George come on!" she dragged him out of the door as George protested.

"We'll get caught! I can't do this."

She laughed, her voice delicate bells tinkling in the open air. George reluctantly gave in, allowing himself to be pulled away from the front doors of the school. She kept a firm grip on his hand as she skipped down the street ahead of him, leading him further away. Every now and then, she would turn around, and George would catch a glimpse of her gorgeous features; the wide grin that spread across her face when she looked at him. He couldn't help but return the smile, his stomach fluttering as he gazed at her.

"No..." George inhaled sharply, shaking his head as he slowed down, leaning a hand against the hallway wall.

"Come on. Live a little, Mr. Davidson."

The soft words playing in his mind stung him ruthlessly, a shower of needles piercing through him.

"Enough." His voice was a shallow whisper, a silent beg.

She kept a hold of his hand as they moved along the cracked sidewalk. But now her grip was too tight, and George felt as though he couldn't escape. She turned around to look at him again, but this time there were tears in her eyes.

He tried to release himself from her grasp, but she only held him tighter. His heart began to pound, this time not in a good way.

"I'm sorry..." George whimpered, his eyes shut, gasping as the memory played out.

She's gone.

George knew she was. Yet his thoughts continued to betray him, personifying the image of her in his head, haunting him relentlessly like they had for weeks.

He crumbled, his knees giving way as he sunk to the dirty, concrete floor of the hall.

"George???"