Jessie Kensington thought she had escaped her troubled past when she faked her death and started a new life as Violet Arrowood. But three years later, she finds herself at Vanguard University on a scholarship, trying to build the future she always d...
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I don't remember getting back to my room, but the warmth of my bed envelops me.
I know Tyler must have driven me here; my skin remembers his careful hands as he helped me into his car. After that, there's a void. My head throbs from the mix of alcohol and tears last night. I can't remember the last time I felt this emotionally and physically drained... and low— a blanket of clouds hovering over me, thick, grey, and endless.
I suddenly feel alone, despite having more friends now than ever before. Even with people from my past chasing after me. I feel like that scared and angry girl I was back in my hometown. But back then, I had a flicker of hope— a belief that I would somehow escape. Now, my past is knocking on my door, and I'm paralysed by the uncertainty. I don't know if there's anything I can do to stop it.
The room spins violently as I swing my legs over my bed and rest my head in my hands. Crap. My head pounds with each heartbeat. I think about going for a run, knowing it might help clear my head. But strangely, I don't feel anxious right now. Maybe I'm just too numb to feel anything at all. Despite everything that happened last night, I almost feel safe in this little room of mine, which is absurd. I shouldn't feel safe—not after that. But maybe I'm just too exhausted to feel fear.
I push myself up and pad towards the window, opening the blinds. Sunlight floods the room, casting sharp beams across the floor. One of them hits something in the corner, making my vision spotty as the sudden brightness overwhelms me. I blink several times to clear my eyes, and then my heart stops as I see a shadowy figure moving in the corner.
A scream escapes my throat, and I bolt toward the door, but strong arms pin me against it before I can reach the handle. My breath catches in my throat as terror grips me. Slowly, I turn around, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Blue, relax." Familiar blue eyes lock onto mine, and I let out a shaky breath. His nickname from when we first collided is apparently back and it eases my anxiety... But what the hell is he doing in my dorm room? Has he been here all night?
I smack his chest, but he doesn't even flinch. "What the hell are you doing?!"
A lazy smirk spreads across his face. "I must have fallen asleep."
"On my chair?"
"It appears so," he drawls, pulling his arms away and running a hand sheepishly through his tousled hair.
He looks so innocent right now—warm, sleepy, almost boyish. The sunlight filters through the window, casting a soft glow on his face, revealing more fading scars than I noticed before. They're all from fighting... willingly fighting. I don't get it. I know I shouldn't judge him or jump to conclusions, but I can't help it. How does a guy like him, wealthy, with amazing friends, clearly talented and smart, with parents who seem to love him unconditionally, carry so much anger that he feels the need to put himself in danger just to release it? I understand anger, sadness, fear—but I don't understand why he does this to himself.
